“That’s really hard to believe. You seem like a bunch of guys everyone would be after.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to tell her to just wait until she starts talking to some of the single girls in town. In person we might seem like a catch, but everyone knows what lurks in our past. Not even the desperate and divorced want to come near us with a ten-foot pole. I may welcome the solitude, but it’s been hard on my brothers.

I rack my brain for an easier response. “We’ve all known each other so long it would be like dating your brother.”

Kind of the truth, maybe . . . or they’re all so scared of the “curse” that no woman will even look at us in a romantic—or just plain sexual—way.

“Oh, I never thought about it like that.”

She sips on her drink some more. I take the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you miss California?”

She shakes her head. “Not even a little. I mean, I miss my parents, but not California. It was so smoggy in LA, and packed full of people. I know there are tons of tourists here, but the friendly locals and the atmosphere balance it out. Plus it will die down a little with the season change, right?”

“Yeah, with school starting soon, the vacation season will slow down. We’ll still get a steady flow of people coming in and out, but nothing like you see now.”

“That’s good to know.” She pauses. “I’m a little nervous about classes starting up soon. I’ve had a few meetings with the principal and school board, but nothing too serious. I saw my classroom yesterday, and I’ve starting thinking of ways I can make it my own, but I’m more interested in the kids. Are these small-town children going to be brats?” She chuckles but also looks serious.

“Nah, they’re pretty good, and do you know why?”

“Why?” She smiles over her straw.

“Because everyone is in everyone’s business in this town, so if little Johnny Parker acts out during algebra, you can bet your ass that his parents are going to find out about it, and he’s going to get in trouble.”

“Ahh, that makes complete sense.”

“Last year, I saw Scottie Hines, the ninth-grade English teacher, run into Freddy Thompson’s parents in the produce section of the general store. Apparently, Freddy was messing around in class, not paying attention, and talking during a lecture. Well, Scottie told Freddy’s parents while he was picking out a bundle of apples, and holy shit, did they lose it. Not only is it bad for the kid, but it’s also embarrassing to the parents. All the elders were talking about the Thompsons’ bad kid. Gossip spreads like wildfire here, which you already know. The next day, Freddy went up and down Main Street after school washing all the street windows and apologizing to any local he saw for embarrassing his parents.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?”

I slowly nod. “Yup. So keep that in your back pocket if any of the kids try to give you a hard time. You have a power over them greater than anything: town shaming.”

She chuckles, covering her mouth and shaking her head. I like when she smiles, when she laughs, when she has pure joy on her face. It’s beautiful to watch.

“Town shaming? Man, I bet every parent wishes they had that tool at their disposal.”

“Well, in Port Snow they do. You know when they say it takes a village to raise a child? It’s so true in this town.”

“Which is why you barely ever got away with things when you were a kid.”

“Exactly.” I pop the last waffle fry in my mouth and brush off my fingers with a napkin. I glance at my watch and cringe. “I should get back to work; the second wave of customers is going to be hitting soon.”

“Yeah, I should probably get going too. I wanted to go check out the library, get a card, and find some books to read. I ordered a few Adirondack chairs I’m going to attempt to put together tonight so I have something to sit on in the backyard. Kind of want to soak up all the ocean air I can before it gets too cold.”

Does she need help putting together the chairs? I can’t imagine it being an easy task all by yourself. But I’m not going to ask if she needs help. That would mean spending too much time with her when I know I shouldn’t. Hell, I shouldn’t have even had lunch with her to begin with, so helping her with Adirondack chairs is not going to happen. Nope. I will keep my mouth shut and move on with my day.

“Well, good luck with the chairs,” I say, wincing internally. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

And then I take off toward the Lobster Landing, feeling like a complete tool.

Okay, it’s pretty clear at this point there was no way in hell I could get through another three hours of my shift at the Landing and then mosey on over to my house without even thinking about looking over at Ren’s, wondering if she needed help. I’m not a monster.

But I didn’t have to show up at her doorstep with pizza and cider in hand either.

The door opens, and Ren is wearing short red cotton shorts and a black tank top, her hair a mess on the top of her head. Sweat is glistening off her body, and there is a tired look in her eyes.

Crap, she must be struggling.

“Oh, you’re an angel.”

Before I can say a word, she’s taking my arm and pulling me into the house, straight to the back porch, where there are four big boxes piled around and multiple wood pieces scattered across the concrete.

“Please tell me you came to help me build these things. That’s why you’re here, right? To save me once again?” She’s holding her palms together in a prayerlike pose, shifting from side to side, desperation in her eyes.

“Nah, just came to drop off some pizza. I’m going to head out and hang with my brothers.”

“Oh.” She stands up straight. “Really? That’s fun.”

I roll my eyes and hand her the pizza. Thankful I changed into shorts, I squat to the ground and start picking up pieces. “Of course I came to help. I could hear your struggle from my house.”

Relief washes over her as she whispers, “Thank God,” and sets the pizza down. “I’ll go get us plates.”

“Don’t bother. We can eat a slice at a time. I hope you like cider.”

She lifts the six-pack up and examines it. “I’ll pretty much drink anything at this point to help me forget the last hour of my life I wasted trying to figure out these chairs.”

“Don’t worry. I can help, but I’m not doing it on my own.” I stare her down.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We spend the next few minutes sorting out all the wood pieces, along with the nuts and bolts that correspond with each piece. I don’t know what she was trying to do beforehand, but whatever it was made the whole process exponentially more confusing.

“I’ve never put furniture together before. My dad always did it for me.”

“You don’t say,” I tease. Playfully she nudges me with her foot. “It was quite ambitious of you, though, to try to put four chairs together all by yourself with zero experience. I’m impressed.”

“How much more impressed would you have been if you came over here with pizza and cider only to find me lounging in said chairs, already built?”

“I would have asked you to head up the restoration committee.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Griffin Knightly. Don’t you dare pawn off your leadership roles on me.”

I chuckle. “Well, clearly I can’t.” I motion to all the pieces scattered everywhere.

“Hey, I had good intentions. Is it my fault I couldn’t find the directions at first? Who tapes them to the inside of the box anyway?”

“I feel like a lot of companies do.”

“It’s stupid. What if I threw out the box without even knowing? I would be that person searching on the internet, hoping and praying there is some kind of building manual online.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

She pops open a cider and hands it to me. I pause my work to take it, happy with the sorting I did. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she says sincerely. “For some reason, I feel like that moose knew what it was doing by jumping in front of me on that country road. He gave me a friend in a new town.”

Friend. For some reason that title doesn’t leave me all too thrilled, and I kind of regret even using the term with her out loud. Is it strange to want more? To desire more when I know deep down inside that no matter what I want, I’ll never get it?

“You’re lucky I was the one who rescued you that day.”

“Yeah?” She opens the pizza box and brings a gooey slice to her mouth. “Why’s that?”

I avert my eyes from her luscious lips. “If Tracker was on call, he would be at your doorstep every day.”

“Well, aren’t you?” she asks with a smile. When I give her a look, she chuckles to herself. “Who’s Tracker?”

“The town man whore. He’s a damn good firefighter, but he’s been known to make his way through hordes of unsuspecting tourists.”

“Oh, really?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and leans forward. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like town gossip, you sure do partake in it a lot.”

I shrug. “It’s in my blood. I can’t help it.”