The boys had been entranced by the skaters at the skate park, who looked to be about Maggie’s age or maybe a little older: suntanned, shirtless, with the sinewy muscle, the narrow shoulders, the eight-pack abdomens of the athletic prepubescent or just-barely-pubescent male.

“Did you know them?” Lu asked Maggie as they left.

Maggie shrugged. “Nope,” she said. “Summer kids.”

“That must be fun,” said Lu. “To have a whole new population of boys come to town for the summer!”

A half smile flashed across Maggie’s face, gone as quickly as it had come. “I guess,” she acknowledged. “Sort of. Yeah, it can be.”

What Lu wouldn’t have given for an infusion of fresh summertime blood in her dreary town when she was Maggie’s age!

“I’m hungry,” said Sebastian, a touch whiny, and Chase echoed him, taking the whining up a notch. Proper lunchtime had come and gone while they were at the park.

“We’ll be home soon,” Maggie told them, turning toward the backseat. She sounded like a miniature mother, and Lu was very proud of her.

“We could go to Joy Bombs,” suggested Lu. She knew whoopie pies weren’t exactly a well-balanced lunch, but it would hold the boys over and maybe she could go straight to an early dinner. The day after tomorrow Jeremy would be home, and she wouldn’t be able to get away with that. In addition, she could go for a cup of the coffee. It was the best on the island.

“No!” said Maggie. “No, I don’t want to.” Lu glanced at her, surprised by the vehemence. “It’ll be crowded in town,” said Maggie.

“Okay,” said Lu. “Home, then.” Although she couldn’t think what she had to feed the boys at home. She’d spent such a long time on her last post, she’d completely forgotten to plan or shop for regular meals. It was the curse of the food blogger, she supposed—like the cobbler’s children having no shoes, here were her kids, with empty bellies.

“No!” said Sebastian. He kicked the back of the seat. “I don’t want to go home!” He kicked the seat again.

“Sebastian!” cried Lu. “Stop that right now. Right now.”

“I want a whoopie pie!” said Chase.

“We could stop at the Roving Patisserie,” Maggie ventured.

Lu said, “The what?”

“It’s a food truck,” said Maggie. “It’s new this summer.” She took out her phone and tapped on the screen. “Let me just see where it is now. It moves during the day.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Lu. “It roves. Clever.”

“It’s at the Southeast Lighthouse,” Maggie reported. “That’s kind of far away. It already moved once today.”

“No problem.” Lu readjusted the route, proud that she now knew enough about the geography of the island to figure out the way without asking.

They joined the (considerable!) line at the food truck, and Lu studied the menu. She’d left her notebook in the car, but she wished she hadn’t: she wanted to take notes. The Roving Patisserie’s menu was sophisticated (salade Niçoise, croque monsieur and madame, macarons) and the presentation was cute without being cutesy. The sandwiches came with a toothpick-sized French flag, and the pommes frites arrived in tasteful paper cones. “Get whatever you want,” she told Maggie, rooting in her bag for her wallet.