“No. Not at all. You’re wearing the years well.” The checker tallied up his order, and he shoved his credit card into the machine. “I hear you’re selling Ruth’s place.”

“It has to be done.”

“The end of an era.”

“Life moves on.” She could not have dreamed up a better understatement if she’d practiced.

As the cashier bagged the items, Matthew’s full attention settled on her. “You look great.”

“Nice of you to say.” The years fell away, and she was right back in 2010. Crop tops, elastic bands to hold up her curly hair, and purple flip-flops summed up that decade, also known as the awkward years.

But in those days Matthew had had a way of making her feel good about herself. Ironically, his positive outlook had given her the courage to leave not only OBX but him as well. This return home was starting to feel like a study in past mistakes.

“I bet you have your hands full cleaning out the cottage,” he said. “Ruth squirreled away everything she could from the hotel.”

His description hinted that Ruth had somehow lost some of her faculties toward the end. “She was a Depression-era kid. She always hated throwing anything away.”

“I’m placing no blame. It’s hard losing what you love.”

The words carried unspoken pain Ivy didn’t like acknowledging. “Right.”

He loaded his bags into his cart as she stepped up to the cashier. As the items zinged past the scanner, she swiped her credit card. “What are you making?”

“Would you believe Ruth’s fried chicken?” she asked.

“Right before graduation, you swore you’d never fry up another piece of chicken again.” Matthew had endured her complaints of grease-spatter burns on her arms.

“At least I’m making the Sunday-night fried chicken on Thursday. A small but meaningful departure.”

He chuckled. “The spirit of the girl who packed up her car and drove to New York without a plan lives.”

That eighteen-year-old had been part pioneer, part fool, and mostly selfish. She would need that girl to resist setting down roots here and make the leap into the future. “I live dangerously. What can I say?”

“Think you remember how to make the chicken?”

“The recipe is burned in my brain.”

“You ever going to share it with me?”

She grabbed the grocery bag. “Ruth swore me to secrecy.”

“She never would tell me, no matter how much I asked. And I can be quite charming.”

Matthew’s smoothness had never sat well with Ruth. She’d never voiced her disapproval to Ivy, but the occasional side-eye had said more than any words. “And I’ll not be sharing the recipe either.” In less than a minute, they’d tripped easily into the comradery they’d enjoyed in high school. “I saw Dani. She came by the house. She looks great as always.”