For as ugly as the outside of the house was, the inside was a charmer. It had taken a solid hissy fit for Palmer to give her the funds to redo the cottage, but she’d refused to move into the rabbit-warren rooms unless he’d agreed. Julia had gutted the house and done to it what she’d dreamed of doing for twenty years. Her motto was good-bye, box! The small rooms were gone, and the ceiling soared, opening the space to light and air from the ocean visible beyond their property. Expansive space and white walls with vibrant splashes of color were Julia’s signature décor. On a shoestring budget, she’d transformed the interior of the shabby, blah house into one she could be proud of. She couldn’t afford to change the outside—yet—but the inside was home.

And it had made all the difference.

CARA STARED OUT as gray sheets of rain pounded the earth in a steady drumbeat. Thunder clapped right overhead, sending Hope running to wrap her arms around Cara’s legs. The wind pushed the water in sheets down the streets and shook the fronds of the palm trees into a frenzy. She chewed her lip, hoping David hadn’t been caught in the deluge. The streets of Charleston were notorious for flooding. There’d likely be a photo in tomorrow’s Post and Courier of people trudging through water or floating in a canoe down some street.

She tensed at the sight of a long black car inching its way through the waterlogged road toward the house. Its windshield wipers were madly sweeping off water and the lights cut a swath through the darkness. When the car pulled into her driveway, Cara’s heart jumped.

“He’s home!” she exclaimed. Hope squealed at her heels as she raced to the front door and pulled it open. The wind whipped against her face, moist and chilled. She gripped Hope’s hand, restraining her, and put one foot out onto the covered porch. She wanted to rush down the stairs into David’s arms. Hope clung to her hand as they watched the car door open and David’s familiar shape emerge, no raincoat or umbrella. He slammed the door and sprinted up the stairs to the porch.

Hope rushed forward, but David extended a hand to ward her off. “Stay back, Moonpie. Come on, girls. Let’s get inside.”

Unsure of what was happening, Cara ushered Hope into the dry house. David followed, closing the door. But instead of drawing near, he created a six-foot distance between them. Rivulets of water slid from his thick salt-and-pepper hair down his broad forehead, to a face chalky from fatigue. He wiped the water from his face, then removed his drenched jacket. He looked around helplessly for a place to put it.

“Just drop it on the floor,” Cara said. She searched his face, wondering why he didn’t grasp her in a hug, kiss her soundly, as he always did when returning from a trip. “David, are you ill?”

David wiped away a shock of wet hair from his forehead. “I don’t think so… God, I hope not. But I don’t want to take any chances,” he told her, his eyes boring into hers. “Not with my girls. It was a packed flight. Damn airline lost my luggage.”