“I understand.” The schedules on surgery days always got pushed back due to one complication or another, a hazard of the job, nothing anybody could or would complain about, with people’s lives at stake. Only a real jerk would make a fuss about that. “I’ll save you some of whatever I make, hon. I’ll pop it right in the freezer if necessary.”

Hon. Oh, lordy. She never said hon. Who was this stranger wearing her bathrobe, drinking her coffee? Jeremy leaned against the counter, sipping from his cup. A mean little anxious voice in her head said, Go, already!

Still he lingered. “Are you off to the gym today? While the boys are at camp?”

“Probably,” she said, cheerfully, deceitfully. “Pilates at nine-thirty!” Lu had never been to a Pilates class in her life; in truth, she didn’t actually know what took place in one. Some magical strengthening of the core, she’d heard. “I really like some of the instructors here,” she added. (Was she taking it too far?) She made a mental note to find out exactly what classes were offered at the one local, seasonal gym and what some of the instructors might be named.

It was going to be much harder to fake things on a small island than in Connecticut.

Which was not to say it couldn’t be done.

“That’s great, babe,” said Jeremy. “I bet you’ll get to know people, easy.”

Lu said, “Mmmmm.” She wondered if the nurses at the hospital considered Jeremy to be the hot doctor on staff. They probably did. Not that all nurses were female, obviously, and not that only women were allowed to find her husband attractive. There were probably some male nurses and some lovely female surgeons who noted Jeremy’s endearing dimples, his lean torso.

Lu drummed her fingers on the cover of her laptop and smiled her winningest smile and thought, Please go! Jeremy liked to walk to the ferry, even though it was over a mile away, because he enjoyed the fresh air and the exercise before being shut up in the hospital and because he could do part of the walk right on the beach if he chose to. For a guy who was often around death, Jeremy had a very wholesome, uncomplicated outlook toward life.

“Maybe when I get back we can start working on that baby . . .” Jeremy said. Before Lu could (had to) respond, she was saved by the ding of his cell phone. A text. Jeremy looked at it and said, “Just my mom. She wants to know what we’re up to for the weekend.”

“Ungh,” said Lu—a sound that she hoped conveyed a friendly interest in her in-laws but not a willingness to commit to any specific plans.

“They have friends coming for dinner Saturday,” said Jeremy. “And they’d love for us to join.” He glanced at Lu. “But I can tell them we’re busy.” Admittedly, it was hard to fake busy when you were living on the same very small island, on your in-laws’ dime. Hard, but not impossible.