“He’s the one who told me.”
Faith opened her mouth but then closed it, not really sure how to respond.
“It’s totally fine,” Cassidy said, gaze sweeping the entire area like a predator. “He’s like that guy from the TV show. You know the rich ones who lost everything, and the dad bought some weirdo town in the middle of nowhere? Jack likes the wine, not label.”
“That’s not a bad way to live life.”
“It certainly makes things more interesting.” Cassidy pointed. “Shoot, there he is.”
“Walker?”
“Who’s Walker?” Cassidy frowned.
“The hot new hire.”
“Oh. Right.” She smoothed her top and asked Faith to hold her drink, which she barely grabbed hold of before the blonde pranced her over to Jack, who’d just arrived, lugging two guitar cases. He handed one to Cassidy, and she happily followed in his wake. The two of them disappeared near the other side of thestage, leaving Faith alone until she spied Ford Boone walking toward her, accompanied by a slender redhead. Was this his wife?
“Hey,” he said with a smile. “I was wondering if I’d see you down here.”
There it was. That sense of familiarity she couldn’t shake. Was it the way he spoke? The sound of his voice?
“Apparently it’s the place to be.”
He grinned. “They’ve been telling me that for years, but the truth is a lot simpler. It’s the only place to be because there’s nothing else going on.”
“You sound so cynical,” the woman beside him said, her blue eyes wide and welcoming. She held out her hand. “I’m Sunday, Ford’s sister.”
Oh. Right. Of course. Sunday Boone — she’d heard whispers about the woman but hadn’t met her until now.
The whispers were correct. She was beautiful, almost ethereal. Tall and slender with perfectly aligned features. She was striking.
“That’s some genetics you have in your family. I’m Faith.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sunday laughed and pointed to Faith’s T-shirt. “I see you work at The Dock. Are you a student here for the summer?” The woman seemed genuinely interested. She had an easy way about her, and Faith found herself replying before she could formulate the correct response, which would have been to keep things generic.
“I haven’t been a student in more years than I’d like to admit to, but thanks.” She thought she’d sidestepped the question, but Sunday wasn’t so easily swayed.
“Do you have a connection to Fire Lake? Family?”
“No. I ended up here by accident.”
“We’re so out of the way I can’t imagine how that happened.”
“Easy to do when you trust a fifteen-year-old hunk of junk car to go from San Francisco to Maine.”
Shit. She kept a smile pasted on her face, but inside she was pissed at herself. Rule number one — keep details close to the chest. The more information she gave, the higher the chances were of people finding out who she was. If word got out that Michael Brooks’s stepdaughter was living in Fire Lake, the press would be all over this place asking questions she didn’t want to answer. Answers she didn’t want to think about. So far, she’d been lucky. She’d never had much of an online presence, but all it would take was for one person to catch a news segment that featured an old photo, and her anonymity would end.
The three of them made small talk for a bit; Sunday asked questions that Faith managed to dodge.
“Where are you from?”
“Everywhere it seems.” Faith winced at that one.
“Do you plan on staying in Fire Lake?”
“Maybe.”
“Any siblings?”
