He shifts, fixing me with an expression I suppose is meant to be stern. “I thought we’d formed a truce of sorts last night. No flirting.”

“Oh, honey, flirting is like breathing. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

A speculative gleam enters his gaze. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Hell if I know. I thought you society girls were demure.”

“They threw me out, remember?”

“I can’t hazard a guess why.”

I sigh. “Fine, let me put you out of your misery. I can practically feel your embarrassment from here.” I walk toward the shore, waiting for him to do the gentlemanly thing and turn around.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his gaze rakes me over from head to toe, the damp fabric of the chemise clinging to my legs, a few wet spots where the sea splashed against my torso. Now that I’m no longer in the ocean, my decision to go swimming seems foolish, a hint of salt sticking to my clothes.

I stop, and Sam bends down, picking up my dress and handing it to me wordlessly.

There’s a moment when our skin brushes as he gives me the dress, his hand twitching, and I regain control of the situation, but it’s swept away by the curve of his lips, the sardonic smile affixed on his face.

“You’re going to be wet and miserable all day.”

“In this heat? I’ll be dry in ten minutes.”

I slip the dress over my head, the rough cotton dragging over my skin causing goose bumps to rise. When my dress is righted, the buttons down the front redone, I meet his gaze once more.

“Are you ready?”

Sam leans forward. His lips graze my ear. “You missed a button.”

I glance down, and sure enough, midway down my cleavage a button hole gapes open. I refasten it, and by the time I’ve finished and glance up, Sam’s back is already to me as he moves away, leaving me little choice but to follow him.

We walk up to the inn’s parking lot, to his car, and Sam opens the door for me as I slide into the passenger seat.

Once he’s seated beside me, the key poised in the ignition, I can’t help myself—

“I’m to be married,” I blurt out.

I’ve no idea why I say it, only that it seems like it needs to be said.

Sam doesn’t respond.

“Let me guess, you pity the man who would be saddled with me?”

He turns the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life. “I didn’t say that. And I don’t think it.”

“Then what do you think?”

“That he’s lucky bastard,” he says, shocking me. His lips quirk. “And I hope he’s ready for a bit of trouble. More than a bit,” he amends.

“You think I’m trouble?”

“You know it. And unless I miss my guess, you like it.”

Maybe I do.

“You must love him a great deal to agree to be tied down,” Sam muses. “I wouldn’t have thought you wanted that. You seem like you’re searching for freedom more than anything.”

Now it’s my turn to be silent, his words hitting uncomfortably close to the truth. And at the same time, there is a loneliness to being wholly on your own that I didn’t anticipate. Perhaps I wish to find the person with whom I can be free.

Eleven

Helen

I wake the next morning before the sun is up, fixing Tom his breakfast before he goes out fishing. It hardly seems like a day to be on the water, a storm threatening, but after last night’s argument, I know better than to further provoke him—the bruises on my wrist are reminders enough of the consequence of his temper.

After Tom is gone, I set the cottage to rights, scrubbing the spilled bourbon from the floor with salt water, straightening pieces of furniture knocked askew. I’m more tired than usual by the time I walk the two miles to Ruby’s Café, a persistent drizzle and a gray sky my companions along the way.

Despite the weather and the early hour, business is steady throughout the morning. Every so often, the door opens and a man lumbers in, and I tense.

Did Tom decide to check on me after all?

“Thought the weather might put them off,” Ruby comments as I set down my tray with a wince. “They keep coming, though. It’s shaping out to be a busy weekend. Must be that special Labor Day fare the railroad’s running.”

“Must be,” I murmur, barely resisting the urge to lift my hair off my nape and fan myself. Between the pressure from the baby and the heat, the dizziness worsens with each passing hour. I wore a long-sleeved blouse and skirt today in an effort to hide the bruises, but at the moment, I’d almost rather face the prying stares than suffer another minute.

“You look terrible,” Ruby comments.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” There’s no point in hiding it. My skin is even paler than normal, dark circles under my eyes.

Sympathy threads through her voice. “It’s hard toward the end. I remember those days and don’t envy you them.”

The front door to the café opens, and I jerk—

A couple walks in, smiles on their faces, their cheeks pink from too much sun, eyes bleary from lack of sleep.

Tourists.

“You seem jumpy today. You expecting somebody?” Ruby asks.

“I—”

The door opens again, and this time I don’t have to turn to the entrance to know who it is. Ruby’s appraising smile and the slight curve of her lips settles the matter for me.

“Busy day for key lime pie,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes.

My mouth is suddenly dry, words stuck in my throat. I take a deep breath and head over to John’s table.

* * *

—

I’m waylaid twice before I get there—once with a request for more coffee and the second time because one of my tables’ food orders is ready. By the time I make my way to John, my wrist is smarting again from carrying the heavy tray laden with food, a faint trail of sweat on my brow.

John is dressed in a clean white shirt and a pair of dark pants, his appearance a marked change from what I’m used to. This morning he looks like he could be sitting in a church pew listening to a Sunday sermon.

It must be lonely living alone in the camps. He appears older than me, but he’s still young enough that he might want to have a family someday. Does he have a woman down here? Did he leave a sweetheart back home?