“Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Dad?” Daisy asked, her pen poised over the signature line on her letter to Logan O’Donnell.
Greg felt the churchlike hush of the bank pressing in on him. The antique gothic building’s soaring ceilings and marble floors provided a cool refuge from the summer heat, but Greg was sweating from nerves. That, and the suit he was wearing. It just seemed right to wear a suit for the occasion. Daisy had written a letter informing O’Donnell that he was the biological father of her child. She would agree to a DNA test if he requested it. She absolved him of all legal and financial obligation, hoping to avert a custody battle down the road. The kid would be an idiot not to agree to Daisy’s terms, which basically let him off scot-free. Of course, he’d already proven he was an idiot, so Greg wasn’t sure how O’Donnell would react when he got the news from Daisy.
Greg glanced around, not sure what he was looking for—a sign? Someone to advise him? He wasn’t likely to find that here. Shane Gilmore, the bank president, was on his phone in a glass-walled cubicle. Brooke Harlow, the asset manager, was away from her desk. Across the counter, the notary waited, her mouth forming a prune of disapproval as she scanned the letter and filled out a form. She had hair of blue steel and the kind of holier-than-thou judgmental air Greg had come to despise. He was sick of strangers who looked at Daisy and thought the worst.
“Let’s have a seat,” he said, guiding her away from the counter. The damned notary could wait until hell froze over, as far as Greg was concerned. Sophie had advised them to notarize the letter and send it by courier, signature required. Daisy sat down on a lobby bench, the papers in her lap.
Greg considered what Nina had told him about her own experience with the father of her child. A young man—even a careless, hormone-driven boy—had to at least be given the information that he’d fathered a child. Nina claimed she had never regretted the way she’d handled Sonnet’s father, not telling him until he’d graduated from West Point and gotten engaged to another woman. It was, Greg realized, consistent with Nina’s independent nature—a way to insure her role as sole parent to her daughter. Did Daisy want to go it alone? The agony of indecision on her face indicated that she wasn’t sure.
She fiddled with the pen. “Mom said it’s my call and no one else’s.”
So she and Sophie had been communicating, he reflected. That, at least, showed a bit of progress. “Your mom’s right.”
“What, did you guys, like, talk about it?”
He nodded, perversely pleased that he and Sophie were on the same page for once. They got along fairly well, now that they were an ocean apart and rarely spoke.
They weren’t exactly the perfect role models for Daisy’s situation, either. As young parents with an unplanned child, they’d done their best, and that had been good enough for a long time, but not forever. When Sophie had presented him with his newborn daughter, he’d felt a love so intense it bled into his feelings for Sophie. Within mere moments, he’d convinced himself—and Sophie—that the marriage was meant to be. They believed they were doing the right thing for the sake of their child.
“Your mom and I both want you to make your own decision,” he said.
“So if I blow it, I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”
“Daisy—”
“I get that, Dad. Believe me, I do.” And with that, something seemed to spur her to action. She marched over to the notary, signed each copy of the form and pushed it across the counter to the steel-haired woman.
Give her hell, Greg thought. His daughter’s implacable pride was evident in her posture and the set of her chin as she slid the papers into a long, legal-size envelope.
“Greg.” Brooke Harlow came out of the back office, a polite smile on her face. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Same here,” he said, briefly taking her hand. He hadn’t seen her since their not-quite-a-date on the lake, but he hadn’t forgotten how attractive she was. Her every hair was slicked into place, and she wore a straight skirt and high heels that showed off her legs. Greg suffered an untimely reminder of how long it had been since he’d gotten laid. Lately it seemed everywhere he turned, he encountered women—smiling, helpful, attractive women. He spotted them in line at the post office, browsing the aisles of the hardware store, using the pumps at the gas station, haunting his dreams. They’d always been there, of course, but deprivation had made him more keenly aware of them. He wondered if they could tell.
“I guess you’ve been busy,” Brooke said, her tone open-ended. She gave him an unmistakable once-over, focusing on the hand-tailored Brooks Brothers suit he was wearing.
Her manner surprised him. He’d actually written her off based on that first disastrous date. Now she seemed to be telegraphing ask-me-out signals.
“I’ve been plenty busy, but a guy’s got to eat,” he said. “Maybe we could go to dinner sometime.”
Her face lit up, her eyes bright with a “mission accomplished” expression. “That sounds—”
“All set, Daddy-O.” Daisy joined them, preceded by her conspicuously big abdomen. “Hi,” she said, checking out Brooke with just a hint of wariness in her eyes. She claimed it was fine with her if Greg wanted to date, but she had definite opinions about the women he picked. Long-haired bankers in spike heels didn’t impress her the way they did Greg.
He introduced them, and Daisy said, “Hello, Ms. Harlow. I was just getting something notarized.” She patted the thick envelope and smiled, clearly aware of the effect she was having on Brooke.
Brooke’s expression was almost comical. Hell, it was comical. Greg could see the surprise chasing across her prom-queen features, though she managed to paste on a smile.
Greg didn’t say anything. He surveyed the bank lobby and acted as though he didn’t feel anyone’s scrutiny. He felt it, though, seeping through the layers of his suit like the summer heat. In a town like this, no one got to be anonymous. It was impossible to have secrets. For long, anyway. Within hours, it would be put out there that Daisy Bellamy’s situation had come as a shock to the bank’s new asset manager.
Brooke cleared her throat. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said to Daisy. Then she turned to Greg with an apologetic smile. “I’d better get back to work. It’s good to see you, Greg. Good luck with the new property.”
She walked briskly to her office, high heels clicking decisively on the marble floor. Greg watched her go with a twinge of regret.
“I guess I caught her off guard.” Daisy offered him a rueful smile. “People don’t look at you and automatically think, ‘Grandpa.’”
“Yeah, if they did that, I’d shoot myself,” he admitted. “I was just in the process of asking her to dinner.” He held the door for Daisy and they stepped out into the bright summer day.
“Sorry, Dad.” An awkward silence pulsed between them. This was surely a new family dynamic—the grown daughter coming to realize her father wanted to date. “I’ll wait out here while you go back and talk to her.”
“No, it’s fine. I changed my mind.” That was true. The moment he’d seen the way she looked at Daisy, Brooke had lost all her appeal—high heels or no. And honestly, he could understand Brooke’s reluctance. She was barely thirty. The idea of dating a man with kids wasn’t so outrageous. But the idea of dating a man about to become a grandfather was a bit much for a woman Brooke’s age.
Damn. He shouldn’t be thinking about dating at all. He had kids to raise and a business to launch and he ought to know better.
Heat blazed up from the sidewalk, and he hastened to peel off his suitcoat and tie. Had he really dressed for work this way every day in the city?
“I mean it, Dad,” Daisy said as they headed for the car. “I don’t want women to run the other way just because of me.”
“If they run the other way because of you, I wouldn’t want to date them in the first place,” he insisted, starting the car and blasting the air conditioner.
“Great, you just eliminated about ninety percent of the female population.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Because of me, not you,” she said. “I do want you to find someone, Dad. Just not…a clone of Mom.”
“Is that what Brooke is, a clone of Mom?”
“Dad. She looks like Mom’s younger sister.”
“Your mother doesn’t have a sister.”
“But if she did, she’d look like that bank teller.”
“Asset manager.”
“See? That’s very Mom-like. Why settle for bank teller when you can be asset manager?”
She knew him and Sophie better than he thought. But then, she’d had a ringside seat, watching her parents as she grew up. He noticed she had slid the envelope under the seat. “Do you want to mail that?”
“I’ll, um, take care of it myself later.”
He didn’t push. It was a big step, and he wanted her to take all the time she needed. Like her mother had. The thought chilled him. Sophie had certainly taken her time, waiting until after Daisy was born to bring Greg into the loop. Would anything have been different—for him and Sophie, for Daisy—if he’d been with her from the start?
He loosened his collar, and they headed to the printer’s to pick up proofs of the inn’s new brochures. The artwork and layout evoked another place in time—a simpler, romantic era when the most pressing item on the agenda might be a tee time at Avalon Meadows. There were shots of Willow Lake in full summer glory, a mirror to the blue sky, surrounded by rising layers of woods and mountains. There were catchphrases—“escape and find yourself,” “relax, renew, reconnect”—and an earnest promise that guests of the inn would enjoy the best in service and comfort. Daisy’s photography highlighted every page, and the graphic designer praised her work.
“Where did you study?” she asked.
“High-school photography class,” Daisy said. “But mostly, I’m self-taught.”
“Do you do freelance work?”
Greg stepped back, letting Daisy and the graphic designer talk and exchange cards. When she’d visited earlier in the summer, Sophie had given Daisy a box of printed business cards. This was something Greg never would have thought of, but now he was glad Sophie had.
As they drove away from the printer’s, he said, “I’m proud of you, Daze. I like it when other people see your talent.”
“I have a lot to learn when it comes to photography,” she said.
Greg waited. He sensed she was leading up to something.
“I wasn’t real keen on college, but now I’m thinking I should take some classes. In fact, if I moved to New Paltz, I could go to the state college there.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, dismissing the idea. “New Paltz is miles away.”
“I know where it is, Dad, and no offense, but I’ll go where I want.”
He crushed his back teeth together to keep from replying. Then he couldn’t help himself. “I thought we agreed you’re staying at home.”
“You agreed, Dad. I said I’d see.”
He clenched his jaw again, and this time, it stuck. He ought to know better than to get sucked into an argument with her. She was staying with him, period. She really didn’t have any other options, though he wasn’t going to hurt her feelings by pointing that out. She needed his support.
Hell, who was he kidding? His daughter was eighteen. She had a trust fund—all the Bellamy grandchildren did. He was scared shitless that she’d leave, go somewhere he couldn’t protect her. Nina had warned him about this. No, not warned him. But she had definitely seen it coming. So she was either eerily tapped in to Daisy’s mindset, or maybe the two of them had been talking. Greg dismissed the idea. No way would Nina do that, put ideas about leaving home into Daisy’s head.
She angled the A/C vent toward her face. “There are a lot of things I want to do. I’ll just have to find a way to make it work, you know, with the baby.”
He never knew what to say when she spoke of the baby in such concrete terms. To Greg, it was still an abstraction; the idea hadn’t quite sunk in that, yes, he was going to be someone’s grandfather this summer. Discomfited, he found a radio station they both liked and turned up the volume.
“I’m starved,” Daisy said after a while. To Greg’s relief, she seemed oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s time to meet Nina, anyway,” she added.
Greg resisted the urge to accelerate. It was a business meeting, he reminded himself. Yet he couldn’t deny that doing business with Nina was a pleasure. Somehow, he had known that would be the case. It was funny. Though he barely knew her at all, he sometimes felt he knew her better than most of the people in his life.
Today they’d chosen to meet at the Sky River Bakery. Nina was there already. She had commandeered an outdoor seat at an enameled steel café table shaded by a broad-brimmed umbrella. She spied them and motioned them over. Greg noticed that Daisy was carrying the envelope from the bank with her, as though she didn’t want to leave it in the car.
Connor Davis sat with Nina, both of them bent over his contractor’s book, deep in discussion. She and Connor both offered him a brief greeting and scooted their chairs to make room.
As he took a seat next to her, Greg caught her scent—a mingling of sunscreen, shampoo and the glazed donut she was eating. He felt a now-familiar jolt of attraction, strong enough to drive away the echo of Brooke Harlow’s high heels. Which was interesting, since Nina seemed to favor shorts and flip-flops, short hair and no makeup. She wasn’t his type at all, he reminded himself. Except…damn…she was.
“Dad.” Daisy nudged his shoulder. “Dad. I said, the usual? I’m going inside.”
“Sure. That’d be great,” he said. He didn’t realize he had a “usual.”
As Daisy went in, she passed Olivia, who brought out a pitcher of ice water and some glasses. At her heels trotted the ever-present Barkis. “Hey, Greg. Don’t you look spiffy.” She sat down next to Connor and hugged his arm. “After we’re married, maybe Greg will take you shopping.”
Connor laughed. “What, I’m not spiffy enough for you?”
“Sure you are. But there’s something about a guy in a really good suit…”
Nina studied Greg, seeming to notice his clothes for the first time. “What’s the occasion?”
“Daisy and I had a meeting.” He didn’t elaborate, conscious of protecting Daisy’s privacy. He got the feeling the bank wasn’t Nina’s favorite place these days, though she’d never told him why.
“Nina, did you get your invitation?” Olivia asked her.
Greg glanced at Connor, who spread his hands. “What can I say? It’s all wedding, all the time.”
Nina and Olivia ignored them. “I did, thanks,” Nina said. “It was so nice of you to include me and Sonnet. You didn’t have to, though.”
“Nonsense. You’re my sister’s best friend. I hope you’re planning to come. I’d love it if you and your daughter would share the day.”
Nina seemed uncharacteristically awkward, her gaze shifting and her cheeks coloring up. Watching her, it struck Greg that this woman possessed facets he was finding one by one. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be privy to them. Maybe he shouldn’t want to be—but he did.
Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, she smiled at Olivia. “Thank you. I’ll send in my RSVP right away.”
“Mission accomplished,” Connor said, seizing the slightest pause in the conversation. He handed Greg a work binder filled with permits. “Everything should be in order. The crew will be done by the end of the week.”
“We need to go look at wedding cake designs.” Olivia grabbed her fiancé’s hand and pulled him toward the bakery. “And don’t give me that look of desperation. Come on, Barkis.” She patted her thigh.
After they’d gone, Nina explained her strategy for getting more media coverage for the inn. Even though it was fully booked for opening weekend, they both knew promotion was an uphill battle. She showed him the list of places she wanted to send the press kits. She had targeted a range of media, from small, local outlets to the New York Times.
As he listened to her pitch, Greg felt the warmth of the summer sun on his back and watched her nibble at her donut. She ate methodically, in tiny bites around the periphery.
“What’s that smile?” she asked, eyeing him across the table.
“I just flashed on the way business meetings used to go for me in the city. Baked goods were not involved. Just a lot of caffeine and testosterone.”
“Sounds like you don’t miss it.”
“Nope. Can’t believe I put up with it all those years.”
“So why did you?”
“That’s a good question. I wish I’d asked myself that fifteen years ago. I felt…driven,” he admitted. “Nobody was forcing me to compete that hard, but it was the sort of thing guys in my position did.” It seemed bogus, now that he looked back. There was just something in the air in the city—a keen sense of competition, an urgency. He felt responsible for producing a big income, too, what with the kids, a mortgage and Sophie just starting her law career.
Then a stark realization struck him. Those were all rationalizations. The real reason he’d worked so hard, spending so many long hours at the firm, never slowing down to take a breather—the reason for all that was his own unhappiness. Not that he knew at the time, of course. The competition and chaos of work kept a thick barrier around the truth. But he could see it now, clearly. If he kept busy enough, he didn’t have to think about the fact that things were strained with Sophie, that a subtle, simmering discontent flowed deep beneath the surface, so deep that it was possible to overlook, provided he kept himself preoccupied.
“Here you go, Dad.” Daisy returned with a cheese kolache and a glass of lemonade.
“Thanks.”
Daisy studied her fingernails, which were painted a deep red-black. Greg found that he disliked the color intensely.
“Great nail polish,” Nina said. “What’s the name of that color?”
“Dark ruby, I think. If you ever need to borrow it, let me know.”
Nina smiled. “Thanks, I might take you up on that.”
Girl talk, Greg realized. For the first time, it occurred to him that Daisy had been without it for quite some time.
Acting almost shy, she put the envelope on the table. “So this is it,” she said to Nina. “It’s the letter for Logan.”
Greg was startled to hear her bring it up with Nina. Clearly, the two of them had discussed it already. So much for Daisy’s privacy.
Nina glanced from Daisy to Greg and back to Daisy. “How do you feel about it?”
“All right, I guess. Glad I got it over with. I have no idea how he’s going to react.”
Greg was torn between annoyance—this was a family affair, after all—and gratitude, since he figured he needed all the help he could get. Most of the time with Daisy, he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Sometimes he felt so alone that he panicked, so knowing Nina was in the loop calmed him. Nina herself had walked this path, and she seemed comfortable sharing her experience with Daisy.
“Anyway, thanks for hearing me out,” Daisy said. “Hey, Dad, can I take the car, and you get a ride back to the inn with Nina? I, uh, I kind of have a…well, not a date, exactly, but I asked Julian if I could get some shots of him at the Shawangunks.”
The rock-climbing mecca was legendary, and Julian Gastineaux had quickly become her favorite subject to photograph. For some reason, Greg felt an impulse to glance at Nina, to see what she would say to the request. Then he caught himself. “You’re not planning to climb any rocks.”
“Dad.”
“Okay, okay.” He dug in his pocket for the keys. “I don’t mind. Be back before dark.”
“Thanks, Dad. See you, Nina.”
After Daisy left, Greg looked across the table at Nina. “So you and she have been talking about…her situation.”
“We have. I hope you don’t think I’m meddling. Actually, I am meddling.”
“I noticed.”
“Only I prefer to think of it as being a good friend, a confidante. Not a meddler—that’s someone with a malicious intent. Daisy knows I can relate to her situation, which is why I think she trusts me.”
He stared down at his hands for a moment. “So when you told Sonnet’s father…”
“Awkward,” she said. “Discovering the existence of Sonnet had to be a blow to Laurence. He built his life with military strategy, and he was masterful at it, creating a big future for himself. His marriage to Angela Hancock might have been a love match, but it was strategic as well. They became the perfect D.C. power couple—young, brilliant, educated, African-American, dedicated to serving their country. Their girls are perfect, too—private school, every advantage. He goes up a notch every year, it seems. The sky’s the limit. Although there’s that one little blooper from his past.”
“Sonnet.”
“Yes. I figured he’d run the other way once I told him about her. But to his credit, he didn’t do that. After I told him, he paid child support, and he sent me a letter to give her when I thought she was old enough to understand. He said I could read it first, and I did, to make sure it wouldn’t upset her. When Sonnet was eight years old, I gave her the letter. She disappeared into her room with it and came out an hour later asking if she could make a long-distance phone call. Ever since, he’s been open with her and involved in a marginal level in her life. One thing he did—something I never asked for—was start a fund for her education. He did it right away, from the first moment he knew about her.”
“So telling him was the right thing to do.”
“For Sonnet. And this boy Daisy was with—maybe he’ll step up, but even if he doesn’t, she’ll be all right.”
“I know,” he said, letting go of his irritation. “And I know the future’s going to be hard as hell for her, so having people she can talk to helps. Dammit.” He raked a hand through his hair, telling himself to quit babbling. “There are just so many ways to screw this up. Damn. It’s…we do it again and again in an endless stream. You’d think we’d learn, or at least keep our kids from messing up.”
“That’s not the way it works, and you know it.”
“I do know. I’ll try to take it easier.” He found that he was able to do that around her. Simply sitting here in the sun, feeling the breeze and looking across the table at her filled him with a curious sense of calm pleasure. All right, he thought, studying the way she sipped her iced tea and the shadow of one dark curl, forming a comma on her forehead. Ask her. He’d been thinking about it for days—what it would be like to go out with her. To do something with her that wasn’t business-related for once. He’d lain awake night after night, mulling over his options, and finally, last night, a bone-deep sense of loneliness had driven him from his bed. He’d slipped out into the summer night, the warm air busy with crickets and frogs. He looked across the compound and spied a light on in the boathouse. The idea that Nina was up, too, had been instantly compelling. Here was this girl he’d known for years, and finally their lives were intersecting. Why the hell not? he thought.
He straightened up in his seat, cleared his throat. “So I was wondering—”
“Yes?” She leaned forward, watching him with a peculiar intensity. Her response had come quickly, almost as if she’d been expecting the question. She seemed to realize she’d jumped the gun, and laughed a little. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“I thought you and I—”
“Yo, Romano. I was hoping I’d run into you here.” A big guy in jeans and work boots came over to the table.
She beamed up at him. “Hey, Nils. This is Greg Bellamy. He owns the Inn at Willow Lake. Greg—Nils Jensen, from the jewelry store.”
They shook hands, squaring off with their eyes. The guy didn’t look much like a jeweler. “Nice to meet you,” Greg lied.
“Likewise,” Nils lied back. He turned his focus to Nina. “So are we still on for tonight?”
“Definitely,” she said.
Still on? On for what? Greg told himself not to get bent out of shape. He hadn’t even asked her out. And Nina was his partner, not his girlfriend. Still, he disliked the proprietary way Jensen firmed up his plans for some kind of date with her, then departed with a Paul-Bunyon swagger.
She didn’t offer to fill in the blanks after Jensen left. Instead, she turned her attention back to her agenda. “Okay,” she said, “so I made a timeline of everything that needs to be done before we open. Here’s your copy.” She presented it to him with a flourish. “Oh, and did you get the boat lift fixed?”
“There’s a part that needs welding.” He grabbed the list and crammed it into his pocket without looking at it. “It’ll get it done.”
Seemingly oblivious to his irritation, she finished eating all the glaze off the donut and left its carcass. “Thanks. So…were you going to ask me something?”
Right, he thought. “What? No.”
“Oh. I thought, before Nils showed up, you were going to ask me something.”
“Totally forgot,” he said. “It must not have been important.”
“Must not,” she agreed. “You ready? I’m parked down the street.”
Nina’s car was like everything else about her—small, cheerful and cute. She drove a Fiat the color of a buttercup, with the radio set on his favorite station—coincidence, he told himself—and the backseat filled with the flotsam and jetsam of a busy person.
“You’ve got a mobile office back there,” he observed.
“I haven’t figured out a filing system yet.”
“Connor had some efficiency expert lay out the office at the inn,” Greg reminded her.
“It’s impossible to impose one person’s system on another.”
Greg didn’t argue. He suspected there was a deeper reason she hadn’t inhabited the office of the inn yet, but he forced himself to shake off his annoyance. Focus. It’s just business.
For some reason, Nina felt out of sync with Greg, and she wasn’t sure why. Before Nils had stopped by to remind her about bowling league, she’d had the feeling Greg was going to ask her something. Ask her out. Like, on a date.
No, probably not, she corrected herself. That was most likely just wishful thinking. And it was for the best, because if he’d asked her out, then she would have had to make a decision she didn’t want to face.
There were supposed to be boundaries in place, to create a distance between her business and personal life. Yet time and again, she was lured to the brink, and not just with Greg. She found herself drawn to his kids, too—soulful Max, and Daisy, who was at a vulnerable spot Nina could totally relate to. Had she stepped over the line, talking to Daisy? She didn’t know. Daisy talked to her and Nina listened. And, all right, she couldn’t help herself—she sometimes chimed in with an opinion or advice. It just came naturally to her.
She still felt out of sorts later when she and Greg went to work on the attic of the inn. This had been a work-in-progress for days. The attic was a labyrinthine repository of mostly junk that probably hadn’t been touched in decades. They’d been sorting through broken furniture, musty books, rusty tools, abandoned toys, spider-infested linens. The vast majority of items went straight to the dump, but every once in a while, they found a small treasure, like a white hobnail vase or a tole-painted tray.
Greg had changed from the gorgeous slacks and dress shirt he’d had on earlier. This was a good thing, she decided. In the obviously expensive hand-tailored clothes, he looked exotic and impossibly attractive. In his more ordinary cargo shorts and T-shirt, he looked…well, still attractive, but not scarily so. “Trash or treasure?” he asked her, holding up a moth-eaten lampshade.
“Trash,” she said. “The more we sort through, the more ruthless I’m getting about what to keep and what to toss.”
“Ditto,” he said, adding the item to the discard pile. “And this?”
“What is it?”
“Not sure.” He turned it over in his hands. “I think it might be a whetstone. It was in a crate with…hello.” He bent and emerged with a large, rusty blade, posing with arms akimbo. “Check it out.”
“Very Pirates of the Caribbean,” she observed.
“It’s a machete,” he said. “There’s an ax, too, and…whoa. I think I found the family arsenal.” Waving a flurry of dust out of his face, he lifted the top off another crate. “These are old black-powder shotguns and supplies. We’re definitely keeping these.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Nina.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He carefully placed the guns and machete back in their crates.
He didn’t seem to realize she was being facetious. She turned her attention to a box of books. The antique volumes would go nicely in the guest rooms and library, adding to the ambiance. She read their quaint titles aloud—“Dogs and All About Them, The Bedside Esquire, The Housekeeper’s Companion…ah, The Hygiene of Marriage. Fascinating.”
“That is not going in a guest room,” Greg said.
“We don’t want our guests’ marriages to be hygienic?”
“We don’t want them thinking about that,” he said.
An old photograph fell from the dog book. Undated, it appeared to be from the 1920s, judging by the people’s clothing. It showed what appeared to be a family and three Labrador retrievers. The people were stiffly posed, though the middle dog had moved its head, creating a blur in the middle of the photograph. The imperfection somehow humanized the picture. She handed it to Greg. “Look at that. Ghosts in the attic.”
He admired the picture and put it on the “keeper” pile. “Are you bothered by ghosts?”
“Not at all. Maybe hinting that the inn is haunted would be good for business. This place has a history, and I’m glad it’s not going to be turned into condos or something.” The words just came out of her. She ducked her head, abashed by the rush of sentiment.
“I would never do that,” he said.
She set aside the hygiene book. “If you don’t mind, I’ll save this for Sonnet. It’s good for a laugh.”
“I guess you miss her a lot,” he said.
“More than I ever expected.”
“You must be pretty proud of your daughter,” he said.
That wasn’t envy she heard in his voice, was it? “Are you kidding?” Nina said with a burst of honesty. “Every day, I wonder what I did to deserve that girl.” It was true. Like all kids, Sonnet had challenged Nina growing up, but at heart, she was a loving daughter with talent to spare—valedictorian of her class, a scholarship winner and now she was spending the summer in Europe. “I miss her so much, though,” she admitted.
“Ironic, huh? Yours left the nest and mine is getting ready to hatch.”
She paused, studied his face, filtered by the dusty light through a dormer window. “Scary.”
“Yeah.”
Nina felt a moment of connection with him, and wondered if it was just her. She suspected that if she pushed, just a little, she could find out. But did she want to? “I have a feeling they’re both going to be fine,” she said, letting the moment ease past, unacknowledged. “Absolutely fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” She felt a beat of nervousness, of hesitation. Not because of the way she was feeling about Greg, but about something else she needed to get out of the way. “Quick question for you. Suppose Sonnet pays a visit to The Hague.”
The Hague was in Holland, a two-hour train ride from Brussels. It was the seat of various world courts, including the International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court. It was also where Greg’s ex, Sophie, lived and worked.
He stacked the discarded books in an old crate. “And your question is…”
“I just wanted you to know. Daisy told Sonnet to call her mother when she hits town. Sonnet’s going to go and see her.”
“Sophie’s my ex, not a national monument. I hope Sonnet will do more than see her. I’m sure Sophie will show your daughter some incredible things. It’s a great idea for Sonnet to take advantage of that.”
“All right. I wanted to make sure you’re cool with it.”
“Not my call,” he said. “But for what it’s worth, I’m cool with it.” He carried the crate to the top of the stairs, setting it down hard enough to raise a cloud of dust.
Uh-huh, thought Nina.
He wiped his hands on his shorts. “And Sophie’ll show your daughter around better than a native, I guarantee it.”
“That’s good,” Nina said. “I felt a little funny, bringing it up.”
“It’s okay. Listen, I think I can level with you, since we’re friends.”
“Right. Friends.”
“Sophie and I were married for seventeen years. That’s a huge chunk of my life—there’s a whole history between us. I won’t lie and tell you it was one long span of unrelieved misery. We had good times, raised two kids.”
“I know. About the kids, that is. They’re great.” The good times, she’d have to take his word for.
“Sophie and I married under…difficult circumstances,” he added.
“I know,” she said again. Did he remember talking to her at his wedding reception, putting his fist through a wall?
“It wasn’t something we planned,” he went on. “It was something we did for Daisy, and it worked for a long time because we both tried so damned hard. Ultimately, Sophie and I grew apart. Neither of us noticed it happening at first, but we were focused on our careers and stopped paying enough attention to us.”
Nina felt a blush rise in her face. “And you’re telling me this because…?”
He laughed. “I have no idea. Sorry.”
His easy laughter and the unavoidable spike of attraction she felt toward him left her unsettled. “I need to get going,” she said, knowing she’d need to hurry through her shower if she was going to be ready on time.
“That’s right, you’re going out with—what’s his name?”
“Nils.” Nina was surprised by Greg’s sudden tenseness. “I don’t mean to ditch you, but—”
“Don’t worry about me. You gave me a list, remember?”
Her list of things to do. “Look, if you need me to stay—”
“I said, don’t worry.” He waved her away. “I’ll be fine.”