What surprised me was the size of the crowd I saw in the street outside the café. I should have expected it—there’d just been a significant weather catastrophe, and Ed was giving away free food, after all.

But I hadn’t seen that many people in one place in Little Bridge since the Fourth of July fireworks display at the dock.

If things were this bad—if there were this many people in need of food and water on the island—where was the National Guard? Where was the Federal Emergency Management Agency? Where was the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, any of those people you always saw on television rushing in after a disaster to help those in need, and to whom, in the spirit of giving, my parents always donated money every year during the holidays? Where did all that money they sent go, if it wasn’t to the people who needed it? Were we really just on our own?

“Is everything all right?” the woman sitting behind me asked, no doubt wondering why we were just sitting there.

“Not exact—” I started to say, then realized I shouldn’t alarm my guest with my own dark thoughts, especially since she appeared to be one of the people in need. “Nope, everything’s fine.”

I pulled over to park without further comment but wondered how Ed and Lucy Hartwell and the others were doing, serving such an overwhelmingly large crowd.

The woman must have been thinking the same thing, since she said, “Wow,” as she slipped off the helmet I’d loaned her and handed it back to me. “I guess word traveled around fast about this place.”

“It sure did.” Drew came up beside us to hand the woman her still happily chattering child.

I was relieved to see that most of the people in the crowd were already holding paper plates and cups. It looked like Ed had cleaned out the freezers. I could smell the scent of grilling meat and vegetables floating on the sea breeze.

“You stay here,” I said to the woman, since I was anxious to get to the café and see what I could do to help out. “One of us will bring you back a couple of plates, and some milk for Josiah.”

“Oh, no,” the woman said, looking mortified. “I don’t want to be any more bother.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I work for the café.” I stabbed a finger in Drew’s direction. “And he’s the owner’s nephew.”

The woman turned suddenly tear-filled eyes in Drew’s direction, then reached out to grasp his hand.

“Oh, bless you,” she cried. “Bless you for doing this. You are just the kindest, sweetest man.” She kissed the hand she’d seized, then clutched it to her heart, possibly by accident, but also maybe on purpose, giving Drew a pretty thorough feel of her bikini-clad breasts.

I glared at her while, above her bowed head, Drew grinned at me, one eyebrow cocked mischievously, obviously enjoying my discomfort.

“I really am the kindest and the sweetest,” he said. “Also the handsomest.”

“Well, we have to go now,” I said, taking Drew by the arm and physically propelling him away from the woman. “But we’ll be back.”

“One of us will,” Drew assured her with a wink. “Probably not me.”

“Oh.” The woman looked crestfallen, even as several other women rushed up to her, each bearing items of food and clothing that had already been donated that they wanted to give to her and her child.

“What was that?” I demanded, as I dragged him through the crowd toward the café. “I’m the one who actually works here and gave her the scooter ride. Why didn’t she kiss my hand?”

“Do you want me to go back there and ask her?” Drew froze, grabbed my wrist, and began to drag me back toward the woman. “You’re right, this is gender inequality.”

I dug my heels in. “Stop it. This isn’t funny.”

“You’re being jealous is sort of funny.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You’re completely jealous.”

“I’m embarrassed for my sex, is all. That woman was throwing herself at you. Also, how could she not have known a storm was coming? She has a child! It’s her job to know.”

“Hey, I thought we weren’t judging people.” He was moving again, just more slowly, and unfortunately, he’d let go of my wrist. “Isn’t that what you told your mom? Why is it not all right to judge bad pet parents but all right to judge bad child parents?”

I scowled. “You’re right. It’s not. Everybody is just trying to do their best, I guess. Do you think that woman is trying to do her best?”

He nodded. “I do. She reminded me of my sister—Nevaeh’s mom, Andrea—a little.” Then, seeing my glance, he added quickly, “Not the kissing my hand part. But the not having her shit together part.”

I didn’t say anything right away, because I was too stunned to think of anything to say except one thing. Until finally, I could keep it to myself no longer: “Your parents named you Andrew and your sister Andrea?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yeah, they did. But is that something you should really be commenting on, considering your parents named you after a type of cheese?”

I snorted. “My name’s not Brie. It’s Sabrina. My mom named me after the title character in her favorite movie, which is almost as bad as being named for a cheese, because it’s a movie about a chauffeur’s daughter who falls in love with the son of the wealthy family her dad works for.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, nothing, I guess, except that—”

“Bree!”

The cry came from Angela, who was working behind the line of fold-out tables that had been set up in front of the café. Without power, and therefore no air-conditioning, it was too hot to serve food from inside the building, so Ed had set up a line of grills and coolers just outside the door. In front of them, Angela, Mrs. Hartwell, Nevaeh, and the rest of the staff worked at folding tables beneath hastily set-up beach umbrellas to serve what looked like half the town the contents of the café’s now nonfunctioning freezers.

“Hey.” I hurried up to greet Angela. “How did your mom’s place weather the storm?”

“Good. We lost a few roof tiles and a tree or two, but otherwise, it wasn’t nearly as bad as we were expecting.” Her face was shining from the heat, but I expected mine was looking worse, considering all the beds I’d had to crawl under looking for people’s cats. “What’s going on over there?” She nodded toward Drew, who was standing by one of the barbecues, observing his uncle’s grilling technique. “I saw you two pull up together, along with Mary Jane Peters.”

“You know that woman? We ran into her on the street. She didn’t even know a storm was coming.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. She’s one of those ditzy yoga moms. Doesn’t believe in vaccinations or television or public school.”

“Oh, that explains it. I thought she was on drugs.”

Angela shrugged. “No, just vegan. Lets the kid have dairy, though, if it’s organic.”

“Yeah, that makes sense, she’s looking for milk.”

Angela sighed. “We’ve got some that hasn’t gone bad yet. I’ll give it to her. But you still haven’t told me what the deal is with you and Lover Boy over there.”