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“How often have you been here since you graduated from high school?” The last time he’d visited had been a little less than a year ago. She knew that because she’d been in Utah visiting her own family at the time.
“Almost every summer, and some holidays. The islanders make a big deal of Christmas and have Santa come over on a ferry and stuff. Why?”
Wishing the lights would hurry and come back on, she frowned at the shadows Bo’s lantern cast on the walls. “Just wondered if you’re going to like the renovations.”
“You told me yesterday they look great,” he said, sounding confused.
“They do,” she reassured him. “But I never saw the cottage before, so I don’t know how much it’s changed. Did your mother have the contractor put the shelves and organizers in the closets—or...or paint them?”
She held her breath, hoping he’d say yes.
“No, it was mostly new siding, a new roof, an open layout for the kitchen, living room, and bar area, and a new master bath along with hardwood floors throughout. Why?”
“No reason,” she lied. “I was just...curious how extensive it was.”
“It was extensive enough. It cost a fortune and took nine months. But nothing happens fast on Mariners.”
She’d heard him say that before.It’s an entirely different pace of life, Is...He called itisland time.
“Right. Well, no need to keep you...”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”
He was gone as soon as he said the last word.
She tossed her phone aside. He hadn’t seemed spooked by the mention of closets. Was she letting what she’d found trouble her for no reason?
The lights snapped on, and she heard the heater start soon after—she’d turned the temperature up to battle the cold. Drawing a deep calming breath, she tried, once again, to shove her misgivings to the back of her mind. In some ways, with the lights and heater on, she felt much safer. But in others, having the power back didn’t help at all. Surely, she wasn’t about to marry a man who was capable of doing any of the terrible things a collection like that might signify.
Was she?
3
A few minutes after the generator came on, Ismay heard another knock and hurried to open the front door.
Bo stood there. The porch light was now working, but his hood was up, keeping most of his face in shadow.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said. “I’m sorry it meant you had to be dragged into the wet cold.”
He kept his flashlight angled at the floor. “No problem. It’s my job,” he said, shrugging off the credit.
“Still, I appreciate it.” She leaned farther outside in an effort to check the progress of the storm. “I’ve never seen weather like this, have you?”
“I grew up in Florida and Louisiana, so I’ve been in a hurricane or two, but nothing that bad up here.”
He looked to be about her age, maybe a few years older, so she guessed he was around nine or ten when Katrina hit the Gulf Coast in 2005. She’d been six and would never forget her parents being glued to the TV, her mother crying over the lives that were lost. “You weren’t in Louisiana for Katrina, were you?”
“No, but I was there immediately after.”
“Did you move to New Orleans—or somewhere else?”
“I lived with my great-uncle in a little village in the swampland south of NOLA.”
That meant nothing to her. She’d never been there herself. “What brought you to the island?”
“Just...needed a change of pace.”
Another big gust came up, blowing down his hood, but he didn’t bother putting it back up. He looked impervious to the weather anyway, as if he was made of granite and nothing could hurt him. She wondered if he knew he gave that impression.
