CHAPTER 1

“Any local worth his salt knows what time the fishing starts in Star Harbor,” a large, handsome, dangerous-looking man with raven-black hair intoned in a deadpan. “And it ain’t eight-thirty.”

After listening to this blatant insult, Sebastian Grayson, world traveler and master chef, fought the urge to throttle the man who was now reeling in his line. Throttle him, or toss his own tackle box off Mutterman’s Pier and crawl back into his tiny berth on Val’s boat. Of course, both would require energy, so he let exhaustion win out. Pulling his leather jacket more tightly around his tired, aching body, Seb leaned back on a pylon and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar tang of salt water and wet wood. The cold, foggy air rushing into his lungs was helping to wake him up some, but he’d still kill for a latte.

Cole’s wisecrack had definitely hit a nerve. Just like his brother, Seb was Star Harbor born and bred, and even though he hadn’t lived in town for the last decade, it didn’t mean he’d lost his “local” status. He’d been on this pier a thousand times. The clang of the buoys in the harbor, the strain and creak of the boats at their moorings, and the cries of the seabirds searching for their morning meal were all imprinted on his brain. The images of his three brothers were imprinted there, too, each of them in his favorite spot along the wharf, just as they were now.

Val, the oldest, stood against the far pylon, his lean, wiry frame concealed by an oversized fisherman’s jacket, longish black hair curled at his nape. Cole, second in age, was seated with his broad back up against another pylon, his eyes covered by mirrored sunglasses. Theo, Seb’s twin, had one long leg folded against his chest as he leaned on a bench, his rod in one hand and a book of Whitman poems in the other. Theo’s green eyes were the exact mirror of his own, and right now they were crinkled in mirth.

The Grayson brothers, Star Harbor’s former resident bad boys, were back in town and ready for business.

That is, after Sebastian got his coffee.

Farther down the wharf, a few older men who’d cast their lures at the crack of dawn were silently packing up to leave, their thick jackets buttoned up against the early autumn chill as they gathered their morning’s catch. Each of Seb’s brothers had already caught a few fish large enough to keep—striped bass and mackerel, mostly. If Seb had been out here fishing at five-thirty like they’d been, he’d have something to show for his efforts, too.

“Sleep well, princess?” Cole asked, his deep voice cutting through the mist. Theo snickered softly from behind his book.

“Mmm,” Seb grunted. He tried to ignore them but he knew it was futile. His brothers were dead set on giving him hell for sleeping late. Cole pushed his sunglasses up on his head, revealing deep blue eyes. Funny, he didn’t remember his brother looking so hardened. Ever since Cole had returned from Afghanistan where his Special Forces unit had been stationed, he’d been on edge. Seb was glad Cole had left his job as a cop in Boston to become the sheriff of Star Harbor. Maybe being back in their small hometown would do him good.

“Seb needs his beauty sleep, isn’t that right?” Theo teased with a smile.

They weren’t going to quit ribbing him until he rose to the bait. “Any one of you could have woken me up,” Seb complained.

“No one would dare. Don’t you sleep next to your wicked sharp knives rolled up in that nylon bag?” Cole said, his mouth curving up in a half smile.

“At least I don’t sleep with a loaded Glock on my nightstand,” Seb retorted before he could stop himself. In less than a second, Cole’s smile was gone and he was standing up, his posture putting all of Seb’s senses on high alert.

“Not today.” Val’s calm, even voice sliced through the tension. Both brothers backed down, realizing that Val was right. For a moment they had forgotten that they were here in Star Harbor for one reason: to pay homage to their father, who’d died twenty years ago during a hurricane. No matter where they were or what they were doing, they always gathered together in their hometown on Labor Day weekend, the anniversary of his death.

Val and Cole lived in Star Harbor, but Seb had driven his motorcycle in from New York City and Theo had flown in from San Francisco. As was their tradition, they’d spend the long weekend together, remembering their dad.

Seb swept his gaze over the misty water, watching the boats pitch and roll through the haze as the tide slowly went out. Then he turned toward the town. The old-fashioned gas lamps that stayed on all night were still lit, but the fog was thick and he could barely make out the Victorian houses lining Harbor Street. Star Harbor looked exactly the same as it did when he’d left it so many years ago.

God, being here brought back so many memories. Like the time he and his brothers had rigged those fireworks to go off seconds before the annual summer small craft regatta started. It had taken the organizers at least an hour to get everything back on track. Or the time they all ditched school to head to Providence for Oktoberfest. Their mother had been furious. A smile crept onto his face. For a few moments, he could almost forget his weariness and the mountain of work waiting for him back in New York—planning his fall menu, brainstorming for his television show, and figuring out where he was going to open his new restaurant. He thought he might have settled on Boston, but he couldn’t be sure until he found the right venue. Crap, he’d better be sure. He’d already spent too much time trying to make that decision.

Seb sighed. He used to love being a renowned chef, and had thrived on the sheer volume of work. But lately, it had started to seem like a slog. Had he lost his passion or was he just exhausted?

Damn. He had to stop stressing so that he could enjoy the weekend, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. He had only himself to blame. His plan was to stay in Star Harbor for a full week, but it wasn’t going to be much of a vacation. He would need to spend at least part of the time working on his upcoming projects. Later on in the morning, he was scheduled to scout out spaces in Boston for his new restaurant. His brothers weren’t too happy about it—their tradition was to spend the weekend together, after all—but it was rare that he ever got time away from his restaurant, Helena. Suddenly, the fact that he was tired, damp, cold, and seriously decaffeinated started to wear on him. He needed that coffee, bad.

“So how’s the writing going, Theo?” he asked, trying to think about something else.

Theo set his book down. “Not as well as I’d like,” he admitted. “I’m having trouble getting started on my next project.”

“Lower your standards,” Cole joked.

“Never.” Theo shook his head. “I just wish I could find some real inspiration.”

“It’s everywhere, all around you,” Val said sagely. He was right. Seb himself could draw inspiration for one of his entrées from anything—a smell, a color, or even an interesting texture. Val didn’t talk much. Never had. But when he said something, it was worth it to listen. Val had been his rock—everyone’s rock, really—since their father had died. And after their mother had passed away twelve years ago, taken from them by a stroke, Val was the closest thing they had to a parent.

He looked at his oldest brother. Calm. Resolute. His face bracketed by a square jaw and steely blue eyes. Their mother’s eyes. He’d trust Val with anything. He trusted Theo and Cole, too, of course, but Val was the most solid of them all. The younger Grayson boys had gone wild when their dad had died. But somehow, despite the fact that he was only a few years older than Cole, Val had brought them back to Earth. Grounded them. Without him, they would have stayed adrift. Val hadn’t supported most of their rowdy adventures, but he had always stepped in to keep things under control. It was Val who’d suggested Seb travel to pursue his passion. He had taken that advice, and now he was at the top of his culinary game.

“Maybe you should come back to Star Harbor for a while. Get some good ideas for your new book,” Cole suggested.

“Maybe,” Theo responded ambiguously and went back to reading. Though not as soft-spoken as Val, Theo was quieter than either Cole or himself. They’d called him “the Professor” growing up because he’d always had his nose in a book or his pen to paper, meticulously plotting their escapades. Cole had been their logistics guy, so it had come as no surprise to anyone when he joined the military. And Seb? He’d been the charmer, able to sweet-talk anyone into anything. Just like their father.

Seb had loved his mom, but like most boys, he’d worshipped his dad—his slow but easy smile. The way the corners of his eyes would crinkle up when he found something funny. The old pirate stories he used to tell the boys before bedtime. Seb thought about him every day. It was hard not to. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at himself in a mirror he was reminded of his father. But most of all, he missed his dad’s laughter echoing off the sides of his fishing boat as he hauled in the day’s catch.

“Hey, you guys talk to James Bishop lately?” Seb asked, trying to snap himself out of his funk. Jimmy had been a part of their high school crowd and Seb felt a brief twinge of regret that he hadn’t kept in better touch.

“I haven’t talked to Jimmy in years,” Theo said as he broke down his rod and reel.

Val nodded. “Yep. Owns his own tour boat and sailing company now. He’s getting married in a few weeks. Asked me and Cole to be in his wedding party.”

“Really?” Seb couldn’t imagine Jimmy—a huge bear of a man with an outsized voice and a nose for trouble—tying the knot.

“To Emma Newbridge, Kate Everhart’s niece,” Cole said, as if he were reading Seb’s mind. “Emma’s been helping run the Star Harbor Inn since Kate was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. Jimmy’s a changed man. Or so he says.” Cole chuckled as he reeled in his line and started packing up his gear.

“I’ve met Emma,” Seb said. “Can’t imagine how Jimmy snagged someone so … so …”

“Sweet?” Theo interjected.

“Yeah.” Emma was appealing and engaging, the exact opposite of Jimmy. Or at least how Jimmy used to be.

“Well, you can ask him yourself. He’s at the Rusty Nail most nights after work,” Val said. “We can join him later for a beer.”

“Beer sounds good,” Seb said, reminded of his aching body, “but coffee sounds better. Any idea where I can grab a decent cup of joe around here?”

Val smiled and closed his tackle box. “I know just the place.”