Kate’s reply embodied everything Clark knew about her so far. Foolishly optimistic. Beautifully wasteful. What did she think, he was going to cave and give in to their ridiculous whims? Waste money on something he saw no value in? Or did she think some other millionaire investor would sweep in and take the loss? Not likely. He’d already warned potential investors off the project when he decided to close the place down. Even keeping the place open for a few more nights, the rest of their season, would waste money in personnel and electric bills.

They finished the ride home without incident…until they pulled up to the house, and Clark’s worst fears about Kate’s “surprise” came to life through the clear wall of his windshield. During their brief time in the wilds of Miller’s Point, the long driveway had turned into a parking lot. At least thirty trucks and SUVs made themselves very much at home on the pavement stretching almost a hundred yards from the street to the carriage-house-turned-garage tucked away behind the manor.

Clark pulled through the center clearing—thank God someone gave a thought to how they would all get in and out—and fought the quiver of anger in his voice. Control yourself, man. You have always been able to control yourself before. Why can’t you control yourself around Kate?

“What’s all this?”

“You’ll see when we get inside.”

He parked and they headed for the back door of the house, with Michael and Emily at the lead and him and Kate trailing behind. If Kate disturbed or confused them with this turn of events, they didn’t let on. Clark didn’t think anything about Kate would faze them by now. From what he’d seen of their friendship, Kate charged forward and everyone else hopped on board without a second thought. He secretly admired that about her.

“Why are there are people here?”

“You’ll see. Just follow me. Everyone’s inside.”

Something strange happened then. Something Clark hadn’t expected and didn’t know he wanted. She reached for his hand, took it in her own, and led him forward. The contact didn’t spark or crackle with electric shocks; the books and poems lied about that. She held his hand like she wanted to remember what it felt like. Like she wanted him to know every line in her palm and how her pulse danced against his. Holding hands with Kate Buckner was like falling into his own bed after a long day of work. A complete relief.

He ripped himself away, violently breaking up the sensation. It made Kate flinch, but her smile didn’t falter or slip. She shook it off. She shook off everything he threw at her. He added another word to his description of her. Endlessly foolishly optimistic.

“I don’t want people here. I told you this isn’t a party.”