As they entered the kitchen, Jill was surprised at how much the room reminded her of Aunt Sarah’s cozy kitchen at the Cape. The warm yellow walls, the lace curtains in the windows, even the sponge in the holder on the side of the sink. There were a trio of labeled canisters—flour, sugar, and tea—tucked into a corner beside a wooden bread box. On the refrigerator, a scatter of plastic fruit magnets anchored wrinkled finger paintings and snapshots of friends and vacations. The atmosphere was light, casual. If the kitchen was the heart of the home, then the Bennett home was genuinely welcoming.
“Here it is.” Stacy held up a small plastic case. “Ryan loves the pictures you’ve taken already. He said they’re just what he needs for the website and wants to know if he can get a copy of whatever you shoot today.” She held up a second case. “Do you need an extra card? We have millions of them.”
“No, that’s okay. I have a few myself.” Jill laughed, patting her camera bag. “I’ll make sure Ryan gets a copy of everything.”
“Great. And you said you’re on your way to the Yacht Club now?”
“I am,” Jill replied as she tucked the card in her case.
“Do you mind if I walk with you? I haven’t been out of the house since the baby was born and I’m dying for some fresh air. It’s not far.” Her expression turned mischievous. “And I can show you a secret shortcut.”
“How can I possibly refuse that?” Jill smiled, and it occurred to her that Ellie would have liked Stacy too.
“Let me just get my sneakers and we’ll go. They’re upstairs.” Stacy bounded up the stairs, leaving Jill alone.
Unexpectedly, an older man rounded the corner into the kitchen. They locked eyes, and Jill tensed as she recognized him. While Marc had been busy doing everything he could to orchestrate a meeting with the elusive Chase Bennett at the party, Jill had kept to herself. But in a quiet corner of the second-floor deck, she’d happened to run into a nice older man and struck up a conversation. They’d chatted about nothing in particular, and Jill had shared a memory of her summers spent at the Cape. The man had said that Uncle Barney seemed like an honorable man, an observation that had warmed Jill’s heart. The conversation had been brief, and she hadn’t gotten the man’s name then, but now, of course, she knew exactly who he was: Chase Bennett. The same Chase Bennett who knew Marc and had actively avoided doing business with him, for reasons Jill could only guess at.
One thing was for sure: Chase knew about Marc’s house and was aware that Marc had been trying to sell it. Now he knew that Jill was here it was only a matter of time before he put the pieces together.
Jill stared at him, her mind racing with all the ways this could fail.
The estate agents were showing the property to a potential buyer this very morning and the man standing before her had the power to stop everything.
Before either of them had a chance to speak, Stacy pounded down the stairs, sneakers in hand.
She glanced at her father and smiled. “Oh, Dad, you’re back. This is Jill DiFiore, the photographer helping Mom with the fall festival.”
“DiFiore, is it?” Chase’s gaze sharpened as he considered.
Jill swallowed. “Yes. It is now. I’m divorced.”
“Are you? How long have you been divorced?”
“Dad!” Stacy admonished. “Really?”
“No, it’s okay,” Jill rushed. “It only happened recently. I found out my husband isn’t who I thought he was, and I couldn’t be a part of it.”
“Is that so?”
I’m nothing like him, Jill wanted to say, but of course she couldn’t. Instead, she settled for, “He wasn’t honorable, like my Uncle Barney.”
Stacy blinked, confused. But the message wasn’t for Stacy.
“I see. Interesting.” He scrutinized Jill for another moment, then turned his attention to his daughter. “Stacy, I can’t seem to find the bag of mesquite chips. Do you know where it is?”
Unexpectedly, Jill felt a flare of annoyance—both at Chase’s casual dismissal of her and of the power he held over her. The power she’d given him to decide her fate. As owner of The Monstro—correction: the beach house, she could do whatever she wanted with it. Sell it. Live in it. Give it away if she wanted to. She knew neighbors objected to it—and she understood why—but the time to protest was over. Permits had been issued, construction completed. The house was legally hers and if anyone tried to stop that sale, Jill would fight back. Somehow.
“Brad used the last of it on the ribs the other day,” Stacy answered as she bent to tie her laces. “The new bag is on the shelf—red label this time, instead of blue.”
“Thanks. I’ll look again.” His expression changed. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Finally getting out of the house.” Stacy pushed herself to a standing position. “Just a short walk to the Yacht Club with Jill. I’ll be right back.”
“Do you mind swinging by Applegate’s Hardware on your way back? I need a new grill brush for the cook-off, and I need to start the marinade before your mother comes home. Oh, and get another bag of mesquite, will you? I can’t afford to run out this year.”
“Sure, Dad,” Stacy replied. “Don’t overdo it though. I’m not sure Mom would be happy with all this activity of yours.”
“I could say the same to you, young lady.” Chase arched a brow, revealing a glimpse of the stern businessman underneath. “You should be upstairs resting.”
Stacy’s answer was to kiss her father on the cheek. “This is your third grandchild, Dad. I think I know what I’m doing. I’ll be back later.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later,” Chase answered. Then, because good manners dictated that Chase say goodbye to Jill, he turned to her, but his expression changed. It became more guarded. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. DiFiore.”
“And
