Anthony looked around the kitchen. The giant mixer, the prep tables, the cart that held dozens of empty trays waiting to be filled—it was all so familiar, so strangely intimate. He felt an ache in his throat.

“I was ashamed of everything, Joy. Ashamed of my whole life before. When I came here, I just wanted to hide out. I didn’t even want to talk to anyone, never mind fall in love with someone. I wasn’t expecting any of this—I wasn’t expecting you, Joy Sousa. And once I met you, and Maggie, and even Pickles—and you all liked me the way I was, the guy without a past—I didn’t want to suddenly become the guy with a past.”

Joy smiled. “I’m pretty tough, Anthony. I can handle a past. It wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

“I know that now,” he said. “I even knew it after the first ten days with you. But by then it seemed like it was too late.”

“It wasn’t.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“I had this whole When Harry Met Sally list ready for you. The day of the storm. I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you. And then, my father—” His voice broke.

She squeezed his hand again. “A When Harry Met Sally list? Like at the New Year’s Eve party?” The corners of her mouth turned up, just a little. He nodded. “I want to hear it.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. If that’s okay with you. If you feel up to it.”

“Okay, then,” he said. He took a deep breath. He’d had this list ready since they’d fought out by Settlers’ Rock. “Here goes. I love how tough you are. I love that your daughter is fierce and independent because that’s how you are, Joy. Heck, I love that your name is Joy and that you pull it off. I love that you picked this island out of all the places in the world and you said, I’m going to set up shop here, and you did it. I love how you look in just your underwear. I love that you make fun of the tourists even though they’re the ones who buy most of your whoopie pies. I love that you drove that old neighbor of yours to the doctor once and instead of pretending you didn’t notice his shirt was on inside out, you told him so he could fix it before he embarrassed himself. Speaking of shirts: I love Maggie’s T-shirts, and I love that you actively seek out more of them for her. I love that you brush Pickles’s teeth.” He took a deep breath. He was surprised by how readily everything had come out. Grief could do that to you, though. It could open all of your pores, let all kinds of emotions escape, not just the sad ones. “I love how you brush your own teeth, for that matter, the way you come at them so earnestly, like you’re doing the most important job on the planet.”