She smiled. “No, I didn’t.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself from giggling, something Hank doubted Antonia Winter, M.D., did often enough. “Oh, God. I love you so much. I have from the second I laid eyes on you. You remember? You were standing in front of the woodstove in Carine’s cabin.”

“I remember. I knew you were stricken.” He grinned at her. “I could tell.”

Carine sniffled. “I love happy endings.”

The two auburn-haired, blue-eyed sisters started giggling, and Gus rolled his eyes and motioned to the bartender. “No more of those pink drinks.” He looked darkly over at Hank. “You set the date, you’re sticking to it. You got that? I’m not mending another broken heart.”

Hank nodded but said nothing. Antonia touched his thigh under the table. “We’ll make it a simple wedding.”

“Not account of me, you won’t,” Carine said, shaking her head adamantly. “Hank, if you want Tyler to be in your wedding—”

“Carine!” Antonia sat up straight, more alert now. “We wouldn’t do that to you! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

“Do what to me?” She set her jaw in that stubborn Winter way that Hank had come to know. “I’ve known Ty since we were tots. I have the scars to prove it. It’s no big deal. He can be in your wedding.”

“He’ll be out of the country,” Hank said quietly.

Carine scoffed. “What, on a secret mission?”

“Maybe.”

But someone at the bar pointed to the television, and a meteorologist was saying what they could all feel—hurricane-force winds were hitting Cape Cod.

* * *

Hope weakened rapidly and didn’t do its worst to Cape Cod. Damage would be limited mostly to flooding, torn shingles, trees down, flying debris, lost boats. Everyone in the tavern agreed they were lucky. They’d dodged disaster.

A Coast Guard helicopter flew over Shelter Island after Hope had moved on out to sea, and the pilot reported that Babs Winslow’s cottage had survived with just a few shingles torn off and a window blown out.

Antonia felt a pain in her gut, remembering that Robert Prancer had shot out the window. The damage wasn’t from Hope.

Her quiet refuge was now a crime scene.

The rescue and work crews had dispersed, but she and her sister and uncle—and Hank—remained in the tavern. The bartender passed out free sandwiches and reported media swarming in the lobby.

Gus grinned. “Must be because of me.”

Carine, who’d fallen asleep on their uncle’s shoulder as if she were a little girl again, elbowed him in the stomach. “Gus, you’re not that funny.”