“I think so. I’m not sure if it’s broken, but I think there’s film inside.”

Accepting the camera, he inspected the photo counter on the top. “Ten pictures taken by the looks.”

“It was stashed under a bed. Not sure if the film inside is any good, but it’s gone this long without being developed; it’s worth a try.”

“I can do it. I have a makeshift darkroom. Still get the rare request to develop film.”

“That would be terrific.”

He turned the camera over and traced a calloused finger over the CD scratched in the metal. “Think maybe a guest left it behind?”

“No idea who CD is. But maybe if the pictures are salvageable, then I can figure it out.”

“We shall see,” he said with a grin. “You know if this camera was opened at any time, the film is ruined.”

“I know, but still worth a try. Do you need a deposit or a credit card?”

He removed scratch paper and a pen from a drawer. “Just write down your contact information, and I’ll call you when I have something.”

She wrote her name and number on the slip. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for Ruth. Hell of a lady. When my house flooded in the winter of 2005, she let me stay in a bungalow for three weeks. Never charged me a dime.”

Ivy remembered the winter. Half their bungalows were full of local residents who’d also been flooded out. “Yes, she was.”

When she left the shop, it was four. She’d been gone less than an hour, so she had enough time to stop by the grocery store and get a few more provisions to replace the chucked cinnamon, oregano, and basil and also buy new paprika and red pepper flakes. If she was going to fry chicken, it needed a twist.

When she arrived at the market, she gathered the spices, two more bags of coffee, chew sticks for Libby, and two pounds of butter.

Once she reached the checkout, she got in line behind a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark-brown hair that curled over his shirt collar. He was buying a steak, potatoes, handfuls of fresh parsley and rosemary, and fixings for a salad. From her experience, men generally reached for the prepackaged goods, so she had to give him props.

She placed her groceries on the belt as the man stepped up to the register. When he turned, his profile shifted into full view. Her stomach knotted. It was Matthew Peterson, the high school boyfriend. Dani’s ex-husband. Shit. What were the chances?

She ran fingers through her hair, wishing she’d washed it, and considered backing up slowly and returning to the aisles as if she had forgotten something. Instead, she said, “Matthew?”

The man turned. At first, his eyes didn’t register any recognition, and then he grinned, shaking his head. There was no sign of bitterness or anger, but Matthew always found a smile when he wanted something. He’d have hugged her if her cart weren’t separating them. And considering she hadn’t showered today, no contact was a good thing.