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When I rattle the handle, it’s unlocked. And inside is a sleek black sports car that looks like it should come with a butler and a bat signal.

This is in addition to his black SUV. The man has two damn cars on this small island and he hasn’t offered one to me.

I try to peek through the tinted window like I’m casing it for a heist. I’ve never hot-wired anything in my life, but for a moment I genuinely consider trying it, imagining his face when I drive up to the resort site.

But then my phone rings. Autumn’s name appears on the screen. I swipe to answer.

“Tell me you’re coming to rescue me,” I say dramatically. She chuckles.

“From what? Is West a secret axe murderer?” she asks. “Don’t tell me, he has a dungeon full of vampy women ready to serve his every need. Because I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose. And then I start wondering about that locked office door. “And no, he left for work and forgot me.”

She starts to laugh harder. “Oh God, like someone forgetting to pick their kid up from daycare.”

“Yeah, except the kid’s fully grown and trying to find a reason not to key his Batmobile,” I mutter, glancing back at the garage.

“Ooh, the Aston Martin Valkyrie,” she says, like she knows everything about cars. “Parker brought that one up for him fromthe mainland last week. Says it’s like driving a woman whose only job is to make you purr.” She pauses. “He’s desperate to get one. Then I pointed out it’d be hell to fit a baby seat in.”

I snort. “Yeah, well I’m about two seconds away from setting the thing on fire.”

“You wouldn’t. Think of the environmental impact,” she deadpans. “You sound tetchy. I’m two minutes away. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Mylene’s. We can caffeinate you. You can drink for three, you, me and the baby.”

Ten minutes later, she pulls up onto the driveway, and I’m so happy to see her I almost jump with glee.

I barely sit and close the car door before she’s backing out. As we bump down the unpaved driveway and onto the coastal road, the view opens up like something from a postcard. The sea glitters beneath the morning sun, deep blue and endless, crashing against the cliffs in rhythmic waves. Gulls swoop and dive overhead, and for a second I forget how annoyed I am.

Liberty Island might be small, but it’s wild and beautiful. We pass the skeleton of West’s resort as it rises out of the landscape like it’s being summoned from the earth, glass, steel, and scaffolding stretching toward the sky.

I catch myself looking for him. For a flash of that annoyingly expensive suit, or the gleam of dark hair in the sun. But there’s nothing. Just construction workers and cranes and the beginning of something that doesn’t feel like it belongs here.

“What a mess,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Have you seen the resort plans?” Autumn asks. “It’s going to be beautiful. Like the Grand Hotel but bigger and better. Spa, rooftop restaurant, ocean-view suites. The kind of place influencers will fake proposals just to get invited back.”

“Great,” I mutter. “Exactly what the island needs. More people taking selfies with their smoothies.”

Autumn shoots me a look but lets it go. “It also means jobs. And year-round income for locals. Everybody is excited.”

I roll my eyes, staring out the window. “He’s a modern day Robin Hood,” I mutter.

Autumn pulls up outside Brewed Awakenings a few minutes later. And then she lets out a wail that sounds remarkably like someone just ran over her favorite romance hero.

The door is closed. The inside is dark. And there’s a sign hanging on the door.

‘Closed due to sabotage.’

My brows lift as I look at Autumn. “What’s Eileen done now?” I ask. Eileen and Mylene’s feud is legendary. They haven’t spoken to each other in almost forty years.

“No idea.” Autumn genuinely looks like she wants to cry as she climbs out of the car and walks over, sticking her nose against the window, like she’s on a life-or-death muffin hunt.

The door to the bookstore next door opens. The owner, Sadie, walks out with an enormous stack of books balanced against her hip. She’s so pretty, with her wild red hair and wide blue eyes. She looks like she’d be more at home on a catwalk than in an island shop.

“Somebody poured flour in the espresso machine,” she says, pausing long enough to hitch the books higher. “The repair guy should be here by lunchtime.”

“Was it Eileen?” I ask, because I’m totally here for small town enmity.

She shrugs. “There’s no evidence if it was. They’re both getting sneakier.” There’s a half smile on her face because, like the rest of us, she must find Eileen and Mylene’s feud entertaining.