She was going to say no anyway. What was he thinking? Kate wouldn’t go for a walk unless she’d penciled it in a week ago.

“I guess I can go. I’ll have to change first, though.” She was inside before he could reply.

When she returned, they stepped off the deck and into the grass. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and Bo stopped to listen, his bulk a shadow in the dim light. Then, satisfied the other was of no importance, he led the way down the path toward the water.

When they reached the beach, they turned away from town. The wet, packed sand was cool and spongy under his feet. Lucas wondered what Kate was thinking. He remembered his advice to Jamie and started there.

“How’s your column going?”

A wave washed up under their feet. Kate sucked in her breath at the coldness of the foamy water and scampered a few feet up the beach. “I’ve decided on the letter for this week. The woman wrote a four-page saga, so tomorrow I’ll boil it down to a one-hundred-word question.”

He had no idea what went into an advice column, and he started to ask how she’d become syndicated, then thought again. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about work at four thirty in the morning.

Bo ran ahead of them, trotting through the intermittent waves that washed ashore, then turned toward them, a still, shaggy silhouette. The moonlight offered enough light to see by. It washed gently over Kate’s features, highlighting the bridge of her nose, the bow of her lip. Lucas looked away.

A wind blew across the water, and Kate shivered. “I didn’t expect it to be so cool.”

Lucas shrugged out of his shirt and placed it over her shoulders.

“Thanks.” She put her arms through the sleeves, and he thought her eyes lingered on his bare chest for a moment.

Kate pulled Lucas’s shirt tight, overlapping it like a robe. The material was still warm from his skin and smelled like him. The gesture had surprised her, but he’d done many small things that surprised her. Pulling out her chair at dinner, pouring her coffee every morning . . . And she had to admit he was trying to mend his messy ways. He’d even been hanging up his wet towels.

She wondered how Emily had coped with his disorganization. But maybe Emily had been like Lucas. Or maybe she’d considered Lucas’s homemade meals and good manners a fair trade-off. Kate wanted to ask, but he never mentioned Emily. Bringing up his late wife would feel as if she was trespassing on sacred ground.

She wondered how Lucas felt about their pretend marriage after having had the real thing. It must feel hollow. Kate could hardly believe even now that he’d done it. That he’d stepped in at the last moment and rescued her.