Isaac changed his shirt for the third time then stood in front of his bathroom mirror, debating on shaven versus unshaven. Somebody smack him upside the head because he was sweating like a pig at the thought of dinner with Nat and Olivia tonight. He rubbed his fingers along his jaw and scowled, then tugged a finger in the collar of his shirt.

Really? You wanna add a tie and a sports jacket to that ensemble, just to have homemade pizza? Shit.

He unbuttoned the top three buttons, decided he looked like a seventies porn star minus the gold chains, and did up one.

It wasn’t as if the invitation had come personally from Nat. It’d been Olivia who invited him to Saturday night pizza on the drive back from the Bay of Islands earlier. The girls had beaten Kerikeri High School eleven to five with Olivia getting her third try of the season. Nat hadn’t objected, and since the bake sale two weeks ago when they’d only managed to grab snatches of time together, Isaac wasn’t turning down any invitation to spend time with her. Even though he’d once again be returning to an empty bed.

Isaac collected his keys from a hook in the kitchen, glancing with new eyes around the empty countertops and the domestic version of a professional chef’s cooker which was completely wasted on him. Nothing personal adorned the walls, every surface was wiped clean—in fact, the only sign a real person actually used the kitchen was a breakfast bowl in the sink that he hadn’t had time to stack in the dishwasher. Plus the photos of friends and whānau stuck to his refrigerator door.

The space was nothing like the organized chaos of Nat’s kitchen with open recipe books left beside the cooker, some pages bearing blotches from accidental splashes, flowers dropping the odd petal on the dining table, and the comforting smell of baking that seemed to ooze from the cheery yellow walls. There was always music playing from the local station, and he’d gotten in the habit of turning on the radio and humming along while he made Nat coffee in the mornings three times a week before training.

His house breathed silence around him, but that silence no longer provided the peace it used to. He grabbed a six-pack of soda from his fridge and headed out to his truck. His heart ticked over like a bomb counting down as he drove through Bounty Bay.

It’s just a thrown-together, casual meal. Natalie’s words that she’d sent in a confirming text earlier. He’d offered to make excuses, but she’d told him Olivia was excited about making pizza for her coach.

Her coach. Isaac grimaced and parked in Nat’s driveway. Olivia’s coach, who also happened to be her mum’s friend. Because that’s the only label Nat would accept as a description between them with her daughter.

He got it. He did. The ball was completely in Natalie’s court when it came to the decision of when to tell Olivia that Isaac wasn’t just a friend. At least, he hoped it was a when and not an if. Because he wasn’t satisfied with stolen kisses in the sports equipment room after practice that made him crave more, or a quick screw in his office—or, in one instance, the back seat of his truck. It was akin to feeding a man on the brink of starvation cracker crumbs and telling him to be patient, he’d get chocolate gateau in a few weeks.

Isaac knocked on Nat’s door, peeling apart his lips in what he hoped was an easygoing, looking forward to pizza smile. Starving men couldn’t be choosy when they only had a taste for one woman.

The door swung open to warmth, the smell of dough and baked cheese, and Natalie looking delicious in an off-the-shoulder red sweater worn over black leggings. For a guy who usually didn’t give a crap about what he wore, he suddenly felt overdressed. Dammit. This wasn’t a workday or a date. He should’ve opted for the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt he’d tried on as option number two. And how pathetic was he? About to get his man-card privileges revoked by the Wussy Male Police.

“I brought something to drink,” he said, back to page one of stating the obvious in Communication for Dummies 101. He thrust the six-pack out in front of him.

Natalie took it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

She stepped back so he could enter and his nose twitched at the intoxicating scent of her. He checked her mouth—no lipstick. Good. Nat turned back from shutting the door and he blocked her path. Something of his intentions must’ve shown on his face as her forehead crinkled.

“I’m a simple guy so all I need is pizza and you.” He cupped her face and brushed a whisper of a kiss across her mouth. “Not necessarily in that order.”

“Isaac…” She clutched the soda in front of her like a shield, the cans bumping against his stomach.

“I know,” he said, and then kissed her anyway.

She inhaled as his lips melded with hers, and for a moment he tensed ready for a protest. Then she released her breath, lips parting, her tongue flicking sweetly against his. Ten seconds, he’d told himself after scoping out her mouth. A ten-second kiss wouldn’t raise Olivia’s suspicions. Only he hadn’t calculated how much Nat needed him in return. The cans vanished from between them, their bodies pulled close together by an unstoppable magnetic field.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, two minutes—Isaac lost track of everything but the feel of Nat’s passionate response, showing him without words that she’d missed him just as much as he’d missed her.

“Muuuum? Where’s the pizza wheel?”

Olivia’s shout from the kitchen stabbed into Isaac’s eardrums.

Natalie wrenched her mouth away. A split second later six cans dropped on the floor, just missing his toes, and he met her wild-eyed stare with a wince. She took a giant step backward, her hand flying to her mouth, which—his bad—looked a little puffy. Should’ve stopped to shave after all.

Nat sucked in a hitching breath, and blinked, as if for a moment she’d forgotten where her utensil drawer was. The thought made Isaac smile, because she wasn’t the only one struggling to get a head back in the game after that kiss.

“Bottom drawer,” she yelled with a hah, I didn’t forget expression on her face.

“You,” she mouthed at him, “be good.”

“Nope,” he said as she stalked past him down the hallway. Scooping up the soda, he followed. “I can’t settle for good, I only do exceptional. And that was an exceptionally great—”

She whirled in the kitchen entrance, eyes narrowed in warning. Behind her, Olivia popped up from behind the counter, brandishing a pizza wheel.

“Found it—hi, Isaac!”

“Hey, Olivia. Something smells great.” Isaac winked at Nat and brushed past her, setting the cans on the dining room table.

“I made a salad, too,” Olivia said. “Mum insisted.”

Her mum’s face was heading toward the same shade of red as the pepper slices dotting the pizza toppings.

“Have a seat,” Nat said. “I’ll get glasses for the Coke.” She rounded the counter to the glass-faced cabinets, shooting him another warning glance.

He grinned and slid into one of the dining chairs. The table was already set with three place settings. Although he’d been in their kitchen a number of times, tonight was different. More momentous. He wasn’t grabbing a coffee with Nat at the breakfast bar or, as he had on a couple of occasions, sat beside Olivia at the table while she attacked some left-to-the-last-minute math homework, offering suggestions on solving the trickier equations. Tonight was the first step in being invited into Nat and Olivia’s world. A baby step, but still a step in the right direction.

And what direction was that?

He watched Olivia dividing up the pizza and Nat move around behind her, fetching napkins and then cracking open a couple of sodas.

To becoming a more permanent fixture in their lives? Attempting to take over where Jackson had left off? Making Jackson’s family his own?

His stomach knotted, the hungry growls it’d been making earlier stifled by a heavy weight. But he forced a smile to his lips as Olivia, hands enclosed in All Blacks trademarked oven mitts, carried over the pizza tray.

“Voilà!” she said, placing it in the center of the table. “Pizza de Fisher.” She slid into the chair opposite him. “Dig in.”

Isaac transferred a slice of pizza from the tray to his plate, then accepted the glass of soda Nat passed him. She took her seat and helped herself to a slice while Olivia peeled off the oven mitts. The girl set them on the table beside her and stared at them.

“When I was little, I wanted to be an All Black like my dad,” Olivia said.

Isaac froze in the act of lifting the pizza slice to his mouth.

“Until I got older and realized that girls weren’t allowed to be,” she continued with an eye roll.

“There’s always the Black Ferns.” Isaac lowered the slice back down to his plate and swiped his fingers over the paper serviette.

Olivia’s mouth twisted as she plucked a pepperoni round off her slice and nibbled the edges.

“Nah,” she said. “I’m considering sports medicine or physiotherapy. I’d like to help athletes—like you.”

The earnestness in her voice both touched and needled him. There was nothing sports medicine or physiotherapy could do to recover his former prowess on the field.

“You don’t want to play professionally?” Nat asked.

“Nope.” Olivia popped the rest of the pepperoni round into her mouth and chewed. “I’m stoked to be in the under sixteens, and maybe I’ll even play in the under eighteens when I’m older”—she rolled a shoulder—“but playing rugby professionally means a lot of sacrifice. Right, Isaac? That’s what you told us.”

He met Olivia’s gaze squarely. “It does. Sacrifice, discipline, tenacity, and a single-minded drive to succeed. But anything in life that’s worth having requires a sacrifice of some kind. Whether it’s financially, or by giving up your morning sleep in to train, or studying all night to ace an exam.” Or accepting the damage to your reputation in order to protect your mate’s family.

Olivia bit into her pizza slice, and Isaac followed suit, racking his brains to think of a topic a little lighter than the years of blood, sweat, and tears he’d put into carving out a notch for himself at the top of the totem pole, only to have slid down that pole to crash and burn at its base.

“Did you always know you wanted to be an All Black?” Olivia said after a while. “I remember Dad saying he did. He knew the first time Granddad took him to a game at Eden Park when he was a kid. They sat in the corporate boxes and from then on, Granddad took him to every game the All Blacks played there.”

Isaac’s gaze flicked to Nat and then back to Olivia. Jackson’s family came from money, whereas Isaac’s dad had invested most of their spare dollars back into his farm and helping his whānau and extended whānau when the need arose. Sports tickets were an unaffordable luxury when they could all cram into Uncle Manu’s living room to see a televised game with uncles, aunties, and cousins sprawled over the furniture and floor.

“No,” he said. “I always thought I’d work the land with my dad.”

“You thought you would?” Nat said. “That doesn’t sound like a kid’s dream for their future.”

“I had responsibility as the eldest. I probably went through the usual phases of wanting to be a firefighter or an astronaut. Mum and Dad certainly never discouraged me as a kid. I don’t really remember anything other than seeing my dad in his stockman’s coat on one of his horses and thinking, ‘That’ll be me one day.’” He shrugged. “As it turned out, once rugby got its hooks into me I was a goner.”

“How old were you?” Olivia asked.

“I played in primary school, but I was pretty scrawny so I was often a reserve halfback.” He grinned at Olivia’s shocked expression. “That’s right, I wasn’t always the biggest guy in the team, but I was fast and I’d practice by myself, kicking a ball around the paddock for hours after school once my chores and homework were done. By the time I reached high school, after having a massive growth spurt, I think my family realized how serious I was about the sport—my coach certainly did. First to arrive at training, last to leave. Maybe missed three games the five years I was in high school, and one of those times was when I had my appendix out at fifteen. I still thought I should’ve been able to play the weekend after surgery and tried to discharge myself from the hospital.”

“That sounds like you. Pig-headed male even as a teenager,” Nat teased. “But I guess you have to be to go from high school to eventually fighting your way to the pinnacle of the sport as an All Black.” Her gaze on him was warm and admiring. “Were your parents proud when you were selected for the squad?”

“Mum and Dad screamed so loudly when my name was announced they scared the horses grazing in the back paddock.” He smiled at the memory. “For the next three days it was impossible to get hold of them on the phone as Mum was calling every friend and whānau member to tell them the news.”

“Did you remember playing against my dad at school?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah. Many times.” It was a weird combination of feelings, recalling his rivalry as a teenager with Jackson. A rivalry that eventually turned into a solid friendship when the two Far North boys played at provincial level, and then later, when they shifted to Auckland to play for the Blues. Two country bumpkins feeling out of their depth, they’d used their natural competitiveness to drive each other to push harder, fight fearlessly to be the very best.

“He was a legend at Kerikeri High School.” Isaac gentled his voice. “Must’ve been hard for you playing on his old turf.”

Olivia scooped some of the green salad from the bowl onto her plate, her nose crinkling as she pulled out bean sprouts and laid them to one side. “Nah. It was okay. It was actually kinda cool seeing his old school and his trophies and old rugby jersey on display.”

Kinda cool…but Isaac had seen Nat and Olivia standing in front of the display case, Nat’s arm draped around her daughter’s shoulders. Nat had turned toward Olivia to kiss her temple, the trace of wetness on her cheeks visible on her profile. He’d backed away, slipping into the male locker room before either of them spotted him.

Once again Isaac’s stomach revolted, but he forced himself to bite, chew, swallow, and repeat. He shot a glance across at Nat, who’d abandoned her slice of pizza and was nibbling on lettuce leaves, then to the other end of the table, where an empty chair sat without a place setting.

Jackson’s chair.

Pretty sure if he stared too long into the abyss that was the hole left by Jackson’s death, he’d find his best mate staring back at him, asking Isaac what the fuck he thought he was doing with Jackson’s family—and with the love of his life.

And Isaac had no answer to that.

He swallowed hard and held up his pizza to Olivia in a silent toast. “So what’d ya make us for dessert?”

* * *

Last game of the quarter finals. Last chance for Bounty Bay High School girls’ under sixteens to make it to the semis by beating Crimson Cove. And as it was a home game, the school fields were packed with parents, supporters, and even most of the staff had shown up on this damp winter morning.

Isaac paced along the sideline, fists shoved in the pockets of his new blue and white windbreaker. Natalie and Vee had presented the new uniforms to the team last Saturday at practice. Everyone had worked so damn hard. They had enough funds raised thanks to the bake sale to pay for transport and accommodation in the city if they made it to the semifinals.

If.

By Isaac’s calculations of the points system used to select the four semifinalist teams, Bounty Bay needed a win today to qualify. They only had to hold on to their six-point lead for another seven minutes and the game would be over. But a lot could happen in seven minutes—his girls had proved that when they scored a try in the final minutes of the first half.

His girls.

He shifted the focus of his gaze across the field to where Nat, Owen, Gracie, and Vee with Ruby on her hip stood on the opposite sideline, cheering and jumping up and down. Except Nat, her gloved hands curled into fists, who watched the game as closely as that of the referee. She chose that moment to break her concentration and look up, their gazes colliding. Everything the two of them had worked for in the past three months came down to this game. While he was realistic about their chances of making it past the semifinals, he wanted this win for the girls almost as much as he wanted Nat.

Almost.

She gave an imperceptible nod and turned her attention back to the field.

Four minutes remaining.

Isaac bit back a triumphant grin as Rangi-Marie intercepted a tired, looping pass thrown by the opposing halfback and handed it to Morgan, who took off like her shorts were on fire. Three of the opposition charged after her, and just as Morgan was about to be pulverized, she popped the ball up to Casey the winger who had been at her shoulder just as he’d taught them—always back each other up—and Casey tucked it under her arm and sprinted away. Casey flicked the ball to Livvy, who ducked, weaved, and then raced toward the try line, taking one last graceful side step around the Crimson Cove fullback—the only player standing between her and a match-winning try. In perfect unison with the full-time siren, Livvy dived over the try line and planted the ball on the muddy ground. The stomping and clapping from the bleachers escalated to a roar of approval. Sapphire converted with another picture-perfect kick straight up and over the goalpost, and the referee blew the full-time whistle with a sharp burst.

Holy shit—they’d won!

Isaac’s feet took over and pulled him out into the center field to pat backs and exchange fist bumps. A gap opened up in front of him and suddenly Olivia and Nat were either side of him. Before he thought through his actions, he wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and drew them in for a quick, fierce hug.

“Bloody well played, Livvy,” he said as the girl beamed up at him. Then he met Nat’s upturned face. “And great cheerleading, Nat. Would’ve liked to see some pom-poms, though.”

She laughed, her face flushed, her eyes gleaming with pride. Her arm had slid around his waist and she gave him a quick smack on the ass, then flushed even darker before she grinned up at him again.

“You’re springing for ice cream, right?” Olivia asked.

She ducked out from under his arm and loped a few steps away in the direction of her friends.

“Right,” he said. “A double scoop, even. I’m feeling generous.”

She gave him a thumbs-up and jogged off. Nat slid out from under his arm also, shooting him a look which set his heart pounding all over again.

“I’m feeling generous, too,” she said in a tone low enough that no one close by would overhear. “Olivia’s having a sleepover at Morgan’s, so maybe you should come over tonight and see just how generous that is.”

He displayed his best panty-melting smile. “Am I gonna score?”

“Hell yeah,” she said and ran off as the first of the parents tapped his shoulder to congratulate him.

* * *

The last thing Nat needed at some godforsaken hour in the morning after a night of uninhibited crazy-hot sex was her phone blowing up with text messages. She cracked open an eye, rolled away from the giant man-sized bed warmer that she was snuggled up against, and snatched up her phone. Five messages received from Vee, the last reading:

Video chat me now!!! Emergency of EPIC proportions!!!

Nat’s nose crinkled as she squinted at the screen. Six exclamation points, wow. She skimmed through the other five text messages, starting with ‘are you awake?’ and escalating to ‘Nat, pick up the freaking phone.’ Her heartbeat, which had immediately skipped a beat or two imagining a Ruby emergency, settled. With only a small support system in place, Vee knew that if she needed someone, she could call Nat any time day or night—not to waste time with text messages.

Nat slipped out of bed and decided to surprise Isaac with coffee in bed this morning. He deserved it—even though, as he pointed out, she couldn’t make good coffee if her life depended on it.

She was still smiling as she tapped the video symbol for Vee.

Vee’s scowling face appeared on screen a moment later. In the background came the sounds of a TV show theme from a kids’ cartoon. “About bloody time,” she said.

But it wasn’t the annoyance in her friend’s voice that punched into Nat’s gut; it was the lines on Vee’s forehead and the tightly drawn muscles around her mouth.

“What’s happened?” Nat demanded. “Is it Patrick? Is he being a dickhead again?”

Vee’s ex-fiancé and baby daddy was a septic wound in her friend’s life that never quite healed properly because Patrick couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a father to the child he’d rejected or not.

“No,” said Vee. “It’s nothing to do with that shit-weasel.” Her eyes narrowed on screen. “You’ve been having sex all night, haven’t you? Great sex by how sleep-deprived you look.”

“Um.” Nat carried the phone into the kitchen and opened the cabinet which Isaac had stocked with his fancy brand of ground organic coffee.

“Is Isaac still there?”

That she could answer truthfully. “Yep.”

“Good. Look at this.” Vee turned the phone away from her face and aimed it toward her computer screen.

Nat scrunched up her face trying to make out what was on Vee’s screen as the phone took a moment to focus. Nat recognized the logo of a New Zealand online news website at the top of the screen. Below that a big blurry photo and then it came clear—

Nat nearly dropped her phone. “Oh my God.”

The photo was a split shot of two separate photos. One was of Isaac, Nat, and Olivia, taken in the moment when Isaac had slung his arms around both their shoulders after yesterday’s game. The other was just her and Isaac, taken a few minutes later. They were smiling at each other, the kind of smile that wouldn’t be mistaken for a friend-zone smile—and if that wasn’t a giveaway of the connection between them, the photographer had captured Nat’s palm pressed to Isaac’s chest. She didn’t even remember touching him, maybe because doing so had become so instinctual now.

“Can you read the caption?” Vee said.

Unfortunately, Nat could.

Former All Black Isaac Ngata Scores with Teammate’s Widow.

“Oh shit,” she said.

“Oh shit, what?” came a sleep-roughened male voice from behind her.

The phone slipped from her numb fingers onto the kitchen counter. Nat spun around, her heart banging against her ribs so hard it sounded like someone pounding on her front door. Wait a minute—there was someone pounding on her front door.

Her gaze flew from the phone to Isaac, dressed only in his black knit boxer shorts and leaning on the kitchen doorframe, looking disturbingly hot in all his warm brown skin and never-ending muscles. Looking like nothing she would want whoever was knocking on her front door to see.

“You’re front page news again, lover boy—and it sounds like you’ve got company.” Vee’s voice seemed to be coming from a mile away.

“You want me to get that?” he asked.

The ease with which he asked the question told her Isaac hadn’t overheard much of her and Vee’s conversation, nor had he skimmed the news website as he often did over his morning coffee. Coffee which she hadn’t yet made, and she’d wanted to do something sweet for him, to show him how much he’d come to mean to her, and oh my God, their photos were all over the internet and Olivia…

Nat flew across the room and pushed past Isaac, ignoring the flutters her stomach made as her hand connected with one set of the never-ending muscles which rippled down his abdomen. She ran to the front door, and had enough sense to look through the security lens before reaching for the doorhandle. And seeing who was on the other side, her lungs locked up and refused to function.

Two men, the one in front with an expression of gleeful expectation, the one bringing up the rear hoisting professional-looking camera equipment on his shoulder. Worse—the fish-eye lens also exposed the line of sign-painted media vans parked on both sides of her street.

Oh shit.

Nat backed away from the door and bumped into something big and solid and warm. Strong arms wrapped around her middle, keeping her on her feet when her knees wanted to buckle.

His breath puffed against her neck. “Tahu, what’s going on?”

“Not here,” she whispered. “Let’s go back to the kitchen.”

Isaac released her, but linked their hands together as they padded back into the kitchen. Nat crossed to the counter and her phone, promising Vee she’d call her back later. After she disconnected, she hid her face with her palms and groaned.

“Want to tell me who’s on your front porch?” Isaac moved past her and she heard the coffee bag rustle as he picked it up from the counter.

“Reporters, I think.”

Her voice came out muffled, but he must’ve heard her as he swore and came to stand by her side.

“Nat?”

She dropped her hands and straightened. “Someone took photos of us at the game yesterday. Vee called to let me know it’s on the news websites, and probably all over social media by now.”

Isaac picked up her phone and brought up the news site. He scanned the photo and text, his jaw bunching into carved marble the more his flat gaze studied the screen. A couple of times an eyebrow twitched upward, or lines cut across his forehead. After a minute he huffed disdainfully and set the phone back down.

“Did you read the article that went with the photo?” he asked. “And I use the term article lightly since it appears to be have written by someone who graduated from the Journalism School of Unsubstantiated Conjecture.”

“No.” She grimaced, tugging the edges of her robe tighter around her. “But I imagine it implies you and I are engaged in a sordid affair.”

“There’s nothing fucking sordid about us.” Isaac gripped her waist and boosted her up to sit on the counter, stepping between her thighs in one fluid motion.

She opened her mouth to object, then let it fall shut as he enveloped her in a bear hug, rubbing her back with slow, soothing strokes.

“This isn’t an affair,” she said, sliding her hands up the broad expanse of his back and closing her eyes, allowing herself a few endless seconds to just draw on all the strength she found beneath her fingertips.

Would he correct her bold statement of defining the physical, sensual heat that sparked between them as something more than a transient attraction?

“No. It’s not,” he murmured against the side of her throat.

“But I don’t know what this is.” She pulled back, bracing her palms against his pecs, and putting some distance between her body that wanted to keep dissolving into him and her brain that was all hey, reporters on your doorstep!

“Are we friends with benefits?” she continued.

Isaac gave her a lifted eyebrow, are you shitting me? grimace. “What are we? Horny twenty-year-olds?”

“Fine. So are we going steady, then? Dating?” Heavy on the sarcasm. “We haven’t even been on a date, unless you count the time you took Olivia and me to see a rescreening of the Richie McCaw movie and sprang for popcorn.”

“And KFC afterward,” Isaac said deadpan. “In Bounty Bay, that’s considered a five-star date.”

She snorted. “Yeah, if you’re a horny twenty-year-old.”

His smile warmed her from the inside out, and for a moment she forgot what they’d been bantering about and just soaked it in to charge her batteries for later.

Then the wattage of his smile dialed back into seriousness. “I’m sorry I haven’t taken you on a real date. I didn’t want to rush you into something you weren’t ready for.”

Isaac cupped her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

A woman could drown in those beautiful dark-brown eyes. Death by chocolate, but you’d die happy and sated. Assuming that in one lifetime you could ever get enough of staring into Isaac Ngata’s eyes.

Nat now had her doubts, but she also had something more at stake than girlish daydreams that she should’ve already outgrown. Olivia. Her daughter was only one thing preventing her from rushing into the public arena of dating Isaac. Only one thing, but the most important thing.

“This wasn’t the way I’d planned to broach the subject of you—of an us—with Olivia. I thought I’d have time to feel comfortable with us being something real, that I could introduce her slowly to the idea that maybe you and I could be more than friends, that we could ease her into it.” Her mouth wobbled. “But having that crap written about us all over the ’net, being thrust back into the public eye again—those sharks out there will keep circling until they find blood.”

“Then we don’t give them any.”

Isaac tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, then gripped her by the waist again and lowered her to her feet. “Go and get dressed while I make coffee and call Owen. It’s early Sunday morning and Olivia and Morgan probably won’t even be conscious yet.”

“True,” she said. But her stomach still flip-flopped at the thought of Olivia seeing something online.

“Trust me.” Isaac stepped aside and snagged the bag of coffee. “You’ll feel better equipped to handle this shit storm with some caffeine in your system.” He turned away for a beat and then back again. “Oh—and pack a couple of bags with enough clothes for you and Olivia for three or four days.”

“What? Where are we going?” She must really need the java juice as she had no idea what he was talking about.

“My family’s farm,” he said, measuring out spoonfuls of ground coffee. “The three of us are going to starve those sharks.”