“I’m thinking I should have vacationed in the Bahamas.” He’d thought about just that last night as his head pounded and he silently cursed Hansen for suggesting this was a good place to relax. He’d spent so much time focused over the last two years, not dating and not doing any of the usual hang-out-with-friends stuff he did before his life changed.

“Nah.” She reached for the bread and tore off a piece. “Another island would be boring compared to here.”

“I could use some calm.” He was pretty sure that qualified as the biggest understatement of his life.

“Then you are in the wrong place.”

Before he could shoot back a sarcastic response, a shadow fell over their table. The person came up from behind him, and he had no idea from where. He glanced up . . . and there she was. Again.

Maddie waited there, wearing jeans and what had to be the biggest coat ever made. It swamped her body. She frowned as she spoke. “Hello.”

Sylvia lowered her bread to her plate. “Maddie?”

“I thought you never went out,” he said because he really didn’t know what else to say.

Maddie shifted until she stood right in front of their table, blocking their view of the rest of the room. “I know Sylvia.”

“Wait.” Sylvia looked from Connor to Maddie and back again. “Have you two met already?”

“Maddie has an unusual way of welcoming visitors to Whitaker.”

She threw him an expression that suggested she wouldn’t mind cracking another piece of wood over his head before turning and smiling at Sylvia. “May I get my mail, please?”

Sylvia looked like she was going to say something. Even opened her mouth and closed it again before finally nodding. “Sure.”

She got up and walked out of the dining room. Connor watched her go before turning to Maddie again. “Do you live here?”

“On Whitaker?”

The clueless act had to be on purpose. There was no way she misunderstood that question. “You’re killing me.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

He honestly couldn’t read her at all. The need to study her and learn more tugged at him, but he ignored the sensation. He had enough problems without taking on hers. But it wouldn’t kill him to be friendly, so he tried again. “Do you live at the Lodge?”

“I have a house.” And that was it. She didn’t offer another detail. Hell, she barely looked at him.

“You’re not big on polite conversation, are you?”

“No.”

He conceded this round to her. “Then I’ll finish my chicken.”

He chewed and felt her staring. He refused to give her the satisfaction of looking up. If she wanted his attention, she could ask for it.

After a few seconds, she sighed at him. “You don’t need to tell people about the . . . you know. The thing.”