Her life was no longer in her hands. No more games or tricks.

After all that time and the hours of watching her, it was time to move in. No more trouble. No more running. No other men. Ever.

She would pay for this.

Chapter 8

“You’re standing outside.” Sylvia delivered that bit of wisdom as she pushed the hood of her jacket off her head and stepped into the circle of white lighting the entry to the Lodge’s double front doors. “And staring into . . .” Sylvia squinted as she looked out over the front lawn, illuminated by strings of dainty lights wrapping around and traveling up the trees lining the driveway. “Nothing. Unless you see something I don’t.”

Maddie didn’t think she’d ever get used to the genuine, homey, too-much-chatter conversation the people on Whitaker liked to engage in. They didn’t just say hello. They commented on the weather or what they just ate. Lots of words, all to convey one thought—hello—because, for some reason, a plain hello was never enough.

The island thrived on gossip. It fueled every moment and every interaction, even as the people who lived there delighted in reassuring each other that the residents kept to themselves here. Maddie blamed the divorce from reality on the seclusion. Being cloistered together, seeing only each other for days, weeks, even months at a time, made everyone search out ways to stay alert and keep active.

Unfortunately, her dating life—or the lack of—had moved up on Whitaker’s Most Interesting Topics list. Lucky her.

“I needed some air.” The answer, short and clear, should stop any other—

“The rain just stopped but the temperature dropped below forty and the wind is icy cold,” Sylvia said, plowing forward as she shifted to the side, letting the unusual parade of people shuffling in and out of the Lodge pass by her.

“But the air is outside, so here I am.” There, that should do it.

Maddie loved Sylvia. Her charm and the way she stepped in to assist, coddle, and apply a bit of pressure when needed, never looking for anything in return. She functioned as the island’s welcoming committee, mostly because she ran the one place on Whitaker that any tourist, and they didn’t get many, needed to find if they wanted a bed for the night.

She also made the perfect cup of coffee and a banana cream pie that made Maddie’s mouth water. She seriously considered going inside just to grab a slice.

“Maddie.”

Right. The unwanted conversation. The one that clearly hadn’t ended yet. “Hmm?”

“That’s not a great explanation.”

Yeah, no kidding. “I’m just trying to . . .” What was she trying to do? Part of her hoped a wave of common sense would crash over her and send her running back home. The other part fought the urge to run her fingers through her hair.