The pool was teeming with life. Tiny hermit crabs darted under the shelter of the seaweed. Limpets and mussels clung to the rocks, and anemones wafted in the still of the water. She could have watched it for hours, but the tide was licking at their heels, reminding them that it was about to claim back the beach.

Finn rose. “We should go before the tide turns. Having already had a run-in with the police, I don’t want to add the coast guard to the list.”

“You get an extra-massive lemon meringue pie if you have to call the coast guard on my account.”

He laughed. “I’m tempted to throw myself in the water. Who taught you to cook lemon meringue pie?”

“I taught myself. My father was a practical cook—” She paused. “Actually he was a terrible cook. He cooked on the highest heat, so everything was burned. My mother traveled a lot, so I took over. I enjoyed it, but to alleviate boredom I liked to experiment.”

They walked across the sand and back to the tiny path that snaked up to the garden.

“Is everything you make as good as your lemon meringue pie?”

“I hope so.” The path was steep, and she was already out of breath. She needed to make time in her life to take more exercise.

“In that case, invite me to dinner.” He held out his hand and pulled her up the last section of the path.

She hadn’t planned to cook, but for some reason she liked the idea of cooking dinner for Finn. She’d had a more honest conversation with him in the last hour than she’d had with anyone in a long time. His company had lifted her mood. Why not? He’d obviously been a good neighbor to her mother and she would thank him by cooking him something delicious.

“Are you allowed out without security?”

“You can protect me.” He smiled. “I’ll walk across the fields. No one will see me.”

The dogs bounded round the garden, snarling, barking and tumbling over each other as they played.

“In that case come for dinner on Friday.” It would be a chance to indulge her love of cooking, and she hadn’t done that in a while. Meal preparation was usually another chore at the end of a long list. “What’s your favorite food.”

He picked up the cups they’d abandoned on the table and carried them through to the kitchen. “I eat everything. I’ll bring wine. We can discuss the painting you’re going to do for me.”

Liza was already planning dinner. The heat wave was predicted to continue, so they could eat outdoors. She’d use vegetables from her mother’s garden.

“Here—” Finn handed her the bag she’d brought. “I’m glad you came over.”