I did my best to keep my smile firmly in place. “Twenty-one.” Still a baby myself in so many ways. I’d had no idea what I was getting myself into. If it hadn’t been for the Shelter Island Child Alliance, I would’ve been up shit creek without a paddle. They helped me with parenting classes and a million other kinds of support.

Griffin let out a low whistle. “So young.”

“I was all they had left.”

“They’re lucky to have you.”

“They are.” I wasn’t the perfect guardian, but I also knew that no one would’ve tried harder than I did to give the children in their care a good life. I eyed the man in front of me. A faint scar bisected one eyebrow and his cheek, but somehow, it only added to his beauty, made it more real. “How’s the house coming along?”

Griffin blinked a few times as if surprised that I knew he was working on the massive farmhouse on the opposite end of the island. But everyone knew. There had long been hushed conversations about what a shame it was that the home had fallen into such disrepair. When Griffin returned to Anchor, everyone had expected him to hire a contractor to get the place in shape. Islanders had been shocked when word got around that Griffin was doing the work himself. No one else had set foot in the home since the first few months he was here.

Griffin twisted the work gloves in his hands. “There are a lot of things I love about this island. Everyone knowing your business isn’t one of them.”

“Is the fact that you’re restoring the farmhouse really a state secret?”

A muscle in Griffin’s jaw ticked. “It’s not that. I just…I like my privacy.”

It made sense. I vaguely remembered that various people had sold stories to the tabloids about Griffin and his family. Photos, too. His name had been splashed across headlines off and on for years. My voice grew quiet. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

The last thing I wanted was to push Griffin into something he was uncomfortable with. I understood better than most how people could be perversely interested in your pain, your tragedy. After I’d taken custody of my siblings, there had been lots of well-meaning visitors to Harriet’s estate. Those who offered support but really just wanted all the nitty-gritty details of what my parents had done. Harriet had finally started refusing to let anyone visit. But that didn’t stop them from approaching me in town. Worse, they didn’t even bother guarding their words around the kids.

A hand eased down onto my arm, the heat of it seeping through my long-sleeved shirt. “Are you okay?”

I gave my head a little shake. “Yeah. Sorry. Just…woolgathering, I guess.”