“Is that FEMA?” I asked, hopefully, thinking maybe, finally, someone from the national or even state government was paying attention to us.

The sheriff shook his head. “Sorry. No. That up there is Channel Seven out of Miami. Been buzzing around all afternoon, getting pictures for the evening news. I’m not particularly worried about looters myself, but the media’s playing up the angle, and getting the folks who are stuck on the other side of the bridge all fired up about it. Curfew’s the only way I could think of to keep everybody happy.”

Ed nodded. “Makes sense. Okay, lemme cook off the last of this meat here and then you can let people know we have to shut down for the night.”

Which is what they did—not that anyone was too happy about it. Katie Hartwell in particular expressed a few harsh words to her father when she found out her time as a volunteer working at the side of Marquise Fairweather was ending. I myself overheard her tell her father that he was “ruining everything” and that she was “never coming home.”

Mrs. Hartwell, however, told the sheriff not to lose heart, and that it was probably better for Katie to continue staying with the Hartwells anyway during this time of crisis, since her father was going to be so busy.

I was stooping over, helping Mrs. Hartwell store the leftover corn bread on rolling racks, when Drew approached me and said, “Well?”

I squinted up at him. I had on my sunglasses, but the sun was lower than ever, and he was standing with his back to the light, so I couldn’t make out his features and had no idea what he wanted. “Well, what?”

“Well, when are you taking me back to my place?”

I stared up at him, dumbfounded. “I have to help clean this all up. Can’t you snag a ride with the sheriff, or somebody?”

“On the back of his horse? No, I can’t snag a ride with the sheriff. What are you talking about?”

I rose, brushing the crumbs from my hands. “That’s not his only mode of transportation. I’ve seen him driving around in a giant SUV.”

“That’s never going to get around that yacht sitting in the middle of my road. Listen, we have to go. Do you know how long it’s been since my dogs have been out? They’ve probably trashed my place by now.”

“Drew.” I glanced around. I could sense that Angela and quite a few other people nearby were eavesdropping on our conversation. There wasn’t anything else to do. “I’d love to drive you. But I have to get home, too. I haven’t seen my cat all day—”

“Your cat?” Now that I was no longer stooping, I could see into Drew’s face. He was wearing an expression of incredulity. “What are you worrying about that cat of yours for? He’s living in the lap of luxury over there. He’s got AC and those two girls fawning over him, feeding him tuna and doing photo shoots of him. Whereas my dogs are alone, cooped up in a house with no air or food or—”

“Fine.” I glanced around but saw that everyone was busily working to put things away, and not listening to our conversation at all. Or pretending not to, at least. “Fine. I’ll take you home.”

“Good. Great. I mean, really, it seems like the least you could do since I let you use my hatchet, and I’m also the kindest, sweetest, handsomest—”

I couldn’t help grinning at him. He really was the worst. Or the best, depending on how you looked at it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A curfew has been instituted in Little Bridge from dusk to dawn for safety and security reasons. Anyone out after the designated times is subject to arrest by order of the Sheriff’s Office.

Nothing had changed on Sandy Point Beach while we’d been gone. Since Drew was the only resident who hadn’t evacuated, and the electrical crews were working to clean up streets farther inland, closer to the hospital and the majority of residences, this made sense. I still had to dodge downed power lines and piles of sand and seaweed on my scooter—not to mention the washed-up refrigerator and yacht—in order to get to his house.

But the view, when we finally made it, was worth it. The sinking sun was turning the few clouds that streaked the sky a rich, blazing fuchsia, and now that the last remnants of the storm had passed, the sea was finally starting to smooth out, so the clouds were reflected in the dark, glassy water beneath. The birds were still out in force, especially the gulls and pelicans, circling over the sand and surf, calling noisily to one another.

But other than that and the rhythmic whoosh of the waves, there wasn’t a sound to be heard, with the exception, every so often, of the plop! of a silver-backed tarpon as it broke the water’s surface, diving for unseen prey.

“Okay,” I said, when I’d pulled to a stop in his sand-strewn driveway. “I guess I see now why you’d want to live all the way out here instead of in town.”

“Not so crazy after all, am I?” He swung his long leg from the scooter’s seat and took his canvas tool kit from the scooter’s running board. “Come inside for a drink.”

“And risk getting arrested for breaking curfew? No thanks.”

“You’ve got plenty of time.” He pointed at the brilliant red ball sinking low in the sky just west of us. “Sunset won’t be for another half hour at least.”

“It’ll take me that long just to get back to your aunt’s house.”

“Nobody’s going to arrest a pretty girl going home on a moped—especially when they realize who your mother is.”

I smirked at him. “Thanks so much for that.”

“Come on. What harm will one drink do?”

Of course I was tempted. How couldn’t I be? A good-looking man whom I’d come to like and trust and, okay, maybe lust after a little was asking me to his home for a drink.

And what a home! Mother Nature seemed to be pulling out all the stops to apologize for her misdeeds the day before, making this sunset as dramatic and beautiful as any she’d ever created. The evening breeze was as fresh and cool as the afternoon had been hot and oppressive. Even as I stood there, trying to decide what to do, the wind tugged playfully at my hair and sent the sound of all four of Drew’s dogs’ eager barking down toward me. They seemed to be crying “Come on up! What are you waiting for? We miss you, Bree! We want to play!”

“Fine,” I said, and lowered the kickstand of my scooter. “But only one drink. Then I really have to go.”

“Great!” He looked as delighted as a kid who’d just found out he was having ice cream for dinner. “You think the view looks good from down here, wait until you see it from up there . . .”

He wasn’t wrong. The view of that scarlet sun slowly sinking toward the sea, unbroken by any man-made structures, was breathtaking, and I was reminded once again of why I’d found it so hard to leave Little Bridge. I really hadn’t meant to stay as long as I had. It wasn’t only because of the people—who, quirky and odd as they often were, were also some of the kindest and most giving I’d ever encountered. It was also because of the sheer natural beauty of the place, the unspoiled ocean views and skyscapes that even now I felt myself itching to paint.

It didn’t hurt that Drew had let out the dogs—who’d greeted us with near fanatical delight—and that they were now running up and down the beach after the yellow tennis balls that Drew was tossing them from the deck. This was upsetting the flocks of birds, causing them to rise indignantly from the clusters of seaweed strewn across the sand every time they came near. This actually made the vista even more special—at least to me.