"High praise."
"I had no idea. About any of it. The storm, the inlets—" She shook her head. "I've been coming to Sea Isle since I was a kid, and I never knew the island was actually moving."
"Most people don't. They see the beach and the houses and they think it's always been this way." He poured himself a glass from the bottle on the nearby table. "That's why I wanted to do this. Not just book readings, those are fine, but everyone does those. I wanted talks that made them see the place differently."
"Is that what the bookstore is for too?"
He smiled at that. "I opened the bookstore because I burned out on corporate life and needed work that mattered. But somewhere along the way it grew into more than a shop. It became about building a place where people could stumble onto things they didn't know they needed."
She turned her wine glass in her hands.
"What about you?" John asked. "What brings you to Sea Isle for the summer?"
"Friends. A group of us rented a house. Our kids are all around the same age, so it seemed like a good idea." A beat. "My son is seventeen. I'm not sure he'd use those words for it."
"Seventeen is a hard age."
"You have kids?"
"Two. Both grown now, living their own lives in cities I need a GPS to navigate." He lifted his glass. "They turned out fine despite everything. That's the only parenting metric I'm confident about."
That got a real smile out of her.
The crowd had thinned. Scott was packing up his notes, shaking hands with the last few people who'd lingered. Gus was sprawled under the refreshment table, twitching through some dream.
"I should let you close things out," Lori said.
"I should." But he lingered. "I'm glad you came. It means something, when new people find their way here."
"I'm glad I came too."
He turned to go then looked back. "We do these weekly. I've got a fisherman lined up in a few days—wrote a memoir about fifty years on these waters. Different topic, same idea." His eyes held hers. "If you're still around."
"I'll be here all summer."
"Then I hope to see you."
He returned to the podium, and Lori watched him go. The air had softened with dusk, carrying the green scent of the vineyard and something faintly sweet from the last of the day's heat. The knot in her shoulders had loosened without her noticing.
She was reaching for her bag when her phone buzzed.
Kevin, the screen said. Her ex-husband.
For a moment she considered not answering. Letting it ring through to voicemail, dealing with whatever it was later, when she wasn't standing in a vineyard feeling lighter than she had in months, something bright and unfamiliar just starting to take shape.
But Kevin never called without a reason.
She stepped away from the remaining guests and answered.
"Lori." Kevin's voice was clipped. "We need to talk about Ethan."
"What about him?"
"He still hasn't responded about the wedding. I need to finalize the groomsmen list by the end of the week, and he's the only one who hasn't given me an answer."
Lori pressed her free hand to her forehead. The air that had felt so pleasant a moment ago now hung heavy. "Have you tried calling him directly?"
"He doesn't answer my calls. You know that."
