The stubborn set of his jaw told her she was wasting her breath. She poked at a zebra mussel shell, feeling as undesirable as this invasive Great Lakes intruder. “With everything that happened, I never asked why you came back to the bar.”

“To get my car. I was pissed with you.”

“I made such a fool of myself that night. All summer, really, with my badass act.”

“It wasn’t an act. You are a badass.”

“Not true, but thanks.” She sifted some sand through her fingers. “One good thing came out of the experience. I learned that trying to slide into another skin wouldn’t fix me.”

“Who says you need fixing?” He displayed a comforting degree of indignation. “You’re fine just the way you are.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Thanks.”

Another long silence fell, an awful, unbreachable chasm that spoke volumes about the distance that had grown between them. “How’s your writing going?” he asked.

“Pretty well.”

“That’s good.”

More silence, and then he rose. “I need to finish packing. I came here to tell you that you’re free to stay at the house when I leave.”

That was the only reason? Her chest aching, she looked up and saw her reflection in his dark glasses. “I’m fine at Bree’s,” she said stiffly.

“You care about the place more than I do. If you change your mind, here’s a key.”

She didn’t reach for it—couldn’t make herself—so he dropped it in her lap. It landed on the hem of her shorts, the yellow happy-face key fob staring up at her.

He reached for his sunglasses, as if he were going to take them off, but changed his mind. “Lucy, I—” The stubbornness she knew so well thinned his lips. He rested a hand on his hip and dipped his head. The words that emerged were as rough as if he’d rubbed them with sandpaper. “Stay safe, okay?”

That was all. He didn’t look at her again. Didn’t say more. Simply walked away.

Her fingers curled into fists. She squeezed her eyes shut, too angry to cry. She wanted to throw herself at his back and wrestle him to the ground. Slap and kick. The callous, unfeeling bastard. After everything that had happened, after everything they’d said and done, this was his exit line.

She finally managed to make her way back to the parking lot. She biked to the house, peddling as furiously as Miss Gulch on her way to collect Toto. No wonder he’d never come to the cottage to check up on her. Out of sight, out of mind. That was Patrick Shade’s way.

Bree was at the farm stand. She took one look at Lucy’s face and set aside her paintbrush. “What happened?”

It was over. Finished. Accept it. “Life,” Lucy retorted. “It sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”