Gigi nodded, her head already drifting, eyes fixed downward.

Claire rushed into the hotel’s restaurant, The Plum Spoon, but Chip was nowhere to be seen. She was only a few minutes late. Surely he hadn’t already marked her as a lost cause?

Claire was seated and she plugged her phone charger into a nearby wall. This time, the charger managed to hold.

She then turned her attention to trying to tame her disheveled hair using her reflection in the window. It was in vain – her hair had stubbornly decided its place for the day – and before long, the waiter stopped by to get her order.

She’d had the same waiter every day so far – Dan. He was a pleasant younger guy who gushed with excitement about both things to do on Orcas Island, as well as whatever the restaurant was serving that day. That morning, he was talking up the special: an oyster omelette.

Seafood didn’t sound appetizing to her anxious stomach. Yet Dan told her that the oysters were caught locally, that they had a sweeter taste than most, and how the chef expertly prepared only the best ones. She finally relented and said she’d love to try it.

Her omelette arrived quickly, garnished with a beautiful flower and flanked by fresh fruit on one side and lightly fried potatoes on the other. Claire found the fruit and potatoes easiest to stomach, but she took small bites of the omelette as well.

No need to offend Dan or the restaurant owner – they were just about the only people who had been nice to her in the past week, and if they decided to stop renting the space, Claire would have a hard time finding a restaurant to fill the void.

She kept checking her phone to see if she had any messages from Chip. Perhaps she’d gotten the day wrong, or something awful had happened to him? A car accident? A ferry accident?

She was about to call his cell phone when he walked through the door of the restaurant, a frown fixed on his face.

Claire stood up and waved. “Hey there!”

He saw her and nodded. “Miss Cooke, it’s good to see you.”

“Please,” she said, waving a hand. “Call me Claire.”

He looked different than she remembered, though she’d only met him for a brief moment before when she was talking to the previous owner.

He was dressed differently then, in a thickly knit sweater, and Steve had teased that he’d have to trade it in for a suit and tie once Claire was in charge.

Chip hadn’t gone as far as all that, but he was wearing a button-down shirt which seemed to fit awkwardly around his biceps, the material taut and strained.