Laire leaned her elbows on the countertop at King Triton Seafood on Wednesday morning, staring out the front window and dreamily remembering every detail of last night with Erik.

He’d been back at the bar on Monday night during her shift, but after Sunday’s date, she felt a new closeness to him, a new intimacy with him that made her heart thrum with love every time she looked over and saw him. She refilled her water pitcher at the bar so many times, the bartender began to joke with her about the patrons floating away. He didn’t know she’d fill two or three glasses, dump the rest in the kitchen, then return to the bar to fill it again ten minutes later. Any excuse to lock eyes with Erik.

When he pulled her into his arms on Monday and Tuesday nights after work, they’d kissed hungrily, like their lips touching and tongues entwining was the only sustenance they craved and needed. Last night, holding her close on the dock in the dim moonlight, he’d told her again that he was falling in love with her and asked her for another date on Sunday.

Unfortunately, however, Laire had to say no.

She wasn’t working on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday brunch, though she’d picked up some hours on Sunday night to make up a bit of the loss. This weekend, she was attending Kyrstin’s rehearsal dinner, wedding, and wedding brunch. After Thursday night, she wouldn’t see Erik again until Sunday night at the earliest, and her heart ached at the thought. It seemed like an eternity.

“Laire, all good?” asked Uncle Fox, who peeked into the storefront from the back of the shop, where they had butcher and prep counters and freezers.

“Aye-up,” she answered, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Lookin’ forward to Kyrstin’s festivities this weekend, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, swiveling on the stool to face him.

Her uncle was only two years older than her father, though he’d worked a lifetime on fishing boats and it showed in the weathered creases on his face. His two sons—her cousins Roland and Harlan—were out working his boat today.

“First Issy. Then Kyrstin, Ro’s weddin’ is comin’ up in September.” He scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. “Just leaves you and Harlan outta the five Cornish cousins.”

She nodded. “Guess so.”

Her uncle cocked his head to the side. “What about, uh, Brodie Walsh for you, Laire? Preacher’s grandson. Nice boy, good family.”

Laire’s heart sped up, her cheeks flushing with heat. “I don’t know Brodie that well.”

“That so? Hmm. I think I mighta heard different on that count.”

Shit, fuck, and damn it. Her uncle knew. He knew what that snake Brodie Walsh had been saying. She could see it on his face.

“You heard wrong, Uncle Fox, and I will call out anyone who says I have an understanding with Brodie Walsh!”

He raised his eyebrows, an irritating grin hanging on the edges of his mouth. “Well, well. Lover’s spat, I guess.”

Lovers? Gyah! “Whatever Brodie says about me is a filthy lie!”

“Okay, okay, li’l Laire. Don’t get yourself in a snit, now. Ole Brodie’s prolly just tryin’ to win you over with a little—”

The bell over the door jingled, and her uncle stopped midsentence, his posture changing from relaxed to professional. His arms, which had been crossed over his chest, fell to his sides, and he cleared his throat, using his proper business voice when he asked, “Can we help you, sir?”

Swiveling back around on her stool, Laire gasped, her eyes widening, no doubt, to saucers, even as her heart leaped with sudden and unexpected delight . . .

Erik Rexford.

. . . and disbelief . . .

In my uncle’s goddamn fish shop.

. . . and terror . . .

What. The ever-loving. Hell?

“Laire, honey,” said her uncle cajolingly. “Can you help out this fine gentleman?” Her uncle stepped up to the counter beside her and nudged her with his elbow. “My niece ain’t used to tourists.”

Erik’s lips turned up just slightly as he looked from her uncle to her. “I’m not a tourist. I’m Erik Rexford. I live over in Buxton.”

“Huh,” grunted her uncle. “Rexford. Like the governor?”

“His son,” said Erik, keeping his eyes trained on her uncle. “Heard y’all have the best seafood in the Banks.”

“You hear that, li’l Laire? The best.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, barely daring to breathe as she searched Erik’s eyes, which were still fixed on Uncle Fox.

“You need some fresh catch, son?”

“I thought I’d pick some up. I was huggin’ the shore on my way back to Buxton from Ocracoke and saw your sign on the dock.”

She had no idea why he was here, and she was terrified of being found out, but seeing his handsome face and windblown hair still made her sigh with pleasure. Swallowing, she took an order form from under the cash register and tried to smile at him like she wasn’t about to have a heart attack.

“Can I take your order, um, sir?”

“What do you recommend?” he asked, his voice deep and warm, and God, but her whole body was reacting to seeing him so unexpectedly—her nipples tightening, her mouth watering. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to grab him by his navy blue Ralph Lauren collared shirt and drag his lips across the counter to hers.

“Well,” said her uncle, assuming he was speaking to him, “got some blues came in yesterday . . . sea trout—”

“Sea trout’s a spring catch,” said Erik, flicking a teasing glance to Laire. “How about mackerel? That should be more in season now, right? Young, but fresh?”

“I’ll be damned.” Uncle Fox nodded, obviously impressed. “A dingbatter what knows his fish.”

“Come again?”

Laire couldn’t contain a small grin and stared down at the counter, hoping to God her uncle wouldn’t catch her smiling at his expense.

“Just a li’l island speak,” said her uncle. “Sure. I’ve got some mackerel.”

“Actually,” said Erik, his eyes flitting to Laire’s for a moment. “I need somethin’ that’ll travel well.”

“How d’ya mean?” asked her uncle.

Erik looked at her again, his smile disappearing, before raising his glance over her shoulder to her uncle. “I’m headed up to Raleigh for a few days. Leavin’ today. Family business. I’d like to bring somethin’ for my mother. Somethin’ that’ll keep on the car ride.”

Her lips parted as her uncle started talking about blues keeping nice on ice. Now she understood. He was here to tell her that he wouldn’t be around tonight or tomorrow night. He had no other way to tell her that he wouldn’t be sitting at his regular seat at the bar, to explain his absence, and so he’d risked coming here to tell her in the only way he could.

She raised her head, and her eyes slammed into his for confirmation. He nodded slowly at her while speaking to her uncle. “Yes, sir. I’d appreciate it if you could pack some up for me on ice.”

“Laire,” said her uncle, “I’ll go get ’em and pack ’em in back. You charge him for three dozen, hear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, still staring at Erik.

As soon as her uncle was out of earshot, she whispered, “You came to tell me? That you were leavin’ for a few days?”

He nodded. “I hoped you were workin’ this mornin’. I couldn’t think of another way to get word to you. I’ll be in Raleigh until Sunday. I didn’t want you to think I was standin’ you up or that my feelin’s had changed or . . .”

She smiled at him, then looked down at the counter, blinking back tears as she wrote up his order.

“Erik,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

She chanced a glance at him. “I’m falling in love with you too.”

They held each other’s eyes for an intense moment. Though Erik had said these words to her twice, it was the first time Laire returned them, and she could see the sudden surge of tenderness in his eyes as he gazed back at her. He leaned toward her, and it took every ounce of her strength not to leap across the goddamned counter that separated them.

Before one of them did something stupid, she drew back and cleared her throat. “That’ll be eighteen fifty, Mr. Rexford.”

He reached into his back pocket, opened his wallet, and slid a credit card across the counter to her.

“Want that I tape up the cooler?” yelled her uncle from the back room.

“Sure! Thanks!” called Erik.

She took the card, still warm from his body, and ran it through the machine. When she returned it to him, his index finger brushed hers, and she shivered with longing.

“I’m workin’ Sunday night.”

“I’ll see you then,” he whispered.

“I’ll miss you,” she mouthed as she handed him a pen.

He nodded at her and signed the receipt, sliding both back across the counter.

“Here we go!” said her uncle, hefting a cooler onto the counter. “Now you got crabs!”

Laire couldn’t help the way her mind returned seamlessly to their first meeting, nor the way her shoulders suddenly started shaking with glee.

“Enj-joy them,” she managed to choke out, grateful to her uncle for inadvertently adding a bit of levity to the moment.

“I will,” he said, taking the cooler and tucking it under his arm. “Thank you, sir.”

“Our pleasure, Mr. Rexford.”

“Thanks, miss,” he said to Laire, his eyes telling her everything his lips couldn’t.

“Our pleasure, Mr. Rexford,” she said softly, hating the moment he turned around and walked out of the shop.

The little bell tinkled again as the door shut behind him, and she watched him walk the length of the dock, back to his pretty little boat. It was as though her heart stretched from her chest to his, aching with the exercise, longing to go with him, unsatisfied to stay within Laire when, more and more, it belonged to Erik.

“The goddamn governor’s son!” her uncle cried, rapping his knuckles on the countertop. “Your daddy won’t believe it!”

“He was nice,” she said hopefully, turning to look at her uncle.

“Nice. Pshaw.” He screwed up his face at her. “He’s just another rich dingbatter. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

She lifted her chin. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for him to tell a few folks about those blues if he likes ’em.”

“I figure we do well enough with the hoi polloi,” her uncle shot back, using an old island term for “regular folks.”

Laire shrugged. “I guess we do.”

“Well, Laire,” he said, “I’ll be off now. Got a few deliveries over on Ocracoke. Let me know if the president’s daughter stops in for some mackerel, eh?” he asked, chuckling as he turned and headed for the back room.

She looked up in time to see Erik’s boat zoom away.

Four nights without him.

She hated the very thought.

Reaching into her pocket, she massaged the warm metal of her Elizabethan Gardens pendant, braced her elbows back on the counter, and sighed.

***

Erik had no interest in the soiree at the Governor’s Mansion tonight, but this morning his mother had called from Raleigh and insisted that he and Hillary be there. First Family pictures including handsome Erik and pretty Hillary always got more media attention. Plus, Fancy liked the wholesome image of them all together.

He thought about refusing to go.

Being so far away from Laire wasn’t something he wanted when he treasured every stolen moment with her. But altercations with Fancy never went well—his mother was adept at getting revenge later, and with his lies about Vanessa hovering between them, he didn’t need more trouble. So he’d grudgingly said yes and agreed to drive himself and Hillary back to the city.

It was over four hours from Buxton to Raleigh, which meant he needed to leave by noon at the latest. As he hung up with his mother, he’d been frantic at the notion that after showing up at the Pamlico House every night to see Laire, he’d suddenly be a no-show without any explanation. Remembering that she sometimes worked in her father and uncle’s fish shop gave him the idea of trying to catch her there, and thank God it had worked.

His decision to stay in Raleigh until Sunday was solely based on Laire’s unavailability this weekend. Since she was going to be busy with her sister’s wedding, he figured it was easier to stay away for a few extra days. It would be torture to know she was so close if he wasn’t allowed to see her.

After speaking with her, he sped home from Corey to Buxton, making the drive in a cool forty minutes. But he was so preoccupied reliving their short conversation, including the sweetest declaration his ears had ever heard—I’m falling in love with you too—he didn’t notice Vanessa standing on the dock until he was pulling up alongside.

“Hey, stranger!” she called. “Throw me the line and I’ll cleat you!”

Huh. What’s Van doing here?

“Yeah, um, okay.” Remembering his manners, he waved in greeting. “Hey, Van! What’s up, honey?”

“Your mama called and invited me up to Raleigh with y’all for the weekend,” she said, flashing him a million-dollar smile. “Couldn’t say no to the governor’s wife.”

Fuck.

He sighed, feeling annoyed.

He liked Van as a friend. Truly he did. But his lie had just gotten a whole lot stickier. His mother probably thought she was doing him a favor, but actually she was making his life far more difficult. He didn’t want to spend the weekend with Vanessa and how the hell was he going to be convincing about dating her in front of his mother when the only person he wanted to be with was Laire?

“Oh,” he said. “Great.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Such enthusiasm! I didn’t tell you that you needed a root canal, Erik!”

“Of course not,” he said, forcing a grin. “Glad you’re comin’.”

“Without Pete taggin’ along,” she said quickly. “Just you and me.”

“And me!” chirped Hillary, suddenly appearing on the dock behind Vanessa. “And I call shotgun.”

Erik forced himself not to smile, but damn, he loved his little sister.

“That’s not very gracious,” noted Vanessa, a sour expression puckering her lips as she turned to glare at Hillary.

“She gets carsick,” said Erik.

“Since when?” demanded Vanessa.

“Just started this summer,” said Hillary. “Wouldn’t want me to puke, now, would you?”

“Of course not,” said Vanessa magnanimously, turning back to Erik. “Well, I guess we’ll have plenty of time to catch up in the city.”

“Can’t wait,” added Hillary.

“You’re not twenty-one yet,” said Vanessa, giving Hillary dagger eyes. “My mama invited y’all for dinner on Friday night, and I was hopin’ Erik would take me out on Saturday night to a few of Raleigh’s hot spots!”

Erik sighed, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. Seemed like Van had the whole weekend planned for them. He glanced up at Hillary, who shrugged her shoulders at Erik. I tried.

“Hot spots, huh? I guess we’ll figure it all out once we get there,” he said, dreading the four-hour drive, the party tonight, and the prospect of Vanessa trying to get alone time with him all weekend. But what could he do? He’d have to put her off as gently as possible when they were alone but make sure his arm was around her every time Fancy looked over. What a fucking mess.

He turned to his sister and his fake girlfriend, concealing a grimace with a plastic smile.

“Well, pretty girls, I guess we all better get ready to go.”

***

Back at work on Sunday evening, her eyes sliding to the restaurant door every five minutes, Laire couldn’t help mentally reviewing her weekend as she bused tables, refilled water glasses, and impatiently waited, after what felt like an eternity, to see Erik’s face again.

Whether intentional or an oversight, the fact that Laire was seated beside Brodie Walsh at her sister’s wedding reception yesterday turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because she’d finally had a chance to confront him in a public way without making a big scene.

“Hey, sweet Lairey,” he’d greeted her, his eyes skimming greedily down the dusty-rose pink of her bridesmaid gown.

“Hey, snake,” she’d said amicably, appreciating the way all conversation at the table had suddenly ceased, six pairs of surprised eyes turning to Laire and Brodie.

“Now, baby—”

She stood behind her chair with her fingers biting into the back. “Don’t ya dare call me baby like we have an understandin’, ya yethy lout,” she hissed, her accent all the stronger for her anger.

“Come on, now. Y’all were singin’ a different tune on prom night,” he said, looking around the table uneasily at her sister Isolde; brother-in-law Paul; cousins Roland and Harlan; Roland’s fiancée, Maura; and Kyrstin’s best friend, Rachel. Brodie was on her turf right now, and he knew it.

She raised her chin. “I’m surprised ya remember prom night, since ya got mommucked drunk.”

“I waren’t that—”

“Yeah, ya ware,” said Laire. “So drunk, ya tried to kiss me all sloppy ’n’ prolly don’t remember me sluggin’ ya. But that’s how ya woke up wi’ a black eye.”

“Nah. That ware a fishin’—”

“Accident?” she finished for him. “No, it waren’t. ’N’ we both know it.”

He stared down at the table, knowing that he’d been bested and it was time to shut up.

“Ya never kissed me ’n’ ya never, ever touched m’ body, Brodie Walsh. Now, ya go on ’n’ admit that ’n’ we can let this go as friends. If not . . .”

He raised his head, nailing her with his eyes.

The thing about living on a small island? Everyone had a little dirt on everyone else. Brodie didn’t know what Laire had on him, but she could tell from his expression, he’d just as soon she keep it to herself.

“Fine. We din’t do nothin’,” he said, looking around the table at her kinfolk. He turned back to her and sneered at her as he bit out, “Happy now?”

“Overjoyed,” she answered acidly. “’N’ you will stop spreadin’ lies ’bout me.”

“Don’t matter nohow,” he said, looking across the church fellowship hall at Maddie Dunlop. He folded up his napkin, which he plopped on the table before him. “I got juicier fish t’ fry.” He stood up to his full six feet, two inches, and looked down his nose at Laire.

“Well, go fry ’em then, ’n’ let me ’n’ mine be.” Not one to back away, she looked up at him squarely in the eyes. “Give Maddie my regrets.”

“Cold bitch,” murmured Brodie as he pushed back his chair and sauntered away in Maddie’s direction.

Laire took a deep breath, pulled out her chair, and sat down, looking up at her sister, who stared at her in disapproval.

“He was a good catch,” said Isolde. “Shouldn’t have done that, Laire.”

“Nice enough kid,” added Roland. “Just a little wild. Ya could’ve tamed him.”

“Can’t just refuse everyone. You two would’ve made real pretty babies,” said Rachel, who wasn’t the prettiest or youngest girl on Corey and would likely be stuck marrying one of the Masterson twins.

Rachel grinned at Harlan, who averted his glance quickly so as not to encourage her. Single like Laire and only a year older, he winked at her. “Good on ya, Laire. He’s a jackass, all gassed up ’bout hisself. Not half good ’nough for m’cousin.”

“Thanks, Harlan,” she said, sitting down beside him and grateful for his camaraderie. Issy’s husband, Paul, mercifully changed the subject to summer tourists on Ocracoke and Kyrstin and Remy’s plan to open an inn on Corey, which kept them all busy for the rest of the reception.

“Water over here, miss?”

Laire was jolted back to the present and sighed, refilling a patron’s water glass with a polite smile, though she was still fuming about Brodie inside.

Since Laire’s uncle had already found out about Brodie’s comments, she could only assume her father had too, and she just hoped that the small scene that played out at the wedding would get back to him. She didn’t want him thinking she and Brodie had an understanding or, worse, that she’d let him touch her and then changed her mind. Nice girls didn’t do things like that. It occurred to her to say something directly to her father, but she shivered with embarrassment. She couldn’t imagine, even in her wildest nightmares, discussing something so awkward with her daddy. Maybe it would all just blow over now. She hoped so.

And just as that comforting thought passed through her head, Erik Rexford rounded the corner of the barroom and sat down in his regular seat, his eyes seeking and meeting hers with a twinkle and a smile. Her heart burst with happiness, and she held her hand up in greeting.

Yes, everything would be just fine now.

***

Erik nursed his beer, stealing glances at Laire whenever she passed by the bar. He had been jumpy this morning, eager to get back to the Banks and see her, but even more anxious to get away from his mother and Vanessa, who had been anything but subtle over the long, annoying weekend.

From Vanessa surprising him with a unwanted peck on the lips for the photographers at his mother’s gala on Wednesday evening, to an intimate dinner with both sets of parents on Friday, followed by Van’s whiny insistence that he accompany her to her sorority sister’s birthday party at a swanky downtown restaurant on Saturday, it felt like she and his mother had been plotting up a storm. Even though his mother had promised not to say anything about Erik and Vanessa dating, Van was acting like they were a bona fide couple, and her actions had Fancy’s stamp of approval all over them.

And he was sending Vanessa wildly different signals: near his mother, he kept his arm around her waist or shoulders, but when Fancy wasn’t in play, he was careful not to touch Van at all, because every time he did, he felt like he was betraying Laire’s trust.

Not to mention, it wasn’t fair to Vanessa. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he just wasn’t sure what to do about it. He didn’t want Fancy digging into where he was spending all his time this summer. He needed her to think he was spending time with Van so she would leave him alone.

They were halfway through the summer now, with only five more weeks until he had to return to Duke, and he felt—keenly—the way time was winding down. Maybe he could try to avoid Vanessa as much as possible. Lord knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with Laire, not Van.

. . . which was why tonight was so important to him.

Hillary, who was attending dressage camp for a week, stayed behind in Raleigh. His mother was going to a ladies’ tea on Monday afternoon, which meant that she wouldn’t return to the Banks until Monday night at the earliest. And his father had state business that would keep him in town until next weekend.

It all added up to one glorious conclusion: for tonight, at least, Utopia Manor was all his, and if tonight’s dinner crowd was typical of a sluggish Sunday with folks leaving the ‘Banks to return to the mainland, he and Laire might actually have more than an hour together before she had to head back to Corey Island.

With fingers crossed, he took another sip of his beer.

Sure enough, by nine o’clock, he watched her wipe down the last of the dinner tables, his eyes flicking impatiently to one last couple who were canoodling over their candlelit dessert like they had hours to kill.

Laire had hardly spoken to him, or even given him more than a smile or a nod, while she was working, but when the bartender asked her to take his place for a moment while he used the bathroom, she stepped behind the mahogany bar and stood before Erik with a shy grin.

“Hi.”

“Hey, darlin’,” he said, pushing his empty beer glass to the side and smiling back at her. “I missed you. I hated bein’ away from you.”

“Me too,” she said, biting her bottom lip for a second before releasing it. “It felt like a long time.”

He gestured with his chin toward the canoodlers. “As soon as those two leave, you’re finished, right?”

She nodded, watching as the man fed the woman a forkful of pie. “But they sure are takin’ their time.”

“Laire,” he said.

She turned back to him, eyes expectant.

“My house is empty tonight. Everyone’s still in Raleigh. Come over.”

He watched the play of emotions on her face: excitement, wariness, worry, and finally, as she raised her eyes to his, determination.

She nodded. “Okay. Just for a little while. Then I have to head home.”

Some insane part of him, accustomed to looser, more modern girls, had actually fantasized that they’d figure out a way for her to spend the whole night, but instead of being disappointed, he found himself profoundly grateful that she was willing to come over to his house at all.

He beamed at her, “Damn, you make me happy.”

She giggled, plucking a rag from under the bar and running it along the shiny wood of the bar. “You make me happy too.”

“Laire!” Erik looked up to see the bartender walking back. “Ms. Sebastian says you can go. She’ll finish up tonight.”

“Really? Great!” she said, bunching her shoulders together and grinning at Erik.

“Meet me at my car,” he mumbled, leaving a twenty under his half-finished beer and heading quickly for the exit.

***

Laire ran back to her locker to grab her purse and check her face, her heart racing with excitement. She’d never been inside Erik’s house, so she was excited to see it up close, but more than anything, she was desperate to have him all to herself. It would be a short ride to his house, which meant they’d have over an hour together before he had to drive her back to the Pamlico House dock. Grinning at herself in the break room mirror, she gasped when she saw Ms. Sebastian’s face join hers.

“You startled me!” she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her heart as she turned around to face her boss.

“Last week, when he didn’t show, I was worried and relieved at the same time,” Ms. Sebastian said. “And tonight, when he showed up, I was worried and relieved again.”

“You don’t need to worry, Ms. Sebastian,” said Laire. “He’s good to me.”

The older woman nodded. “I can see he’s very smitten, but, Laire, how does this work? Where does it go from here?”

“Anywhere we want it to,” she said softly, though her voice lacked conviction.

“So your father will be okay with you datin’ a dingbatter? And his father? The governor? He’ll be delighted with his Duke University son datin’ a fisherman’s daughter?”

“He’s not just a dingbatter, and I’m not just an islander,” she protested, taking a step away from Ms. Sebastian, and crossing her arms. “There’s more to us.”

“Of course there is,” said Ms. Sebastian, her face concerned, her eyes soft. “But he’s got a handful of weeks before he heads back to school, Laire. And then what? Where does that leave you?”

To be honest, Laire hadn’t thought that far into the future. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Erik would be leaving one day soon, and not just for four or five days, but for much longer. She winced, her heart hurting as she processed what Ms. Sebastian was saying.

As though she realized the pain her words were causing, the older woman reached out and placed her hand gently on Laire’s shoulder. “I’m just worried about you, honey. Tread softly. Be careful.”

Laire swallowed, looking up at Ms. Sebastian and nodding.

“He’s waitin’ for you,” she said, giving Laire a small smile before dropping her hand and heading back to the kitchen.