“Well, you made it in time for the ceili,” Anne said. “We're waiting with bated breath—nobody's heard Marisa play yet, and we can't wait to hear the two of you together. How does Sunday night sound? It's the last night of the festival and we should have a great crowd.”

“Great,” Sam said.

The side door opened, and a bunch of men walked in. Marisa recognized them—the day shift of Redtail, the Cape Hawk ferry. They were just off duty, heading into the bar.

T. J. McGuinn was among them, his Greek fisherman's hat pulled down over one eye—a slow smile coming to his lips as he caught sight of Sam. “Hi,” he said. “How are you?”

“I'm great,” Sam said. “I'm with my sister.”

“Could I buy you both a drink, to celebrate your reunion?” he asked.

“I think I'll wait for Patrick,” Marisa said.

“Patrick? I talked to him on the ferry,” T.J. said. “He came back with us and I saw him drive off, going up toward the cliffs.”

Marisa's heart fell. She glanced at Sam, saw her look of concern. Sam had always been able to read Marisa's emotions, and she knew she could see how disappointed she felt.

“Are you sure you don't want to join us?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Marisa said, trying to smile. “Go ahead. Have fun.”

Sam squeezed Marisa's hand. “See you later,” she said, and headed into the bar with T.J.

“You bet,” Marisa said.

Then Anne got busy, with people just off the ferry wanting to check in. Marisa wandered over to the door. She stood on the front porch, listening to the band from Dublin, watching Jessica and Allie playing fetch with Patrick's Flora.

Marisa sat on the top step, facing the band, the long lawn, and the bright blue bay spreading out between the two rocky headlands. The water was so calm . . . there was nothing storm-tossed about it. The song played in her head, though, and she thought of how funny it was to have written such a song for a man she hardly knew.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

By the time Patrick had finished following the white van, it was nearly eight o'clock. He returned to town and drove past In Stitches, afraid that Marisa had gone home, and sure enough—the shop was dark and locked for the night. He had missed his chance to ask her out for dinner. His truck window was down; hearing a familiar bark, he glanced up at the inn and saw Flora. She was playing ball with Jessica, so he parked and headed across the grass.

A band called the Seven Harps was playing some music that reminded him of the Chieftains and got his blood flowing. He paused to listen, and that's when he spied Marisa. She hadn't seen him yet—sitting on the top step of the inn, she was watching her daughter and gazing over the bay, seemingly lost in thought. Patrick hung back.