Laire had finished most of her designs by noon and managed to forward them to Madame Scalzo by the time one o’clock rolled around and Kelsey knocked on her door to return Ava Grace.

“We had so much fun, Mama!” cried her daughter, racing into the room with snowy boots and leaving little puddles everywhere.

“Ava! Boots off!” She turned to Kelsey. “How’d you do?”

“She’s awesome,” said Kelsey. “We baked cookies and made snow angels.”

“I don’t suppose you could sit again tomorrow?”

“I could,” said Kelsey, “but mornin’s are tough. How about tomorrow evenin’? From five to ten or even later? I can stay up here with Ava Grace, and you can work downstairs in the salon?”

Laire nodded gratefully, taking her wallet off the nightstand and pulling out sixty-five dollars. “Is this good?”

“Great. Thanks.” Kelsey took the money and put it in her back pocket. “Did Grandpa say you needed a boat tomorrow, or did I hear wrong?”

“Not tomorrow,” said Laire. “Maybe next week, though, when school starts up for Ava Grace. At some point I want to head over to Corey.”

“Corey Island?” asked Kelsey. “Why the heck do you want to go all the way over there?”

Laire looked down at her bare feet for a moment before meeting the younger woman’s eyes. “I’m from Corey.”

“Nah!”

Laire nodded, unable to hold back her smile. “I am, I swear.”

“I thought for sure you were a dingbatter.”

“Nope. Islander. Born and bred.” Her smile faded. “Left about six years ago.”

“And lost your accent.” Kelsey flicked a glance to Ava Grace. “Story for another time?”

“And a big glass of wine.”

“So you’re goin’ home to see your folks?”

“Sort of. Maybe.” She shrugged, her shoulders brushing her ears and holding for a moment as she considered Kelsey’s question. “I left on . . . bad terms. I want to try to make things right before I move to New York this summer.”

“Wait! You’re movin’ to New York?!” asked Kelsey, putting her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling and impressed. “Got room for one more? As a nanny maybe?”

“What would your grandpa say about that?” asked Laire.

There was only a few years’ difference between her and Kelsey, but Laire had lived through a lot of heartache in twenty-four and a half years, and Kelsey felt so much younger than she. The Leathams were originally from Ocracoke, which wasn’t anywhere near as conservative as Corey, but many of the values were still the same, and Laire wasn’t anxious that her new friend experienced the kind of hardships that she had.

Kelsey shrugged. “Wouldn’t love it. Nor my folks.”

“Think hard before you make a choice like that, huh, Kelsey?”

The younger woman sighed but nodded her head. “Yeah. It’s hard to leave.”

“It’s especially hard to come back,” said Laire softly, more to herself than Kelsey.

She’d already been back on the Banks for three days, and none of her family was any the wiser. Now that she was here, she found she wasn’t in a rush to see them, though they were a huge reason for why she’d decided to move here for a while. Then again, it made sense to settle Ava Grace in at the Hatteras Elementary School and move into Judith’s condo first, right? Yes. No sense in jumping the gun. Once they were settled in Hatteras, she’d call Kyrstin and ask for her advice about arranging a visit.

“Mama,” said Ava Grace, peeking around the bathroom door, “you know that I have a new friend?”

Grateful for the distraction, Laire grinned at her. “You do?”

“Uh-huh! His name is Oscar!”

She ducked back into the bathroom, and Laire chuckled as she turned to Kelsey. “Oscar? I didn’t realize that there was another child staying in the inn.”

“Oh,” said Kelsey, licking her lips and giving Laire a funny look. “He’s not a kid. And, actually, his name isn’t Oscar. It’s—”

“Mama!” screamed Ava Grace.

Laire’s heart kicked into high gear as she crossed the room in three strides, rushing into the bathroom. “Ava?”

Ava Grace was sitting on the toilet with her snow pants around her ankles, pointing at the shower. As Laire looked around the curtain, she saw a hairy spider the size of her palm resting on the white tile.

“Oh, God,” she said, cringing. “Gross.”

Kelsey, who had followed her into the bathroom, gasped, then groaned. “Second one this week. I think they got washed in by the storm. They’re comin’ up through the pipes.”

“Mama,” wailed Ava Grace. “It’s so yucky!”

Laire backed away from the arachnid and handed her daughter some toilet tissue. “Wipe.”

“I’ll get Grandpa,” said Kelsey, backing out of the small room. “Spiders give me the creeps!”

“Me too!”

Ava jumped off the pot and flushed, and Laire helped her take off her boots, snow pants, and parka, settling her in front of the TV with a snack bag of cookies.

It was hours later, after Mr. Leatham had dispatched their hairy friend, and Ava Grace was happily eating order-in pizza for dinner, that Laire realized she’d never gotten the details on her daughter’s mysterious new friend, Oscar.

***

Erik spent most of the day at Utopia Manor with a local handyman, Charles McGillicutty, assessing the damage to the mansion and coming up with a plan for repair and renovation. The dock had been broken by waves and thrown about twenty yards onto the lawn, which was covered with detritus from the sea. Parts of the boardwalk needed repairs. The pool had been flooded, and the water had leaked through the sliding doors into the living room, destroying the ground-floor hardwood floors, carpets, and furniture. The basement had also flooded, killing the electrical panel. And several third-floor windows had been broken by flying debris, causing damage to the interior and exterior of the house. It was thousands of dollars of damage in landscaping and structure, and Erik needed Hillary to call his parents’ insurance agent in Raleigh to come out and make a report right away. He guessed it would a few days for someone to get out to the Banks, so Erik would probably be stuck there until at least the first of January.

Standing on the balcony off his room in the late-afternoon sunshine, he pulled out his phone and texted Hillary, relieved to discover that he had edge service.

ERIK: Hey. Are you around? At UM.

While he waited for her to respond, he placed his phone on the railing of the balcony, looking out at the expanse before him: the pool, lawn, boardwalk, and dock. He remembered the first time he ever saw Laire Cornish, standing below him on the pool deck, her green eyes so innocent and lovely as she insisted she didn’t have crabs.

For the first time in many years, he chuckled softly about a memory connected with Laire, but his laughter tapered off quickly, and his smile faded. If he’d known that day the heartache that would follow, would he have spoken to her, followed her around like a puppy, carried her coolers to the kitchen, and insisted on a date? Or would he have said hello, then walked back inside, to the safety of his bedroom, and stayed there until she was gone?

Simply put, would he exchange all the wonderful moments that summer for the pain that followed?

It was a difficult question, but Erik sensed that it was at the heart of his success in moving forward with his life.

If he could go back in time and never meet Laire Cornish, would he?

His phone buzzed on the railing, and he picked it up.

HILLZ: Here. What’s up? How’s the house?

ERIK: In bad shape. Can you call Town & Country Insurance and have an adjuster sent out?

HILLZ: Sure. I’ll call today.

ERIK: I’ll stay until they can get here. I’m staying at the Pamlico House. Tell them to call me there. Phone service isn’t good out here. I can only get texts out.

HILLZ: Will do.

He stared at the screen waiting for her to say more.

HILLZ: How are YOU?

Erik flinched.

As a rule, he wasn’t a fan of the sort of soul-searching he was forcing upon himself—one, it felt self-indulgent, and two, staring hard truths in the face wasn’t that pleasant—but he couldn’t keep living his life as he had been. It was time for a change.

ERIK: Doing some thinking.

HILLZ: And?

And?

If you could go back in time and never meet Laire Cornish, would you?

“No,” he said softly to the cold, whistling wind. “I wouldn’t.”

I wouldn’t trade it. I’d take the good and handle the pain better than I did.

This was an interesting revelation for Erik because so much of the last six years had been spent feeling like he hated Laire, wishing he’d never met her, wanting to punish her for hurting him as she did. But now? Faced with the ultimate question of whether he’d erase her from his life? He wouldn’t. She was the realest thing he’d ever known. She was open and honest, sweet and fresh. No matter how things had ended between them, she’d taught him more about what he ultimately wanted from a life partner than anyone else. How could he reject that knowledge? It was worth more than the pain he’d suffered, wasn’t it? Used correctly, it could shape the sort of relationship that might, someday, make him happy again. He knew what to look for, and what not to look for, in a partner. That knowledge was priceless, and he wouldn’t have it without her.

HILLZ: About what?

ERIK: I’d like to change.

HILLZ: Really?

ERIK: Yeah.

HILLZ: Tell me more!   

He groaned at the smiley faces filling the screen. He could see her setting him up on dates the second he returned to Raleigh.

ERIK: Chill out. I’m not ready to get married or anything. I’m just figuring some things out.

HILLZ: That’s good. Really good. That’s all I ever wanted you to do.

ERIK: Thanks, Hills. Thanks for putting up with me. I’ve been pretty awful.

HILLZ: She did a number on you. But yeah, it’s time for you to move on.

ERIK: If I never hear the words “move on” again, it’ll be too soon.

HILLZ: LOL. MOVE ON. MOVE ON. MOVE ON.

Erik’s lips quirked up into a grin, and suddenly he was reminded of the little scamp at breakfast who’d given him such a hard time. He hoped she didn’t have a brother, because he was certain to be heckled just as much as Hillary heckled him.

And yet, there was no denying her awesomeness. Four years old and holding her own against a grown man. He chuckled again. If he could have a kid like Ava Grace someday, it might be worth it to try to find the right girl.

Erik sighed, looking away from his phone at the horizon. It was only four thirty, but the sun was low in the sky. It’d be dark soon.

ERIK: Wench. I have to go. Sun’s setting. No heat here and plenty cold.

HILLZ: Poor Erik.

ERIK: Wiseass. Love you.

HILLZ: I’ll call the insurance company and be in touch. Love you too.

He tucked his phone in his pocket and walked back into his bedroom, closing the sliding door and locking it behind him. There were no lights to turn off as he headed downstairs, walking over the saturated, squishy carpet and water-damaged, buckling hardwood floors on his way to the front door. He locked it behind him, then headed down the steps to his car.

For the first time in a long time, he felt lighter. His heart felt lighter, or warmer maybe. He couldn’t describe it, only knew that it was changing after a long time of suspended animation. Living in a frozen emotional state might have protected him from further heartbreak, but it hadn’t allowed him to heal or grow. The gaping, angry wound that was Laire Cornish’s unexplained rejection had festered for long enough. It was a strange and unexpected relief to finally give himself permission to start moving on.

***

Laire pulled the covers up to Ava Grace’s chin and kissed her on the forehead as she slept. She had no plans for tomorrow, but maybe she would take her daughter somewhere special if the roads were clear enough to drive and it was warm enough to be outdoors. Ava Grace hadn’t seen the lighthouse yet, or had a run on the beach. And they should be able to find a place open for lunch in Hatteras, right? They could drive by her new school and maybe look in the windows. Tomorrow would be all about Ava Grace, and tomorrow night she would work for as long as Kelsey agreed to babysit.

As for tonight . . .

One of the things she’d always liked best about the Pamlico House was the widow’s walk on the fourth floor. As a waitress at the restaurant, so many years ago, she’d often taken her break up there, staring out at the ocean on one side and the Sound on the other, letting the wind whip her hair around as she daydreamed about a life spent with Erik Rexford. Those dreams had been crushed instead of granted, of course, and maybe that’s why she hadn’t gone up to the widow’s walk yet. It was hardest to face the places where she’d been the happiest.

But she was suddenly reminded that the Leathams lit the fire pit upstairs every night between eight and ten, and Kelsey had encouraged her to go up and relax when she had some free time. She told Laire that they left out warm blankets in the European tradition, and she could stare up at the stars while the fire warmed her face.

Laire had been reluctant to leave Ava Grace alone in the room the first few nights, but she was much more comfortable at the inn now, and—Laire looked down at her daughter’s angelic, sleeping face—fast asleep.

Maybe tonight she’d wander upstairs for an hour and relax—sit by the fire with her head tilted back, as Kelsey had suggested, and stare up at the stars. Breathe in the cold, salty air with a heavy wool blanket warming her legs. Just be. Just . . . be.

Life didn’t afford a single mother many opportunities to relax, and certainly, once she and Ava Grace were in their new condo, there would be lots of work to be done. While she was here, perhaps she should just enjoy an hour to herself.

Careful not to wake up Ava Grace, she quietly slipped out of her yoga pants and pulled on some jeans and heavy wool socks. Her T-shirt came off next, and she chose a simple black cashmere turtleneck sweater as her top. Her black UGG boots were waiting for her in the closet, and she grabbed her chic black ski jacket and black leather gloves trimmed in gray rabbit fur. She plucked a gray rabbit fur infinity scarf from the top of the bureau and slid it over her unruly hair, which she pulled into a low ponytail against the back of her neck. Checking herself out in the mirror, she noticed that her face looked thin and tired, but at least her threads were fashion-forward.

Giving Ava Grace one last peck on the forehead, she slipped out of the room as quietly as possible, closing the door behind her.

***

With a dozen other guests staying at the inn, Erik hadn’t expected to have the fire pit all to himself, and after a long day of facing demons, he was relieved to sink into the plush, comfortable couch on the roof deck and pull a shearling blanket over his legs and chest. The fire warmed his face enough after a few minutes that he leaned his head back, staring up at the stars, and unbidden, he was reminded of Laire’s words the first night they’d made out at Utopia Manor: We’re just two tiny specks of dust in a big, wide world. But I feel so much, Erik. I feel so much, it’s like the whole universe couldn’t hold it even if it tried.

He winced, closing his eyes against the familiar, yet unexpected, swell of anguish.

How could she have broken up with him like that?

How could she have turned her back on him? Without notice? Without warning?

How could she have let go of something that had made them feel so goddamned much?

And why? Why, goddamn it?

He would have done anything for her—gone to the ends of the earth—to make her happy.

Borne anything. Tried anything. Waited forever.

He wasn’t even given the chance. She turned her back on him and disappeared before he even knew she was gone, and it was So. Fucking. Unfair.

His attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of the door to the roof opening, and Erik opened his eyes, taking a deep breath of icy air and trying to quickly regain his composure. He wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat with another hotel guest, but he was a gentleman, and he’d exchange pleasantries for a moment before heading back downstairs for a glass of bourbon before bed.

He cleared his throat and sat up, looking straight ahead at the person who’d interrupted his starlit silence. Several feet away, she leaned her elbows against the stainless steel railing that ran around the perimeter of the space, her knees pressed against the Plexiglas that separated the railing from the floor, her face, in profile, turned upward as she gazed up at the sky.

She was about five foot four inches tall and slim, dressed in jeans and a black jacket, with some sort of fur scarf around her neck.

As Erik stared at her wordlessly, his lips parted slowly, and his heart sped up, faster and faster, as it always did when he saw a woman with that hair color. It wasn’t quite blonde in the moonlight. From where he sat, whether it was a trick of the firelight or real, her hair appeared to be strawberry blonde. Held low against her neck with a simple band, it was straight and long, just like . . . just like . . .

Sitting up straight, Erik didn’t feel the blanket fall from his chest, pooling in his lap as he traced the lines of her face in profile, tiny puzzle pieces he’d fiercely longed for finally taking their place before him—the slope of her nose, the pursed bow of her lips, the swanlike grace of her long neck.

“Jesus. It can’t be . . .,” he murmured breathlessly, rubbing frantically at his eyes. It was only because he was here, where her ghost was everywhere, where he’d been so happy with her. It was a trick. It wasn’t real.

But his whispered words, only in competition with the light snap and crackle of the fire pit, had carried in the quiet darkness, and when he dropped his fingers to his lap and focused, he found she wasn’t a trick of light.

She was real.

Laire Cornish was facing him.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, his chest rising and falling so quickly, he was becoming light-headed. Was this a hallucination? A fucking joke? Without his permission, his feet had planted themselves firmly on the floor, and he was rising, standing, bound by a mutual searing, disbelieving gaze to the woman not ten feet away from him. “Laire?”

Under her puffy little ski jacket, her chest rose and fell as fast as his, and her eyes—her beautiful, beloved, sea-green eyes—stared back at him, wide and shocked, as she nodded her head.

“What the fu—what are . . ...?” he asked, his words barely audible in his ears over the fierce thumping of his heart. He forced his hands, which were sweating and shaking, to land and stay on his hips as he choked out, “Are you . . . are you, um, stayin’ here?”

“Y-yeah,” she whispered, wincing as she gasped, then sobbed, two mammoth tears slipping down her cheeks like jewels in the moonlight. “E-Erik?”

One gloved hand darted to the railing like she was having trouble standing up, and Erik lurched from the couch to her side, taking her free elbow with a firm hand.

“Breathe,” he commanded.

Looking up at him with green, glistening eyes, she sucked in a long, deep breath, filling her chest, which lifted her breasts again.

“Let it go,” he said, holding her eyes with his.

Her body relaxed in increments as she released the air, ignoring the stream of gray steam that disappeared over their heads.

“Do it again.”

She nodded and breathed deeply again, and he could feel her strength returning. As she filled her lungs, she pulled her elbow away from his grasp and took a step back. Despite the distance she imposed between them, she never looked away, her eyes incomprehensible, storming with too many emotions and not enough light for Erik to decipher their meaning.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Wondering if his proximity was actually doing more harm than good, he backed away from her as he would a frightened animal. Once there was a good three feet of space between them, he dropped her eyes for a moment, running his hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he said softly. When he looked back up, his hand remained curled around the back of his neck. He needed to hold on to something.

“I know,” she said.

His eyes narrowed at her response. “You never wanted to see me again.”

Because her lips were still parted, he could see her clench her teeth, flexing her jaw and flinching at his words. Finally, she murmured. “No.”

His heart clutched with pain at the stark, simple word.

You never wanted to see me again.

It occurred to him that this was his long-awaited chance to ask her why. Why didn’t you ever want to see me again? But fuck if a lump the size of the ocean hadn’t risen there, making it impossible for him to speak. And his eyes, focused on hers, burned from the prick of tears, making him blink rapidly before looking away from her, out at the Pamlico Sound, which had conveyed them, time and again, to one another.

He cleared his throat, trading pain for anger. “Well, too bad for you, then, because here I am.”

A small sobbing noise made him whip his head back to face her, his eyes drawn inexorably to hers, where he found such fathoms of grief, it made the muscles of his face flinch as his heart skipped a beat. His anger took a hike. He knew that look. He’d felt it every day for the six long years he’d been apart from her.

Agony.

“Laire?” he whispered, taking a step nearer to her, his hands reaching up to cradle her cheeks without his permission as his eyes owned hers, searching them for answers: What is it, darlin’? Why’re you so sad?

She took a step back just before his hands made contact, shaking her head, reaching up with her gloved fingers to swipe the tears from her cheeks. He dropped his hands, letting them fall uselessly, listlessly, to his sides.

“I . . . I have to go,” she cried, lurching away from the railing and hurrying toward the door. 

“Wait!” he called, turning to follow. “Laire! It’s been six years. Please! Just fuckin’ wait!”

But the door had already closed behind her.

She was gone.

Again.