Two months later…

By the end of September, the first touches of autumn had begun to sweep over the island. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer and cooler. Acorns were falling from the branches of the oak trees and squirrels were racing around, gathering them up. Soon, the watermen would stow away their crabbing gear for the winter. A few of them had already removed the canopies from their workboats to make room for the tongs and dredges they would use during oyster season.

From her apartment above the café, with a view of the narrow channel that threaded through the marshes, Izzy could watch them come and go. She knew the names of most of the boats now, and the stories of the men behind the wheels. In the mornings, when the sun was barely a whisper of light along the horizon, she could hear them cutting a slow path toward the open Bay.

The sound always made her smile.

The next cohort of veterans had arrived on the island a few weeks ago. They were gradually settling into their jobs and getting to know each other. Izzy wondered if they had any idea that the friendships they would make over the next three months would last for the rest of their lives.

Her own group had disbanded at the end of August. Kade had been picked up by a gardening center in Annapolis, whose customers got a kick out of consulting with the heavily-tattooed ex-Marine about what flowers to plant around their mailboxes. His wife hadn’t asked him to move back in yet, but she was letting him see his children again. They were taking things slowly. She wanted to make sure all the changes he’d made in the program would stick first.

Izzy didn’t blame her.

Once you’d been burned, it took a lot longer to trust again.

Most of the veterans had found jobs on the Western Shore. The only three who’d stayed in the area were Izzy, Hailey, and Paul. Hailey had gotten a job at the local maritime museum and Paul had managed to convince Ryan to let him stay on at the farm. Colin had been opposed to the idea initially, but in the end, when it came down to it, Paul had made himself indispensable.

As for Ryan, Izzy saw him almost every night. Sometimes he stopped by the café after work just to say hello; other times he stayed for dinner. He was quietly pursuing her with the same patient persistence he used to pursue everything he wanted in life. And, as usual, it was working.

She was actually starting to believe that they could have a future together—that she could be intimate with someone again. She hadn’t invited him to spend the night yet, but she was getting closer to taking that step. She’d even bought something lacy and feminine to wear when she did. It was in the top drawer of her dresser, wrapped in pink tissue paper—a constant reminder of that one last fear she still needed to overcome.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Izzy felt a flutter in her belly. Thinking it might be Ryan, since he usually stopped by around this time, she checked her reflection in the oven door, tucked a few curls into her ponytail, and smoothed her hands down the front of her apron. Smiling, she turned to face the person making his or her way up to the apartment.

But it wasn’t Ryan. It was Will.

“Hi,” she said, not quite as happy to see him as she would have been to see Ryan, but still happy to see him.

“It smells amazing up here,” Will said, walking into the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“Pumpkin-seed crusted rockfish, oyster stew with fennel and chorizo, and a spicy bay scallop ceviche.” Izzy moved over to the stove and lifted the top off the stew to let him have a look. “We’re catering an engagement party for the daughter of a former ambassador in a few weeks. The bride’s mother wanted a traditional menu, but the bride pulled us aside afterwards and said she wanted something a little different.”

She picked up a spoon, handed it to him. “Care to do the honors?”

“Gladly.” He dipped the spoon into the rich, creamy broth and took the first taste, groaning the instant it hit his tongue. “Mmm,” he said, nodding. “Mmm-hmm.”

“You like it?” she asked hopefully.

Will set the spoon down. “It’s incredible, Izzy. I can’t imagine anyone not liking this. Has Della tasted it yet?”

“Not yet,” Izzy said, pleased by his reaction. “If she likes it, I’ll offer to add it to the menu downstairs this winter. Though, ” she added, “it is pretty spicy. Do you think the locals will be able to handle it?”

“Yeah,” Will said, laughing. “I think they’ll be able to handle it.”

She smiled, glad that he thought so. She enjoyed experimenting with traditional recipes and giving them her own unique twist. But it was just as important to her to respect the sensitivities of the locals. She didn’t want to push too much change on anyone too fast. Not that there was much chance of that happening as long as Della was in charge of the kitchen downstairs.

When it came to their catering services, they were able to offer the best of both worlds. If a client wanted a traditional menu, Della would provide the recipes for Izzy to cook. If they were open to something more experimental, Izzy would take the lead.

The two women had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, with both of them up and down the stairs all day long, wandering in and out of each other’s kitchens, bouncing ideas off each other and tasting each other’s creations.

Somehow, in a different way and with a different woman, Izzy had managed to reclaim the dream she’d once shared with her grandmother. It was hard to believe that this was her life now, that after everything that had happened, she had found her way back to the one thing she loved more than anything in the world.

“Before I forget,” Will said, pulling a card out of his pocket. “Erin thinks she might have found a social worker who’d be willing to meet with your friend at no charge.”

“Thank you,” Izzy said gratefully, glancing down at the name before slipping the card in her pocket.

It had taken Izzy a few weeks to convince Carolina that she needed to talk to someone, and that it would be safe for her to do so, but her friend had finally come around to the idea. It would be a huge help if she didn’t have to pay for it. Any extra money her friend made these days was going toward the attorney she’d hired to work on her citizenship.

More importantly, though, Carolina and her children had finally left their apartment in Sandtown-Winchester and moved into Izzy’s house on the other side of Baltimore. Every two weeks, Izzy drove across the bridge to visit them. They seemed to be settling in just fine. And Izzy could sleep better at night, knowing that Carolina and her children were safe.

When the timer binged, she pulled a tray of toasted pumpkin seeds out of the oven and set them on the counter beside the rockfish. “Do you want me to bring some of this over later, relieve whoever’s on kitchen duty at the inn?”

Will checked his watch. “Why don’t you wait until tomorrow? They’ve probably already started on dinner for tonight.” He pushed back from the counter. “I should probably go, make sure no one burns the place down.”

Izzy smiled. She knew he was joking…sort of.

Will headed for the stairwell, but he paused outside Taylor’s old bedroom, which was still decorated with the same twinkle lights, paper butterflies, and dream catchers as it had been when she’d lived here. Izzy had left everything the same so that Taylor and her friends could still come up and play whenever they wanted.

“Thank you for not changing this,” Will said quietly.

“Of course,” Izzy said.

He tapped his palm against the doorframe, like he needed to leave a few emotions there, then headed for the stairs again.

Taking a deep breath, Izzy walked out from behind the counter. “Will?”

He stopped walking, looked back at her.

She’d never really gotten a chance to thank him, to let him know how much the program had meant to her. “I just wanted to say…thank you, for not giving up on me.”

“Honestly, the thought never crossed my mind.”

---

Later that night, Ryan helped Izzy step down from the dock behind his father’s house into the old wooden rowboat that had been in his family since he was a child. The air was cool and crisp. And when he handed her a blanket to stow under her seat, she wrapped it around her shoulders instead.

As soon as she was settled, he lowered himself to the seat across from her and picked up the oars. It had been a long time since he’d been out in this boat, but he remembered it like it was yesterday, and his father had kept it in good condition over the years.

Over the past two months, Ryan’s relationship with his father had begun to shift. Izzy had told him what his father had said when she’d gone out on the boat with him that day in July—that he thought his wife had left him because he hadn’t been enough for her. Suddenly, all his father’s actions over the years had begun to make perfect sense.

His father hadn’t been pushing him away because he didn’t want him around. He’d been pushing him away because he didn’t want his son to end up like him—to ever know what it felt like to not be enough for someone.

It had taken a few heart-to-hearts between the two men to get it all out on the table, but Ryan finally understood where his father was coming from. And his father was finally beginning to accept that Ryan actually wanted to be here—that this was all he’d ever wanted.

“Do you want me to open this now or later?” Izzy asked, holding up the bottle of wine he’d brought along.

“Later.”

“Where are we going?” she asked curiously.

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

He dipped the oars into the water, rowing them toward Pearl Cove. His whole life he’d been running from this. He’d tried to turn his back on it, pretend that it didn’t exist. But he didn’t want to pretend anymore.

He knew what he’d seen and heard out there as a child—what he could still see and hear every time a full moon rose over this island.

There was a full moon tonight.

A Harvest Moon.

It was rising over the marshes now, painting the surface of the water a glittering gold.

Maybe he’d needed to see what Izzy had gone through to understand what hiding the truth could do to someone, how much unnecessary pain it could cause. But he’d finally decided to come clean with his father and his sister about the role he’d played—or, at least, the role he thought he’d played—in their mother’s disappearance.

A few weeks ago, he’d sat them both down and told them the story of what had happened when he’d paddled out to Pearl Cove as a ten-year-old boy. He’d told them how he’d heard the clinking seashells and seen the trail of moonlight transform into a string of pearls, just like in the fairy tale. He’d told them how he’d rushed home and woken his mother up, thinking she’d be so excited to find out that the story she’d told them at bedtime every night was true.

Instead, the very next day, she’d left—never to be seen or heard from again.

Ryan had expected his father and his sister to be angry with him. Either that, or tell him he was crazy. Instead, they’d been relieved. Because, for twenty-three years, they’d been blaming themselves, thinking they’d done something wrong. When, maybe, the only thing they’d done wrong was not talk about it.

That next day, Grace had met with her editor at The Washington Tribune and told him she was taking a leave of absence from the paper, effective immediately. She was planning to spend the next three months in Ireland, learning everything she could about the selkie legend—starting with a small island off the West Coast called Seal Island, where she’d traced the legend’s origin.

Apparently, all she’d ever wanted was a clue—just one clue—to launch an investigation of her own.

Ryan had no idea where her research would lead. Personally, he didn’t have much hope that they would actually find their mother after all these years. But if Grace could uncover a connection between her and one of those legends, it might at least help them understand why she’d left.

As far as Ryan was concerned, that would be enough.

In the meantime, he was going to try to find some answers of his own, right here—starting tonight.

When they made it to the mouth of the cove, he pulled the oars in so they could drift upriver, and Izzy came into his arms as naturally as if she’d been doing it forever.

“I hope you’re not planning to put me to work,” she joked as they floated past his oyster lease.

He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted like licorice. Her hair smelled faintly of toasted pumpkinseeds. And he didn’t want to let her go for the rest of the night.

“I peeked at the website for Nolan Reyes’ new restaurant this afternoon,” she said, nuzzling against him. “Your oysters are on the menu.”

“Thanks to you,” he murmured, sliding the blanket off one of her shoulders and kissing her there, too.

“Thanks to Annie and Paul,” Izzy corrected, pulling back slightly.

“True,” he conceded, smiling again. It was true that Paul had done most of the legwork. But Izzy was the one who’d set the wheels in motion. When she’d found out that Annie had spent the majority of her twenties working at one of the hottest restaurants on Pennsylvania Avenue, she’d convinced her to invite the chef and his family out to the island to tour Ryan’s farm.

The chef had accepted, and as soon as they’d set a date, Paul and Izzy had come up with a plan to give him and his family an experience they’d never forget. In addition to the farm tour, they’d gotten a trotlining demonstration from Jake, a three-course lunch at the café from Della—who’d charmed them with stories of what Annie and Taylor had been up to since leaving the city—a cocktail cruise on one of the island’s last working skipjacks, and a decadent dinner at the inn with the rest of the veterans, which Izzy had prepared.

By the time they’d left, they’d fallen in love with the island, and the chef’s wife—an editor for one of D.C.’s premier regional magazines—had promised to write a story about their trip. When it came out, it had been enough to catch the attention of several top-tier chefs, including Nolan Reyes—the celebrity chef who owned six restaurants in the city.

Before he knew it, Ryan had more orders coming in than he and his father could possibly fill.

Not that he was thinking much about oysters at the moment since Izzy had begun nibbling on his ear. “If you keep doing that,” he warned, “I’m going to have a hard time saying goodbye to you later.”

“Then don’t,” she said softly.

He pulled back, looked at her. “You want me to stay tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, but her smile had turned shy and she was looking up at him with so much vulnerability and trust in her eyes that if she hadn’t already brought him to his knees a dozen times, he would have quite simply handed over his heart.

It was hers now anyway.

He tipped her mouth up to his, kissing her with the same care and tenderness he planned to devote to her for the rest of the night. When they finally pulled apart again, he poured them each a glass of wine, and they sat there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing at the moon.

“What’s that?” Izzy asked as a lone structure on the edge of the marshes came into view.

“Just an old house.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder to get a better look and her eyes widened. “Is that the house from the legend you told us about? The one where the fisherman lived?”

Ryan nodded. “What’s left of it.”

It was overgrown now, covered in a thick tangle of vines. The marshes had swallowed up the foundation, causing one side to tilt and crumble. Storms had shattered most of the windows and the torn roof had become a popular nesting spot for birds.

The story itself might have been a legend, but the fisherman had existed. He had lived in that house with his family for years until his wife had vanished. Whether or not she’d left him to return to the sea was still up for debate, but Ryan knew where his beliefs lay.

They were almost past it when the faintest clinking of seashells filled the air. Izzy looked back at the house, a puzzled expression on her face. “Do you hear something?”

Yes, Ryan thought. He could hear something. He’d been hearing it all his life.

Moonlight tripped over the water, hesitant at first, like a child skipping a stone. The drops of light reached for each other, fusing together, until a single strand of pearls began to form on the surface.

Izzy sat up slowly. “Is that…?”

A voice—a woman’s voice—so far away it seemed like it was coming from the bottom of the ocean, drifted toward them.

Izzy turned, looked at him. “Do you believe in magic?”

Tilting her face up to his, Ryan whispered, “I believe in you.”

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