The bedroom was small but well-appointed.

Bed. Dresser. Desk. Twin bookcases, aligned side-by-side. Everything in dark mahogany, the pieces matching and clearly brand-new. Kit must’ve crushed a Pottery Barn catalog.

No complaints, though. It all looked nice. A boy’s effort at building a girl’s room, yes, but he got an A for effort. Then I spotted a lilac duvet and lacy tangerine throw pillows, and knew Whitney’s hand had been present as well.

I stuck my head into the closet. Not huge, but plenty big enough for the contents of my two suitcases. I wasn’t a clotheshorse or anything, plus Mom and I never had the funds to bloat our wardrobes.

The bathroom, however, was a pleasant surprise. Two sinks, a stand-alone shower, and, yes, a soaking tub. I debated jumping into it right then, but held off. I didn’t know what Kit and Whitney had planned, and the last thing this day needed was a bathroom-walk-in disaster.

There was a daybed beneath the bay window. I hopped onto it and gazed out at the smooth, glasslike ocean below. Kit had it right—the landscape was amazing. Soothing. I’d never had a view like that in Massachusetts. As I watched, a pod of dolphins breached the surface, firing seawater high into the air. I said a silent thank-you for Kit’s generosity.

Spotting an outlet, I plugged in my phone to charge. Then I leaned back against the wall, staring down at the deep blue sea.

So. Here I am.

The morning had been strange, no question. I thought about Kit and decided there was potential there. While essentially clueless, he didn’t seem overbearing, or thickheaded, or mean. In fact, he seemed relieved at the idea of treating each other as equals. I could work with that.

Whitney, though.

She was going to be a problem.

Unbidden, comparisons to my mother paraded through my head. Mom had always been able to read my moods instinctively. Defused tension with ease. She’d had a gift for dialing down my type-A personality and getting me to relax. Basically the exact opposite of the bombastic blonde bombshell lurking downstairs.

Even when Mom skipped me up a grade level—something I’d complained bitterly about upon reaching high school; who wants to be youngest by a full year?—she’d been able to calmly explain her reasoning in a way I’d accepted.

But Whitney? She’d gotten everything wrong within seconds. It was almost impressive.

How often was she going to be there? Did she run Kit as completely as it seemed?

I saw my face in the windowpane. The curdled twist to my lips.

“Blargh,” I whispered. My reflection nodded back grimly in response.

With a sigh, I rose and walked to the bathroom. Splashed cold water on my face. A glance at my iPhone told me it was only 10:15. Day One of my new life was dragging like a dredge.

What now? Do I hide up here? Take a nap?

Can it last four years?

I wished I had my suitcases. More specifically, the books crammed inside. I could read up here in safety, then maybe take a nap. But going down to ask for them might result in more unwanted bear hugs. Better not risk it.

My eyes drifted back to the window. The empty beach.

How far does it go?

A knock on the door made me jump.

“Tory?” Kit called, his voice slightly breathless.

“Yes?” Praying there wasn’t a painful getting-to-know-you activity in the offing.

“I have your things.” I heard him grunt, then the sound of shifting feet. “I don’t want to disturb you, but these bags are pretty heavy. Not sure what you packed . . .” There was a thump as one of my suitcases hit the floor. “I can leave them out here for now, but I don’t want you to have to lug them in there yourself.”

Decision made.

I opened the door wide. “No problem. Come in.”

Kit lurched forward and dropped both cases at the foot of the bed. Then he flexed his fingers, red-faced and sweaty. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Three flights of stairs. Should’ve made two trips.”

I stifled a laugh. He was trying so hard.

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “Thanks for bringing my stuff up. I was actually thinking about going for a run on the beach, if that’s okay?”

“What? Yes! Great!” Kit tripped over his own words in encouragement. “That’s a wonderful idea. Morris Island is about four miles all the way around. Stick to the beach until you hit Cummings Point to the north, cut straight across the sandhills to Schooner Creek, then work your way back. You’ll see Charleston Harbor, Fort Sumter, lots of stuff.”

Cummings Point. Schooner Creek. Fort Sumter. The names meant nothing to me, but I nodded politely. “Will I get lost?”

Kit chuckled. “Doubtful. There’s nothing else on the island. If you lose your bearings, just head south and look for the Morris Island Lighthouse. You can see our place from there.”

“Lighthouse. Got it.”

Kit smiled, lingering in the doorway, clearly pleased to have been useful.

“Thank you,” I said, waiting patiently.

“You’re very welcome.” Still not moving.

Finally, “Could I have a minute alone? To change clothes?”

Kit jumped as if slapped. “Yes! Of course! So sorry.” He banged into the doorframe in haste to escape, then growled curses while retreating down the hallway.

I closed the door behind him.

This time, I couldn’t help but bark a laugh.

Apparently my father was one of the Three Stooges.

I dug out my running gear and changed quickly. I’d always enjoyed the activity, though not usually in November. Never liked freezing my butt off.

Not here, though. Score one for the Lowcountry.

I pulled my long red hair into a ponytail. Checked myself in a mirror. I’m not vain, but I don’t like looking shabby, either. You never know who you might run into.

Green eyes stared back at me, unconsciously tallying my freckles with distaste. I was self-aware enough to know I wasn’t bad-looking, but we all have things we’d change. My spots were a longstanding pet peeve.

I look like Mom, though. I don’t want that to change.

Blindsided. Every time.

My lips trembled. I was racked by a sudden wave of sorrow. Angrily, I fought it back. Slammed a lid on the emotional cauldron still seething inside me, just below the surface.

Not. Today.

I stared at the floor until my breathing slowed and the pain retreated to its regular place in the corner of my mind. Finally, secure that my eyes were dry—and that my clothing covered all the necessary places—I nodded to my reflection like we were soldiers embarking on a dangerous mission. Which seemed about right.

Kit and Whitney were huddled in the living room, pretending to be doing other things. Both popped to their feet as I hit the bottom step.

“Have a good run,” Kit said cheerfully. “Nice day for it.”

“Are you sure you want to travel the island alone?” Whitney’s eyes were tight with worry. “I could go with you, though I don’t like to run. Or Kit could follow you on his bicycle.”

Both prospects horrified me.

“I’ll be okay.” As politely as possible. “I run all the time, don’t worry. And there’s no one else out here anyway, right?”

Whitney nodded, but her pinched expression didn’t change. “If you see a coyote, turn and run home as fast as you can. Yell out and we’ll come quickly.”

I nodded, though I was pretty sure she’d given me terrible wildlife advice. Then I slipped out the door and down the steps.

Outside, bracing salt air enveloped me like a glove. Sunlight bounced off the surface of the ocean, making my eyes water. Was it always so calm here? Up on the Cape, the sea tossed and turned like an insomniac, smashing anything within its grip. These placid waves made zero sense to me.

I was halfway across the lawn when the sprinklers activated, forcing me to scamper down to the beach below. Not the most dignified start to my run. But the idyllic setting soon wiped the irritation from my mind. Brushing fat drops from my sleeves, I did a slow 360, surveying the expanse of water, sand, and dunes surrounding me. The place really was beautiful. I could get used to all the fresh air. The acres of open space.

Wish I had a dog.

Nature’s symphony was playing all around me. Singing insects. Crying gulls. The steady sigh of waves tumbling to shore, then running over wet sand. Not a single man-made noise disturbed the peace, something I wasn’t used to.

Like a dream.

I headed north along the coast as Kit had suggested, falling into a comfortable rhythm. With my muscles working, my mind went pleasantly blank. A warm glow spread through me as I stuck close to the shoreline, jogging just above the high-water mark. The land rose and fell around me, often keeping the next stretch of beach out of sight. I was enjoying the surprise of not knowing what came next.

I could do this every day.

Then I heard voices. My spirits sank.

I thought no one was out here.

I slowed, then stopped, my view ahead blocked by a clump of jagged sand dunes. Though I couldn’t make out any words, I could tell an argument was taking place. Frowning, I gazed inland, searching for a way around. But here the dunes reared high overhead and were covered in tough, thorny vines.

That scrub grass is probably loaded with pricker balls. No thanks.

I wasn’t ready to turn back, but didn’t want to see anyone else, either. Conflicted, I elected to sneak forward and peer around the dune. What I saw shocked me.

Three boys were huddled beside a tide pool, arguing about something at their feet. The closest was heavyset, wearing a red-and-blue Hawaiian shirt and clashing orange board shorts. As I watched—okay, spied—he began pawing his wavy brown hair, speaking animatedly to the other two. “We have to do something! I’m not letting Donatello die on my watch. I’m no karma scientist, but I know that’d be bad!”

The boy next to him—a short, skinny black kid with thick glasses—shook his head vigorously. He wore a white polo and pleated navy shorts. “Don’t touch it!” he insisted, tugging an earlobe for some reason. “Those things might look cute, but they’ve got teeth.”

Across from them, a third boy was glowering at the sand. Bigger than his companions, with shoulder-length black hair and a deep, dark tan. He had jeans on despite the heat, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Hey now.

I crept a few feet closer. They didn’t notice. Weren’t looking anywhere beyond the tide pool at their feet.

What’s going on?

“It might be too dry.” Long Hair frowned, tapping a fist against his chin. “Can they just lie in the open like this?”

“I have a bucket!” Hawaiian Shirt pointed to a trio of backpacks at the top of the beach. He took three running steps toward the pile. “We’ll douse it with seawater!”

“Wait!” Glasses’s hands flew up. “We don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if it can’t breathe?”

“It lives in the freaking ocean!” Hawaiian Shirt shot back. “How could seawater hurt it?” But he froze, unsure what to do.

“Forget the bucket.” Long Hair squatted beside something at the edge of the pool. “The tide’s coming in anyway. Just help me lift. We’ll push it back out to sea.”

With Hawaiian Shirt out of the way, I caught a glimpse of what they were discussing.

My heart leapt into my throat.

“STOP!” I shouted.

All three jumped at once, their heads whipping toward me in surprise.

Without a second thought, I catapulted forward.