Butterflies kick up a storm in my stomach. “Not even the high heels?” I ask.

He takes a step back to look at my shoes. “I’d say ditch the heels. Or ditch the dress and keep the heels. One works, but not both.” I swat him on the arm and he laughs, then pulls me in for a hug. “Is it weird to say I missed you?” he says, holding me close.

If it were anyone else, it would be weird and it would scare me, but Ezra has always been like this, open, loving, and intense. I wouldn’t know him any other way.

“No,” I say softly, before stepping out of his embrace. “So, seriously. Are shoes needed where we’re going?”

He shakes his head. “No. I try to avoid those places at all costs. Just leave them on the dock, and let’s go.” I kick the shoes off, and he guides me toward the boat and takes my hand to help me in.

“This is a pretty serious boat,” I say, glancing around at the shovels and rakes hanging inside the covered steering-wheel area.

“It’s my work boat,” he explains as he starts the engine. “Not the fanciest mode of first-date transportation, I know. I mean, it’s no limousine.” He eases the boat away from the dock.

“Well, a limo wouldn’t do us much good out here on an island. And anyway, despite what you may think, I’m not a fancy-transportation kind of girl. A utility boat will do just fine.”

He smiles and pushes down on the throttle. The boat planes immediately and plows through the water steadily. I move out of the cab area and stand in the wind, my skirt blowing back behind me, the lake air filling my lungs. I’ve missed this place, this lake, this life, so badly that the pain of it still reverberates through my bones. We drive straight across the bay in the direction of Windset. Ezra slows the boat down as we get closer, and it’s clear that the old resort is our destination. Turning, I shoot him a look of confusion, but he just sends back a mischievous smile.

It’s even sadder to see the details of the decay up close. Boards are missing from the docks, the stone retaining wall has crumbled in places, the grass is high, the once immaculate white paint of the buildings is peeling or has fallen away in chunks.

Ezra passes right by the docks, raising the motor up and bringing the boat in to the sandy beach area. He cuts the engine, hops out, and ties the boat up to a light pole on the shore.

“I don’t trust that dock,” he says, coming back for me.

“Are we even allowed to be here?” I whisper.

“They’re a client of mine,” he mockingly whispers back. “They hired me years ago to keep an eye on the place. I come once a week to make sure there’s no vandalism or animals living in the buildings.” He holds out his hand and helps me step from the boat into the shallow water of the beach. “So technically I’m just doing my job.”