Darcy decided she could do worse than spend the holiday with people who wanted nothing from her except the pleasure of her company. She just hoped she could be pleasurable enough for them. She had not grown up the way her friend India had. The O’Donnells were vastly wealthy, thanks to Al O’Donnell’s successful worldwide shipping company. They enjoyed the best of everything.

The Fitzgeralds, by contrast, were merely comfortable. With five daughters, and both parents working as college professors, the concept of a second home in Florida—or anywhere, for that matter—was considered a wild extravagance. The Fitzgerald girls had grown up on the fringes of the elite. Darcy had often found herself in the role of the less privileged friend brought along on trips with girls whose families took them skiing in Gstaad or yachting in Cape d’Antibes. She was the kind of friend favored by parents—polite, unassuming, unlikely to overshadow their own daughters. This was fine with Darcy. She’d been lucky enough to see some of the world that way. She’d attended college on scholarship, excelled at sports and ultimately found a best friend in India O’Donnell.

Florida opened its sunshiney, welcoming arms to her. It felt good to be away from the cold, hissing sleet of Manhattan, the crowds and exhaust from traffic cramming the dark, wet streets. Juggling her variety case of booze, with a nice Thanksgiving centerpiece perched precariously on top, she backed into the kitchen, determined not to cause a disaster.

“I’m here,” she warbled. “India? Did you miss me? I brought enough booze to make me forget Huntley Collins and his rotten, soul-crushing kids, as well.”

She maneuvered the cardboard case to a countertop and set it down. Moving the centerpiece aside, she found herself looking at Logan O’Donnell.

Logan O’Donnell, of the big shoulders and red hair and killer smile. Her heart flipped over. She hadn’t seen him since the end of summer in Avalon—but that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. Far from it; she thought about him every day.

“Oh God,” she said. “Tell me you won’t judge me for saying that.”

He grinned. Yep, killer smile. “I make it a practice not to judge anyone struggling with substance abuse.”

She grinned back at him. She couldn’t help herself. “It’s use, not abuse. Alcohol is useful to me. Helps me get over my rotten marriage and even rottener divorce.”

“So, you were married. To... Huntley Collins? No wonder it didn’t work out. No one could stay married to someone named Huntley Collins.”