He didn’t give up hope until after midnight. And even though he turned off the lights and lay in bed, he still couldn’t sleep. His ears strained to hear the phone’s ring. He slept restlessly, awake as much as he was asleep, and now that morning had arrived, his hopes washed away like a sand castle at high tide.

He forced himself from bed, showered, and put on a pot of coffee, draining the first cup like it was medicine for his wounded spirit. When Bo picked up his tennis ball and carried it to the back door, he stood.

“Go for a walk, boy?”

He followed the dog outside, past the gazebo—a constant reminder of Kate and their wedding day. He crossed the beach and turned eastward, tossed the tennis ball into the surf, and watched Bo lumber after it.

Had Kate even watched the show? He knew from her voice mail that she’d been angry when she’d seen the preview. What if she hadn’t watched it?

Worse, what if she had? What if she heard his proclamation of love and didn’t feel the same way? What if he’d accomplished nothing other than publicly humiliating himself?

I’ve done all I can, God. She knows how I feel now. The rest is up to her.

Bo returned the ball, dropping it in the wet sand at Lucas’s feet. Lucas picked it up and heaved it into the waves before stuffing his hands into his pockets. His fingers wrapped around cool metal. Kate’s wedding band. He ran his thumb around the smooth surface. Its presence comforted him, like he carried a piece of her with him.

Bo turned in a circle, the tennis ball between his teeth, his paws dancing in the foamy sand. The sun glittered off the surface of the water like a million diamonds. When Lucas reached Bo, he tugged the wet ball from his jaws and threw it as far as he could down the shoreline, then followed Bo’s footprints.

Kate stepped off the ferry, her overnight case clutched in her hand. She’d left her car in Hyannis since there was no room on the ferry. Now as the crowd dissipated on the concrete dock, she wondered if she’d be able to get a cab.

She tugged the baseball cap low on her head to avoid recognition and pulled her sweater tighter against the nip in the air. The trees had fully turned, washing Nantucket down in vibrant hues of yellow and red.

Her phone pealed, and she moved to the side of the dock as she pulled her cell from her bag and checked the caller ID. It was Pam. Kate didn’t want to talk business; she wanted to get to Lucas. She was so close.

But her publicity gal wouldn’t call on a Saturday for nothing. Kate answered. “Hi, Pam. How are you?”