“To remind you that you don’t have to put on a front for me. I know you’re struggling with them here.”

She looked away, and I tilted her head so she’d bring those eyes back to mine.

“What if I can’t do this?”

“You can,” I assured her. “And if it gets to be too much, then you can head to my house and regroup. I’ll say you have to feed the guinea pig.”

“Even if it takes me an hour to regroup?” she questioned, lifting an eyebrow.

“She has a fish and a turtle, too. Trust me, we can find an excuse.”

She laughed, and I kissed her nose.

When we started back up the dune, I saw Paisley at the top, staring down at us with a mixture of confusion and happiness. Then her face fell slightly as she turned to walk back to the beach.

“She misses you.” I took Morgan’s hand as we started climbing.

“She misses who I used to be,” she said softly as we crested the dune.

“I’m not going to tell you how to feel or how to handle this. You tell me what you need me to be, and I’ll be that, okay?”

“I just need you.” She squeezed my hand and surveyed the small gathering. “You know they’re going to grill you, right?”

“They wouldn’t be good friends if they didn’t.”

Knowing that fact didn’t make the next hour any less painful. While Morgan sat with her friends, sneaking glances at me every few minutes, Josh and Jagger fired questions at me from both sides. She was close enough to hear my answers but trusted me to hold my own and didn’t interfere.

I’m twenty-eight. My daughter is five. No, her mother and I aren’t together. Yes, I like Morgan. We met when I pulled her out of her staircase. Yes, I know her contractor. Yes, he gave her fair estimates. On and on the questions came, until I was pretty sure they were about to ask for my social security number so they could run a credit check.

The only thing they hadn’t asked—

“And what do you do for a living?” Josh asked.

Ah, there it is. “I’m a coast guard search and rescue pilot,” I answered.

Morgan’s eyes locked with mine.

“Are you shitting me?” Jagger leaned forward in his chair.

“Nope.” I winked at Morgan, hoping she’d relax enough to breathe. Her gaze flickered between the guys. “Been stationed here five years.”

“Best damn pilot in the Outer Banks,” Sawyer remarked as he dragged a chair through the sand and sat on the other side of Jagger. “Other than me, of course.”

“And so humble,” I quipped.

Sawyer raised his beer in salute.

“You’re all pilots?” Jagger glanced toward the grill, where Moreno and Garrett argued over timing.