But I figured most of it would wash off in the rain once we got back to Drew’s aunt and uncle’s house and I helped him haul my scooter off the truck bed.

Except that when we started to pull into the driveway, I saw a figure waiting for us on the front porch. He was barely recognizable due to all the rain and the fact that he was dressed in full all-weather gear.

But it was most definitely Drew’s uncle Ed.

“Oh, no,” I said. “He’s not—”

“Come on.” Drew was grinning a little devilishly. “You knew he’d be waiting. He loves this stuff.”

Of course I knew that.

But did that make it right when, a moment later, Ed, a man in his sixties, had leaped into the high wind and rain and was signaling for his nephew to back the pickup into the driveway?

Drew put down his window and called, across the sheets of rain, “I got it. I’ll put it in reverse.”

“Don’t put it in reverse,” Ed cried. “Just back it up.”

Drew turned toward me, his eyes bright, his mouth opening to make some smart-ass remark about his uncle’s malapropism, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“Stop. I heard it.”

“Now do you see why I might find riding out a hurricane in my own house preferable to doing it with these lunatics I’m related to?”

I refused to rise to his bait. “I think your family is adorable, and you’re lucky to have them.”

“Of course you’d think that.” Drew sighed as he expertly backed his truck into the driveway. “You’re a Fresh Water. You, like all the other tourists, think we were put on this island for you to gawk at and take photos of for your social media accounts.”

My frustration level at bursting point—for multiple reasons—I snapped, “I’m not a tourist. I’ve been here for three months—not to mention having spent a lot of time here as a child. And though I know that’s hardly any time to you, I think it’s fair to say I’ve gotten to know this island, and both you and your family, fairly well. So what I think is that you’re lucky to have such sweet relatives who love and support you so much, no matter how stupidly you behave.”

He threw a foot on the brake, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise as he gawked at me.

“Stupid?”

“What else would you call your plan to go to the beach for a hurricane?”

Instead of replying, he simply narrowed his eyes at me, threw on the parking brake, then got out of the truck, giving me a curt “Stay here” before slamming the door.

Of course I didn’t listen. I wasn’t going to let two men half drown themselves on my behalf.

I instantly regretted it. The wind had risen again, whipping leaves and palm fronds and of course the rain in all directions . . . but mostly, it seemed, at us. Both Drew and his uncle curtly told me to go inside, and this time, considering the fact that I was wearing no protection at all from the weather, I obeyed, though I only went as far as the front porch so I could watch as the two of them struggled with my scooter.

It was as I was doing this that Mrs. Hartwell came out of the house with a dry beach towel, warm from the dryer.

“Here you go, hon,” she said, draping the towel around my cold, wet shoulders. “You should go inside and take a nice warm shower while you still can. Sometimes the aqueduct authority turns the water off out of an abundance of caution if it floods and they can’t control the water quality or pressure.”

This was something I wished I’d known before deciding not to evacuate. The water could be turned off?

“Thanks.” I wrapped the towel around me. The warm terry cloth felt delicious. “But I’m all right. I just feel so bad that they’re doing all this work for me—”

“Oh, they love it.” Mrs. Hartwell peered affectionately through the rain at the two men she loved most in her life. “Anything involving machines. And if there’s a pretty girl in distress they can help, that’s just icing on the cake.”

I clutched the towel around my shoulders more tightly, feeling even more uncomfortable. “Thanks. But that’s just it. I wasn’t really in distress. I could have ridden it back over here.” It wouldn’t have been fun, but I could have done it. Probably.

She patted me kindly on the shoulder. “Of course you could have. But some people are better suited to some jobs than others. That’s just the way things are. Which reminds me, after you get showered and changed and have maybe had a little bit of a rest, I could use your help in the kitchen.”

“Okay. Sure. I’d be happy to.”

I threw a final glance at Drew. He was wheeling my scooter through the rain toward a safe parking spot out of the gales, near the side of the house, his clear plastic poncho flapping in the wind.

I felt a sudden lurch deep inside my gut. You’re making a terrible mistake, a voice inside me seemed to be screaming.

What? Where did that come from?

And a mistake about what? Staying in Little Bridge for the hurricane? Or staying at the Hartwells’?

Or letting myself get involved with Drew Hartwell?

If it was the latter, why was I feeling such a powerful urge to run back out into the rain, throw my arms around his neck, and beg him not to get back inside that truck?

I didn’t know. None of it made any sense.

So I ignored the feeling and followed his aunt inside the house.

Except I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the biggest mistake of all.

Chapter Sixteen

Emergency Disaster Survival Kit Basics—Personal

Hand sanitizer or disinfectant wipes

Travel-size beauty products

Toilet paper, paper towels, garbage bags

Dental care and vision products

Blankets, sheets, pillow

Clothing, no-rinse detergent

I didn’t know what had happened until I emerged from the bathroom after spending a long time under the hot water, washing the smell of gasoline and Drew Hartwell’s dogs from my body. That’s when I heard the cry.

“He’s not coming back!”

I rushed into the kitchen just in time to see Mrs. Hartwell press a hand to her mouth as she gazed down at the screen of her cell phone.

My heart sank. I knew exactly whom she was talking about, but for propriety’s sake, I had to pretend that I didn’t.

“Who’s not coming back, Mrs. H?” I asked.

“Drew. He just wrote.” She held up her phone so I could see the text she’d just received, although it was difficult to read, since her fingers were trembling a little. She wasn’t a woman who wore her heart on a sleeve but it was clear she was upset. “He says the roads by the beach are already so bad, he doesn’t think he can get back here safely, so he’s going to wait out the storm with his dogs at that ridiculous house of his. He’s not coming back here. He’s not coming back!”

I patted her on the back as comfortingly as I could. I realized that what Drew had said to his aunt in Spanish before we’d left to pick up my bike must have been an assurance that he’d be back to hunker down for the storm with her.

Of course he’d been lying. He’d never had any intention of spending the storm anywhere but his beach house. But, like a typical male, he’d been too cowardly to tell his aunt so to her face.