He crumpled his Coke can in his fist and stalked off the deck into the backyard, pitching the can into a black plastic trash bin on his way. As he walked toward the lake, she slumped into the chair he’d abandoned. Ted was a great conversationalist and the best listener she’d ever known. He’d acted as though he was fascinated with whatever she said. Of course, he acted that way with everybody, even crazy people, but still … She’d never known him to be impatient or short-tempered—never heard him utter a harsh word. He was kind, patient, thoughtful, understanding, and yet she’d dumped him. What did that say about her?

She pulled one of the matching chairs closer with her heels, feeling bluer by the minute. Panda reached the dock. An overturned canoe lay on the bank, and an osprey skimmed the water. He hadn’t told her how long he planned to rent the house, only that she was free to leave anytime, the sooner the better. But did he really want that? She was growing increasingly convinced that he was smarter than he let on, and she couldn’t let go of her nagging fear that he was talking to the tabloids. What if he’d figured out he could make a lot more than a thousand dollars selling them her story?

She headed down the steps and toward the water, where he’d stopped by the canoe. She scuffed the heel of her sneaker in the dirt. He didn’t look up. She wished she’d chosen a traveling companion who didn’t indulge in oppressive silences and favor loathsome bumper stickers. But then, she wished for a lot of things. That she’d picked a different fiancé to abandon, one who’d done something—anything—to justify being ditched at the altar. But Ted hadn’t, and some ugly part of her hated him for being so much better than she was.

She couldn’t stand her thoughts a moment longer. “I like to fish,” she said. “I throw everything back. Except when I went to Outward Bound. I kept the fish then because—”

“Not interested.” He straightened and gave her a long look—not undressing her with his eyes; he’d stopped doing that—but looking at her in a way that made her feel as if he were seeing every part of her, even the parts she didn’t know were there. “Call Ted and tell him you’re sorry. Call your folks. It’s been three days. You’ve had your adventure. It’s time for the rich girl to go home.”

“I’ve heard enough rich-girl cracks.”

“I call it like I see it.”

“Like you want to see it.”

He studied her for an uncomfortably long moment, then tilted his head toward the canoe. “Help me get this thing in the water.”