“You have a right to be pissed,” he said from behind her. “I screwed up.”

She spun back. “You didn’t screw up. You screwed me. And don’t think it’s the sex that bothered me. I’m a grown woman. I can have all the sex I want.” Big talker. “What bothers me is that I didn’t know who I was having sex with.”

“Loud and clear.”

“Great. Now leave me alone.”

“Fine.”

But he stayed where he was. She couldn’t bear hearing more apologies, and she thrust her finger in the general direction of the sunroom. “Try taking care of your house for a change instead of bothering me.”

“You want me to wash windows?”

She hadn’t meant that at all. She didn’t care about the windows. “I suppose you could shoot them out,” she sneered, “but that seems a little excessive. Still, it’s your house. Whatever works for you.” With that, she reached the staircase. But with every step she took, her resentment burrowed in deeper. She didn’t want to leave this house. She wanted to stay, to eat breakfast on the screen porch, and take the kayak out, and hide from the world. He didn’t deserve this house. If it were hers, she’d give it the love it deserved. But it wasn’t hers.

She stomped back to the top of the stairs. “You don’t deserve this house!”

“What do you care?”

“I don’t. I—” It came to her in a flash. An impossible idea … She closed her mouth. Opened it. “When are you leaving?”

He regarded her suspiciously. “Tomorrow morning.”

“And … Are you coming back soon?”

“Not sure. I’m starting a new job. Maybe September. What difference does it make to you?”

Her mind raced. She loved this house … this island … She swallowed. “If … you’re not going to be using the house for a while …” She did her best to keep her voice even, not let him see how important this had become to her. “I might want to rent it. I have some things to do, and this is as good a spot as any.”

“What kind of things?”

She wasn’t telling him about the panic she experienced whenever she thought of going back to Washington. Instead, she shrugged. “Take a real vacation. Cook. I have some writing to do for my father. You can apply my cleaning fees to the first month’s rent.”

He regarded her stonily. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She wasn’t giving up so easily. “So all that talk about how you screwed up was just talk, right? You don’t have to back it up? Make some kind of atonement?”

“Atonement? That’s what this would be?”

Atonement, but not forgiveness. “Why not?”