Rory napped with his siblings for an hour or so before getting up to help Tierney clean the bathroom and put her cottage back together after Hurricane Ian had ripped through. The damage was less than it had initially appeared: an antique vase was shattered beyond repair, but the ceramic pots Ian had broken might have a chance with Krazy Glue. He’d also busted the bookcase and coffee table, but it looked like those could be fixed.

By nine o’clock, Ian had held down some Gatorade and saltines, and though he still sweated and shook in bed, it had been more than twenty hours since his last drink. He’d still feel like shit for two or three more days, but it appeared that he’d sidestepped seizures this time. The worst was over.

But now the real work began—helping him stay clean.

“Ian, how about you stay with Tierney for a while? Help her get Moonstone ready for the summer crowds?”

“Yeah, I could do that.”

“There’s lots to be done,” said Tierney. “And I could pay you a little too.”

“There’s an 8:00 pm meeting at the Moultonborough Methodist Church tomorrow,” said Rory, who’d looked up the local AA schedule. “I’ll come get you. We’ll go together, okay?”

Ian nodded his head against the pillow, his eyes starting to close again. “Yeah. Good. Thanks, Ror.”

Rory leaned down and pressed his lips to his brother’s sweaty forehead before leaving, sending up a quick prayer of thanks to God that Ian was still alive and motivated to get clean. Please let it stick this time.

He hugged Tierney hard on his way out.

“You’re a rock star,” he said.

“Ah, go on.” She cocked her head to the side. “You think he can do it?”

“I can’t remember the last time he really wanted to.”

“Me neither.”

“We’ll do everything we can, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m on board.”

“Me too.” Rory sighed. “I’ve got to get back to camp.”

“Did you get Doug to come in to help?”

“He’s in Iceland. I got…someone else.”

“On such short notice?” Tierney’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“No one you know,” said Rory, opening her front door and stepping onto the stoop. He turned to look back at her. “Call me if you need me?”

“He’ll be all right now,” she said. “See you Sunday night?”

He nodded.

“Come at seven,” said Tierney. “We’ll have dinner first.”

“Shepherd’s Pie?”

She grinned, the first smile she’d cracked all day. “If you’re lucky.”

“We’re Irish,” said Rory, winking at her. “Aren’t we supposed to have luck covered?”

Parking behind the office at Summerhaven fifteen minutes later, he checked his watch, grimacing to find it was after nine thirty. Britt’s long gone by now, he thought, with a wave of inexplicable melancholy. He would have liked to thank her. Hell, he would have just liked to see her lovely, expressive face one more time.

…Which means it’s best that she’s gone, he thought ruefully. No need to get infatuated over Brittany Manion all over again.

Mrs. Toffle looked up as he entered the dimly lit office.

“You’re still here, Mrs. T?” he asked. “You should have gone home by now! It’s late.”

“You caught me on the way out.” She turned off her desk light and stepped around the counter. “How’s Ian?”

“Better. Asleep.”

“How bad was it?”

“Really bad,” he admitted, “although he said he wants to get clean.”

Mrs. Toffle’s sympathetic eyes brightened. “Well, that’s progress.”

“I guess.” Rory shrugged. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“When have you ever?” she asked, sliding her purse to her elbow.

“What does that mean?”

“It means give yourself a break, Rory Haven. Life isn’t guaranteed to break your heart. If you lean in and trust it a little, it just might surprise you.”

“What do you mean by tha—”

“Sometimes good things just happen. When they do, why don’t you give them a chance?” He opened the door for her as she approached it, but she stopped beside him, looking up into his eyes. “Speaking of good things…I almost forgot to mention: Miss Manion is upstairs. I made up Tierney’s room for her.” She cocked her head to the side, mumbling to herself as she stepped onto the porch. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

Rory’s whole body reacted to this news, lurching forward as he put his hand on Mrs. Toffle’s shoulder. “Wait. What?”

“She’s staying overnight. I knew you would insist. She was practically asleep on her feet by the time she finished work, and I told her she couldn’t drive back to Boston in the dark,” explained Mrs. Toffle, turning back around to face him. “She worked nonstop from three until nine—greeting guests, showing them to their cottages, seeing to their needs. She set up the AV equipment and microphone in the dining hall. She even made a short speech welcoming the attendees to Summerhaven. She was…well, she was remarkable.”

“And she’s upstairs,” he reconfirmed, his eyes darting to the ceiling before searching Mrs. Toffle’s eyes carefully.

“Yes,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. She turned back around and stepped off the porch, into the night. “Good night, Mr. Haven.”

“Good night, Mrs. Toffle,” he murmured, locking the door behind her.

She’s here. Britt’s still here.

Resisting the urge to take the stairs three at a time, he turned off the office light and made his way upstairs quickly, but quietly, just in case she was already asleep. He unlocked the door and toed off his boots on the welcome mat, hanging his jacket on a peg across from the door. Tiptoeing into the living room, the first thing he saw was her waves of blonde hair hanging over the back of the couch.

Rounding the coffee table, he found her curled up on the couch in front of a crackling fire, wearing Tierney’s old pajamas. With her eyes closed, her lips lightly opened, and her cheek resting on the back of his parents’ old flowered couch, Brittany Manion took his breath away.

Who was this woman who’d spent the last six hours of her life helping him? She didn’t really know him and certainly didn’t owe him anything, and yet she’d saved him. She’d swooped in without hesitation and saved the day with humor and kindness and grace.

Reaching his hand to his chest, he flattened his palm over his heart, surprised by the sudden and intense ache there. He knew instinctively that it was a dangerous sensation, this wave of longing, of awe and gratitude, mixed with a decade-old attraction that was renewing by the second. If he could have stopped his feelings, he would have, but they overcame him mercilessly in waves of undiluted adoration. They took root deep inside of him—uselessly, because she was engaged to someone else—so many tiny tendrils sprouting from foolish seeds.

“Hey, you,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering open and her sweet lips tilting up into a dreamy smile. “You’re back. How’s Ian?”

Rory blinked at her. Speak. Say something.

“B-Better.”

“Better’s good,” she said. Then she yawned, chuckling as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry. Tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, sitting on the coffee table across from her, his knees almost touching her bare feet, which peeked over the edge of the couch. “Mrs. Toffle said you were amazing tonight.”

“I had fun.”

“Schlepping all over camp?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded, her voice low and sleepy, her heavy eyes at half-mast. “Schlepping all over camp.”

“Ready for bed?” he asked.

She blinked at him and suddenly her eyes flashed open—wide, dark-brown orbs locking on his. “For b-bed?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Mrs. Toffle made up my sister’s bed for you.”

“Oh. Right. Yes,” she said, averting her eyes as she leaned forward and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. He caught the two spots of pink on her cheeks when she looked down at him. “Thank you.”

Wait. Had she thought he was offering to share his bed? A brief image of naked Brittany Manion, with her blonde hair spread over his pillows like a halo, made his breath catch. He shifted uncomfortably where he still sat on the coffee table, facing a now-empty couch.

Quit it, you idjit. She’s engaged.

She was halfway down the hallway when he called out to her.

“Britt!”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I forgot to say thank you. For everything.”

“My pleasure,” she said, a smile blooming on her face before she turned back around, opening the door to Tierney’s old room. “Night, Rory.”

She stepped inside, and the door latched shut behind her.

“Oíche mhaith…mo mhuirnín,” he murmured, rooted where he stood, staring down the dark hallway where the star of his hottest teenage dreams was spending the night.

Good night…my sweetheart.

***

Brittany awoke to the pitter-patter of rain and the smell of brewing coffee, one melding seamlessly with the other and heightening a dreamy feeling of bliss. Snug and warm under soft, sweet-smelling sheets and a puffy down duvet, she burrowed into her pillow, opening her eyes slowly to the soft gray light of daybreak filtering in through Tierney Haven’s bedroom window.

Reaching for her iPhone, she checked the time—6:53 am—then replaced her phone on the nightstand and wiggled back under the covers. Except her eyes wouldn’t stay closed, despite the rhythmic rain and warm, cozy bed. The coffee smelled too good, and there was only one person who could be brewing it: Rory Haven.

“Mmmm,” she hummed softly, thinking of the way he had been looking at her when she opened her eyes last night.

Rory had grown into the kind of man that every woman wanted—tall and strapping, with dark hair and bright-green eyes; he was mature and responsible and unafraid to love the people who mattered to him. The way he left the campground yesterday, prioritizing his family over work, had left an indelible impression on Brittany. Old-fashioned words like loyalty, honor, and character circled in her head and made her feel lonely. One day, some lucky girl was going to land Rory Haven, and all that goodness would belong to her.

While Brittany would belong to Ben.

Wonderful Ben, she amended quickly.

Suddenly eager to connect with her fiancé, Brittany sat up and grabbed her phone again, swiping the screen to check for messages.

E-mails? Yes. A little number 5 in a red bubble raised her hopes. She pressed the app with anticipation, releasing a sigh of disappointment when she discovered they were all junk.

Calls? None.

Texts? None.

She sighed, cold discontent creeping into her warm, comfy morning.

Be reasonable, she told herself. You and Ben almost never e-mail, call, or text while he’s working a double. He’s too busy, and you know it.

And yet…

She still felt bothered. She’d slept somewhere else last night and he had no idea. Shouldn’t he have known where she was? Shouldn’t they have connected? Why shouldn’t he call her just to say hello? She was his fiancée, after all. A text to say “Miss you. Love you. Good night” would literally take less than ten seconds to type, but it would let her know that she was on his mind, that he was thinking of her.

Unless he wasn’t.

Now, if he was thinking about his young patients, immersed in thoughts of their care and treatment? She could accept that. Cheerfully, even. But even Brittany wasn’t that naïve. Everyone had ten unspoken-for seconds in their day. Ben just didn’t choose to spend them on her.

A soft rap at the door jolted her from her unsettling thoughts.

“Britt?” whispered a husky, morning-voiced Rory. “You up? If yes, there’s coffee and I’m making biscuits. If no, sleep in.”

She placed her phone back on the nightstand, screen down, and hopped out of bed, opening the door.

Rory stood in the hallway, his thick hair sleep-tousled, a rogue, dark-brown lock resting on his forehead. He wore a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt pushed up to his elbows, with blue-and-gray plaid flannel pants. Her eyes, drawn to a vein that wound around his muscled forearm, stared for a moment before she jerked her head up, blinking up at him.

“Good morning.”

He smiled at her. “Good morning.” He ran a hand through his hair, then gestured to the kitchen with a flick of his neck. “Coffee?”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, but stepping from Tierney’s carpeted room to the hardwood hallway floor made her gasp. “Cold!”

“Wait,” said Rory, placing his hands on her hips and pushing her back a step.

He slid his hands away and sidestepped past her into Tierney’s room, opening his sister’s closet and bending down. When he stood up, he was holding a pair of leather slippers lined with fluffy sheepskin. “Put these on.”

Her body had reacted when he’d reached for her, hyperaware of where he touched her—her breath stolen by the sweet and simple intimacy of it. It left her, inexplicably, longing for more.

I’m attracted to Rory…but I shouldn’t be. The thought flitted through her head, but she silenced it, ignored it, reaching for the slippers that dangled from his fingers.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Floors are cold year-round,” he said. “It’s nice in August.”

The timer on the oven started beeping and Rory grinned. “Biscuits. Don’t expect anything too fancy. They’re the kind that come in the Pillsbury tube, but I’ve got comp’ny butter and honey too.”

Following him into the kitchen, with Tierney’s slippers scuffling softly with her steps, Brittany asked, “What’s ‘company’ butter?”

“Oh,” he said, putting on mitts before opening the oven door, “it’s butter that’s been left out on the counter all night so it softens. Spreads really easily.”

“Slutty butter,” she murmured, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t know where that came from!”

“Ha!” He chuckled in surprise, shaking his head in bemusement. “Slutty butter. You’re…different from what I thought.”

Different. Right. I make totally inappropriate comments about breeding and promiscuous food items. I’m different, all right.

“It doesn’t go bad? The butter?” asked Brittany, turning her back to him as she took the empty mug beside the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

“Bad?” Rory placed a cookie sheet of six browned biscuits on the counter. “Nope.”

When she turned to look at him, a mischievous smile played on his face, making his eyes sparkle. Likely, he was about to make a joke about “bad” butter, but she was grateful he didn’t. She was embarrassed enough as it was.

He gestured to the table and they sat down across from each other, Rory sliding a white ceramic plate to her that held one perfect buttermilk biscuit. Opening the flaky layers, she inhaled deeply as the butter-flavored steam rose to her nose. Spreading some butter on the hot bread, she watched it melt and pool immediately, her mouth watering.

“Looks good, right?” he asked, pushing the honey to her. “Have some of this too. It’s local.”

She took the honey wand from the little pot and drizzled some over the biscuit, watching it seep into the buttery layers. “I never eat carbs, but this looks amazing.”

As she bit into it, a stream of hot, buttery honey escaped down her chin and she reached for a paper napkin, dabbing at her face.

“Taking a bath in it, huh?” said Rory, grinning at her.

“It’s messy.”

“But tasty,” he said, leaning over his plate to take another bite. “Why don’t you eat carbs?”

Ben had once made a comment to her about how petite women needed to be careful about what they ate, because it didn’t take long for them to balloon once they started eating whatever looked good. She’d weighed in the next morning to find that she’d gained a few pounds over the months they’d been dating. After that, she went on a strict no-carbs diet, and Ben hadn’t mentioned her weight again.

“Don’t you find slim women more attractive?”

“Is that what your fiancé wants? A slim woman?” he asked, his tone cool.

The answer was yes, but she sidestepped his question out of loyalty to Ben. “I think that’s what most men want.”

“Then I guess I’m not most men,” said Rory, his eyes darkening as he stared at her over biscuits, slutty butter, and honey, “because I like a woman to look like a woman…and that means curves.”

Brittany’s breath caught as she got lost in his stormy forest-green eyes. “Really?”

Rory nodded slowly, his eyes locked with hers. “Yeah. Really.”

Ruffled by this intense attention, Brittany picked up her coffee mug, concentrating on the warm ceramic in her hands as she took a sip. When she looked up, Rory was drizzling more honey on his biscuit.

“So,” she asked, “what’s on the docket for today?”

Rory glanced up between bites. “Breakfast at nine in the north dining room, followed by a presentation. If the rain stops after lunch, Sven and Klaus are leading them in a ropes course. Trust exercises.”

“Sven and Klaus?”

“These German brothers who live down in Meredith. They own an adventure business. I hire them for groups.”

“I didn’t know Summerhaven had a ropes course.”

Rory nodded. “I added it. Corporate types love it.”

“Ah-ha. And then?”

“Afternoon break-out sessions in the south dining room and barn, free time for all attendees, and then the farewell dinner in the north dining room at six. They leave after breakfast on Sunday morning.”

“Whew,” said Brittany, taking another sip of her coffee. “Busy agenda.”

Rory nodded, glancing at his watch, then at the leftover biscuits. “You know what? It’s only seven fifteen. I think I’ll run over to Tierney’s real quick. Bring them breakfast.”

“Oh,” said Brittany, assuming this was her cue to pack up and hit the road. “Well, thanks for having me overnight.”

Rory was taking their dishes to the sink, but he spun around, his eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t have to go yet, do you?”

“I thought—”

“No,” said Rory. “You’re welcome here. You can stay as long as you like…I mean, unless you need to get back.”

But A Better Tomorrow was in good hands, and her only real “job” from now until Memorial Day weekend was to plan her wedding. Not to mention, with Ben working, she didn’t have anyone to go home to.

“You wouldn’t mind if I stayed another night?”

“Not at all,” said Rory, his face softening, his eyes holding hers. “My rushing off to help Tierney cut short our meeting yesterday. If you don’t have to go yet, I’m happy to introduce you to two local florists. And, let’s see…Pastor Greene at the Congregational Church has officiated in the chapel here in the past. We could swing by his church to check his schedule too. And there’s a photographer in Holderness who’s quite good. We could go see her too.”

“Yes! I’d like that,” said Brittany, offering him a smile. She tilted her head to the side. “But first, could I…”

“Could you…?”

“Could I go with you? To see Tierney and Ian?”

She didn’t know what had prompted her to make such a request of him; she remembered Ian as a mischievous troublemaker and Tierney as an introvert. Maybe it was just curiosity, or maybe she wanted the chance to see Rory with his siblings. She’d had so little experience with family, and theirs had always fascinated her.

Rory sighed. “Ian’s not going to look good.”

“One of the foundations I started in Boston is called A Better Tomorrow. We work with recovering addicts, helping them get their lives back on track once they’ve chosen sobriety,” she said gently. “I don’t have any expectations. I just…I don’t know. Maybe a visit would cheer him up? I’d just like to help.”

Her words rang in her ears, absurd and embarrassing to her as she reviewed them. She didn’t know Ian Haven. She wasn’t a doctor. She was an heiress who’d thrown some money at a few good causes. That didn’t mean Rory Haven would or should feel comfortable bringing her to his sister’s house to visit his brother.

Her cheeks and earlobes burned, no doubt scarlet. Why would Ian Haven want a visit from some girl he probably didn’t even remember? God, how incredibly presumptuous of her to even ask.

“I’m out of line,” she said in a rush. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

But when she looked up at Rory, he was staring at her with a soft expression, his eyes almost tender.

“Not at all,” he said softly, taking a step toward her. “I’m glad you did. I’d love for you to come.”