Bree told herself to get up off the step and do something—anything—other than smoke, stare at Myra’s beehives, and think about those long-ago summers when she and Star ran back and forth like wild things from this cottage to the house. But she didn’t have a lot of bright thoughts to choose from. Her shattered marriage? Nope. Her empty bank account? Definitely not. As for her self-esteem … How could she think about something that didn’t exist?

This cottage, along with Myra’s honey house, had once been her second home, but in the last three weeks, the place had become her prison. If only she could run to the summer house, curl up on the screen porch with her Walkman again, and listen to the Backstreet Boys while she watched her brothers and their friends race up and down the steps to the dock. David had been one of those beautiful boys that last summer, although during the day he’d worked a fishing charter while the rest of them played.

Bree stared at the bees and lit another cigarette just as Toby came out of the woods. Someone was with him. She shielded her eyes and saw a good-looking man walking at his side. He was big all over, tall, with wide shoulders and a broad chest. One of those attractive men who stood out in a crowd. The kind of man—

She sprang off the step.

“Hey there, Bree,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

Thirteen years fell away. His physical transformation meant nothing. She hated him now as fiercely as she had the last time she’d seen him. “Toby, get in the house,” she said stiffly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Hold on.” He ruffled Toby’s hair as if he had that right. “You remember what I said, Toby. Summer people are naturally paranoid. You can’t keep going over there.”

“I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad.”

The hair tousle turned into a knuckle rub. “Sooner or later, he’ll find out about your grandmother. And just so you know … You can’t cash a check he’s made out to her. Now you go inside while I talk to Bree.”

Bree clenched her hand into a fist. Mike Moody ranked along with her ex-husband, Scott, as someone she’d never wanted to see again. She’d known Mike still lived here, since his face stared out from half a dozen billboards along the island’s main road, but she’d intended to make sure she never ran into him. Yet here he was.

Toby stomped into the cottage. Mike came forward with his big suck-up smile and his hand extended to shake. “You’re looking great, Bree. Beautiful as always.”

She pressed her arms to her sides. “What do you want?”

He let his arm fall but didn’t lose his phony smile. “Not even a ‘hello’?”

“Not even.”