“It’s just, I don’t know how you do it. All those people at the party, how you pose them and take command of the scene.” He shrugged. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were almost an extrovert.”

Morgan snorted. The ginger beer burned the inside of her nose. She was a recluse. But she was a dead shot with a camera. And that was enough to make her fearless. “Only when I need to be,” she said. “With photography, it’s all about focus. There might be a million things going on at an event, but it’s okay. You just have to focus on taking the best picture you can of one thing at a time. So, I guess that makes it seem less … daunting.”

Bennett nodded. “Well, I’m impressed by you, is what I meant to say.”

Morgan felt blood rush to her cheeks. It was time to shift the conversation. She’d told him enough about herself. “So, what are you doing in the gutter, Mr. Reynolds?”

He laughed. “I’m in PE.”

The bartender slid two new drinks toward them on flimsy corkboard coasters. Some of Morgan’s slopped out of the mug and onto the counter.

“You’re a gym teacher?” she asked, struggling to peel her attention away from the spill. She should wipe it up, or if she had a straw, she could suck half of it up and deposit it on the other side of her coaster; then they would at least be symmetrical. But that would lead to questions. It would be easier to just eradicate the spill altogether. Her gaze found the bartender, a grungy towel tucked in his jeans pocket as he stood with his back turned to them, arms crossed and neck craned to stare up at the basketball game on TV.

“Private equity,” Bennett translated. “I’m the CEO of Reynolds Capital, my dad’s business. Our main office is in the Loop, down in Chicago, but I’ve got an investment property in the area.”

“Which one?”

“You know the old Burcowicz’s Furniture Store on Sixth Street?”

Morgan nodded. She knew the one. It had been vacant for years. She always thought it would be cool to wander inside and photograph all that abandoned furniture. Cobwebs on chandeliers. A blanket of dust on a tufted chaise lounge. “What’s it gonna be, a bank?” she asked.

The reluctant smile that spread across his face told her she’d hit the nail on the head. “How’d you know?”

She took another sip of her drink. “Because that’s the irony of Black Harbor. There’s a bank every square mile despite the fact that no one has any money.” She paused. “Well, present company excluded, I guess.”

Bennett laughed and she felt his knee press into hers again.

She didn’t lean away. “So, CEO, huh? You must have stepped in after…” She caught herself. Bennett would have only been about thirteen at the time of his father’s disappearance. Too young to run a company.