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  She’d been ten years old when she’d taken the witness stand. District Attorney O’Neil, skinny with acne scars and a suit that looked like it belonged to her older sister, had asked Honor to point at him. Point to the man who hurt you.

  Him. Doctor Gorham. My foster dad.

  She’d prayed someone would kill him in prison. Weren’t child molesters supposed to be targets? To learn he was free was unfair, maddening.

  What did she need? What should she do to make this all go away, to chase the wicked thoughts from her mind?

  Do normal Saturday stuff. Make coffee.

  She made coffee in her French press, laboring over the details: half a cup of whole beans into the grinder for fifteen seconds, then into the press with four cups of hot water for four minutes. She used beans from the same company that Zane used at The Oar. She had to have them specially shipped from the Oregon coast, but it was worth every penny. It wasn’t that she associated the specific nutty aroma with Zane—no, really, that wasn’t it. Not all the way, anyway. The beans were superior to any coffee she’d ever had. Nuances of flavor mattered. Not just in food and beverages, but in everything. If you could afford the best, why not have it?

  Gorham. Out of jail. When she tallied up the men from her childhood, she had a ranking system from one to ten. The first foster dad had been a five. Nothing sexual. He had smacked her bare bottom with a pizza board for any infraction, all in the name of taming her wild ways and making her into a nice young lady. She shuddered, remembering the sound on her bare skin and the subsequent sting. They’d sent her away when they’d adopted a baby.

  The Gorhams were next. Doctor Stanley Gorham had been a ten.

  Then came her third and final family. The farmer and his sullen wife. She fell back in time, remembering.

  Mr. and Mrs. Aker used fosters as workers on their farm. It was a business to them. They received money from the state and free labor. More children equaled more money. As the only girl in the group of six foster children, ranging from ages nine to seventeen, she was assigned housework. The boys were not so lucky. They built fences and fed livestock in the cold winters and bucked hay in the summers. The sticky heat of a Tennessee afternoon punched even the young and hearty. She snuck pitchers of cold water to the barn. They gathered around her smelling of hay and body odor and gasoline. Scratches irritated their skin. Sweat dampened their hair. They gulped ravenously from the mason jars. Most things were out of her control, but not this. She could present this one act of kindness that mattered to another human being. Humans who suffered as she did.

  One boy she felt particularly sorry for was named Lavonne Wright—the most ironic of names. He wasn’t completely right in the head and had a slow way of speaking, like language was new to him. Light blue eyes that reminded her of those humid, hazy Tennessee summer skies often stared into space like he wanted to recollect something important but could not quite locate it. When someone moved too suddenly, he flinched. She knew why. He’d been hit too many times. On school days they walked together to the bus stop. She protected him from the older kids by deflecting attention away from him onto herself. She could take it. Even back then, she knew the older boys thought she was pretty, and she used it. She used whatever she could to survive.

  Mr. Aker had sent her away when she was fifteen or so. She’d jumped on his back to stop him from pinning Lavonne against the wall of the barn with a pitchfork. So much for that family or that school. The rest of her childhood was spent in a group home for troubled girls. The house was run like a prison, which suited her just fine. As long as she could go to school, the rest didn’t matter.

  Then, cancer. A hysterectomy and chemotherapy. Twelve more months of hell.

  You’ll never have children, Miss Sullivan. I’m sorry.

  At least I’m alive, right doc?

  But then came the call about her great-aunt. A house in California. All yours.

  Now, she cursed again under her breath. This phone call had her in a bad way. Recalling her past was not something she ever did. She never looked backward, only forward. Until today.

  Zane. She wished Zane were here. She wished she could talk to him and tell him everything. The night they’d spent together hadn’t faded, even though it was six months ago already. If only she could will away the images of that night. His tanned body against his crisp, white sheets. His rough hands on her hot skin. The way he’d murmured her name.

  Don’t think of him. There was no way she could have him in her life the way she wanted. Not if she told him the secret of her past, the one that could not be undone. Zane Shaw should have someone whole. Someone to give him a family. She couldn’t be that woman. As much as she wanted to be Zane’s everything, she was empty. There would be no real family for her. Not before, not now, not ever.

  Around eleven, she headed out in her little red sports car. She had shaken herself out of her stupor and called Violet to see if she and her small son, Dakota, wanted to meet for a picnic and swimming down at the beach. Best way to get out of a funk was to spend time with Violet’s little guy. His chubby cheeks and big blue eyes melted all troubles from her mind. Violet was so lucky. No, none of that. Children are for other people. You can’t have everything.

  Once she reached the main street of town, she pulled into the grocery store lot. She knew Violet was on a tight budget, so she’d offered to bring the picnic items. Lately her friend had looked thin and pinched. Honor knew what that meant. Money problems. For weeks Honor had tried to figure out a way to help without all out asking her if she needed to borrow some money. Violet was proud. As a single mother and small business owner, the odds were stacked against her.

  This was a weird thing, but Honor loved the grocery store. The smell of stinky cheese, produce, even the chill of the frozen aisle, pleased her. She usually found an excuse to shop for some item or the other every day. A fresh loaf of bread, or a special goat cheese, or a ripe peach. She could buy anything she wanted. That fact still made her giddy with delight.

  After almost a decade of living here, her breath still caught at the sight of the little town and the beach. When she was nineteen, a great-aunt she never even knew existed had left her a house in Cliffside Bay, California. She’d never been to California or seen the Pacific Ocean. Shortly after she’d arrived, she knew this would be her home. Finally, a forever home, even if she had to make it herself.

  Life here had fallen into place so easily she didn’t trust it for a long time. Any day it would blow up. The house wasn’t really hers. She wouldn’t be able to find a job or go to college. But none of that had happened. Right away Hugh Shaw hired her to waitress for him at The Oar. Without rent, it was easy to put herself through college. After graduation, thanks to Hugh, she’d lucked into a position as Brody’s assistant. She figured she was due a little luck, and boy how she ran with it. Hard work makes a good life. Hugh Shaw had told her that.

  Find a way to be useful to others. She’d taught herself that one. Over time she’d earned Brody’s trust with hard work and integrity. Brody was like her. Once you proved yourself to him, he trusted you like family. In less than a year, he’d fired his worthless manager and given her the job. Now she managed all his business affairs. He paid her a ridiculous salary to do so. She was indispensable to him, both professionally and personally. You’re the sister I never knew I wanted. He told her that often, always with that teasing lilt to his voice. She never tired of hearing it. Did he know how much those words meant to her? She suspected he did, even though she could never express it without choking up and running out the door.

  Now, Honor turned the corner of the produce aisle and almost ran into Maggie. They squealed, then laughed, then hugged.

  “I thought you were in the city today?” Honor asked.

  “I am. I mean, I’m leaving now. I just stopped to grab something for the road.” A premade sandwich, a hunk of cheese, and a bottled water nestled in her basket. “Rhona asked me to bring some of the local cheese Micky likes so much.” Rhon
a and Micky, Sophie’s adoptive parents, lived in San Francisco. Micky ran a small recording label. He and Maggie were currently working on her first album.

  “Kyle just called to tell me we can start finalizing paint colors and choosing furniture,” Maggie said. “With my recording contract, we can actually afford furniture.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you choose.”

  “Will you give me the name of the designer who did your house?” Maggie asked. “I love your place and Jackson and I are so busy right now with work and wedding planning and everything that we’re about to lose our minds.”

  “Mattson and Associates. Trey Mattson lives here in town. He was recently divorced. Nasty from what I hear.”

  “The name Trey Mattson sounds like a designer,” Maggie said.

  “He’s sorta hot. All broody and artistic.”

  “Gay?”

  “No way.”

  “Can he work with a budget?” Maggie asked.

  “That’s his specialty. Trey’s the sweetest guy in the world, despite his gruff exterior. I think he’s from somewhere in the Midwest. You know they’re always nice. Like Canadians.”

  “Canadians?”

  “Polite and respectful. Anyway, tell Trey I sent you and he’ll give you a deal.”

  Another expression Honor couldn’t read crossed Maggie’s face. “Midwest, though. Interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  “My best friend Lisa from New York grew up in the Midwest. She’s got a flair for decorating. She’s single. And, she’s from Iowa.”

  “Matchmaking?” Honor wagged a finger in mock reproach. “You know that never works out.”

  “It might, though, right? An image of Lisa flashed before my eyes when you mentioned him. Maybe it’s a sign or something.”

  “Maybe. This town does seem to bring out the romantic side of people,” Honor said.

  Maggie put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of which, have you asked Zane out on a proper date yet?”

  “No. I can’t. What if he says no? I’d die.” So much easier to pretend it was something as benign as fear of rejection than the truth.

  “You need to do it. Be brave,” Maggie said. “He won’t say no.”

  “He won’t even look at me half the time.”

  “You guys seemed pretty cozy at Kara and Brody’s wedding.”

  Honor let out a deep breath. What a night that had been. They’d danced for hours, but afterward Zane had taken her home and dropped her on the doorstep all polite and platonic—two things she didn’t want from him. “He didn’t seem interested when we got to my house.”

  “He’s scared. You’re going to have to step up or you two are never going to get married.”

  “Married? We can’t even figure out how to go on a date,” Honor said.

  Maggie smiled and raised her eyebrows. “You can go out on a date and you will. I’m not worried.” She gave Honor a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m off. Songs to sing.”

  Honor watched as Maggie walked away, her narrow, former-ballerina body graceful in a long skirt and linen blouse. Maggie’s fair skin burned with just the slightest moments of sun. She almost always wore long-sleeved shirts if she was going to be outside. That’s why she looked twenty instead of thirty.

  In a couple months, Honor would watch Maggie walk down the aisle and marry her soulmate. Two out of the five Dogs would be married. The others would surely follow thereafter. Someday it would be Zane’s turn and she’d have to stand aside and watch that too. She would remain the watcher from the sidelines, pretending that others’ happiness didn’t fill her with pain and longing. Alone in the shadows. At least she was alive. There was that.

  Chapter Three

  Zane

  * * *

  ZANE HAD SCRUBBED the last of the toothpaste off his shower door when the phone rang. Maggie Keene.

  “Hey Mags.”

  “I have intel for you.”

  “Intel?”

  “I just ran into Honor at the store. She’s headed to the beach with Violet. Which means you should head to the beach too. And don’t say you have to work because I know you don’t.”

  “Just show up there without an invite?”

  “It’s a public beach,” Maggie said. “You’re watching her house with a telescope. I think stalking her at the beach is the next step.”

  “If you ever tell anyone about that, I’ll tell everyone how you lifted that candy bar from the store when we were kids.”

  “We were seven. I’m pretty sure they can’t arrest me. Statute of limitations or something. Plus, I was so cute.”

  “Oh, brother.” He wandered to the window. Leaves on the old oak outside his house were still. The beach would be without wind and warm today. “I am feeling like a little sun.”

  “Ask her out on a proper date,” Maggie said. “For heaven’s sake.”

  “I told you, I’m doing it today.”

  “I’ll give you five billion dollars if you do.”

  “You’re on,” he said.

  Around noon, Zane headed across the sand. Morning fog had lifted. A cloudless sky and the midday sun made the water sparkle. Umbrellas, towels, and beach chairs dotted the sand. It didn’t take long to spot Honor’s red and white umbrella. Under its shade, Violet relaxed in a chair, reading a paperback. Honor tossed a beach ball back and forth with Dakota. Her hair was wet, like she’d just been in for a swim. Man, he loved that. Some women wouldn’t even go in the water, afraid they’d mess up their hair. Honor just jumped right in without a care. When you looked like a Bond girl, who needed to feel insecure? Today she wore a turquoise bikini—like wore it or worked it or something. Whatever the word, the sight of her tight, petite, suntanned body made him dizzy. He just wanted to push her into the sand and yank the top off with his teeth.

  Should he say hello? Yes, he should. He was asking her out on a proper date today. When he was a few feet away, Honor brought the beach ball to her chest and grinned at him. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” he said.

  “Hi Zane.” Dakota smiled up at him. His pudgy hand reached out and touched the leg of Zane’s swimming trunks. His forearm was paler than the rest of him. He’d broken his arm earlier in the summer and had just had his cast removed.

  Zane knelt in the wet sand. “How’s it hangin’, dude?” Zane winked up at Honor. “That’s surfer talk.”

  She laughed. “From about a million years ago.”

  Her laugh made him want to do a cartwheel. And he’d never done a cartwheel in his life. His gaze lingered for a moment on her toned legs before returning his attention to Dakota.

  “We’re about to have lunch. Want to join us?” Honor asked.

  “Please, yes,” Dakota said.

  This little boy made his heart hurt. Did he miss the father he never had? Would he grow up wondering why his father didn’t want him, like Zane had with his mother? “Sure. I’m starved,” Zane said.

  He followed them across the sand to the umbrella. Three low beach chairs were arranged on a blanket under the umbrella. When they arrived, Violet looked up from her book and smiled, obviously surprised to see him on a weekend afternoon. “Look what the surf dragged in.”

  He plopped onto the blanket next to her chair. “Hey Vio. Good to see you’re taking the day off,” Zane said.

  “You too.” She held out her arms and Dakota crawled onto her lap. “Ooh, you’re cold,” she said to her son before looking back at Zane. “Great to see you somewhere other than behind your bar.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I was down on the beach on a Saturday,” he said.

  “Looks good on you,” Honor said.

  Her brown eyes could turn a man into a blubbering fool.

  “Must be the extra three hours of sleep I’m getting these days.” He turned away before she caught on to his utter lovesickness. “Violet, who’s looking after your shop?”

  Violet kissed the top of Dakota’s blond head. “I
didn’t open today.” A dark expression settled onto her delicate features. “I’m not getting enough business these days to pay someone.” Violet’s shop sold items made from something recycled, like purses made from tires.

  Honor knelt by the cooler and pulled out several wrapped deli sandwiches. “Turkey or salami?”

  “Salami,” Zane said.

  “That’s what I like too.” Dakota grinned at him.

  Zane grinned back at him as he caught the sandwich Honor tossed and settled into one of the chairs. He took a good look at Violet. Dark circles under her eyes told him she wasn’t getting much sleep these days. “What’s going on with the shop?”

  “Business has been dismal.” Violet set Dakota onto the blanket. Honor handed him half of a sandwich and Violet the other.

  Business at the bar had been great throughout the summer. He kept that to himself.

  “I’m going to close it,” Violet said. “Sometimes dreams don’t come true.” With eyes the color of watered-down iced tea and a dainty facial structure, Violet seemed younger than her twenty-seven years, especially at this exact moment. She’d been a few years behind him and Jackson in high school. He didn’t know much about what happened to her after high school, other than college back east. She returned to town with a newborn Dakota around the same time he had. The type who kept to herself, all he knew was that she was living in her parents’ house while they were at their home in South America, and she had taken out a large loan to open her business.

  “How bad is it?” Honor asked Violet.

  “On a scale of one to ten, it’s a ten. I’m bleeding cash. The owners of the bookstore also own the building and they decided to sell. They’ve always kept the rent low, but the new owner is likely to do the opposite. My monthly loan payment is bigger than what I’m pulling in, let alone leaving anything to live on.” Violet’s eyes filled with tears.

  Poor Violet. If he ever lost The Oar, he would be despondent. If he hadn’t inherited the building with the business, he’d be in deep trouble. He would always have a place to live without a monthly cost other than taxes. Another reason he didn’t want to take a loan out using his building as leverage. Better to have partners, even if it meant less control.