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Luke sighed as he approached the counter. “How do we ask?”

“Do-nuh peez!”

Luke ordered a glazed donut for Colby, and a large coffee and slice of cherry coffee cake for himself. He sat at a table while Colby roamed the small premises, mostly pulling out and then pushing chairs back in, coming in every now and again for a hand-fed bite of donut.

Luke felt himself unwind a little after the tension of his alarming wake-up call. It was a nice place to be on a gloomy morning, all warm colors and delicious smells, and if Seth minded a toddler rearranging his furniture, he never said so.

Eventually Seth finished with the pastry case he’d been fussing with and leaned over the counter, folding his arms with a sly smile. “So, Luke,” he drawled. “Any more nighttime serenades?”

Luke’s cheeks warmed, although he knew his scruff covered any flush on his skin.

Right. At their inaugural book club, Luke might have mentioned that he’d been hearing…singing from the coast late at night.

The first night it had happened, Luke had thought he’d maybe imagined it. Colby had woken up in the middle of the night, and after milk and a lullaby and some bleary-eyed rocking, Luke had finally gotten him back to bed.

And then he’d heard it—faint at first, especially within the confines of his house. But audible. A haunting, crooning melody. Beautiful and eerie all at once, and not in any language Luke recognized. Something about it had set goose bumps off along his skin.

Luke had walked outside in an effort to figure out where the song had been coming from. Not from town, as far as he’d been able to tell. It had seemed to be coming from the coast, across the highway that separated Pine Bluff’s houses from its ocean. But it had been the middle of a freezing winter night, so who would have been singing like that on the beach?

The song had ended while Luke had stood out there, shivering in his sleep shirt and sweats. He’d gone back to bed in a daze, wondering if toddler-induced sleep deprivation could cause auditory hallucinations.

He’d dreamed of the ocean that night. He’d dreamed of being sucked under its rolling waves, small and helpless in the face of its currents.

And then a few nights later he’d woken—on his own this time, no Colby to blame—and he’d heard it again. The same haunting melody, the same unsettling dreams afterward, although this time he would have sworn there was a presence there, in the water with him. Just out of sight. Out of reach.

And then Luke had ended up mentioning the strange serenades at book club a few nights ago, and now he sort of wished he hadn’t. He’d never intended to share his weird little secret. It had just sort of…come out.

Not that he really minded Seth asking about it—Luke and Seth always chatted about the goings-on about town, while Riley lurked over Seth’s shoulder and occasionally silently chimed in with a smirk or a scowl. It was more like…

It had just been so surreal. So oddly personal. And now it was common knowledge. Just another quirk of the town.

Luke realized he’d been quiet for too long. Seth’s brows were raised, and Riley had his head cocked, studying Luke like he was an unwelcome enigma.

Luke cleared his throat. “No. Nothing since.”

Although, that could have been due to how exhausted Luke had been last night. The week had caught up with him, and he’d slept like the dead, at least until Colby had waltzed into his room like some little shadow demon.

Luke needed to remember to turn Colby’s crib around, so the lower railing was against the wall and the higher railing was up front. Maybe then it would be too much for Colby to clamber over again.

“Hm. That’s a shame.” Seth straightened from his slouch with a disappointed twist of his lips. “It sounded very mysterious. Like your own personal Phantom of the Opera.”

Luke tried to remember what he knew about Andrew Lloyd Weber musicals. “Doesn’t he murder people?”

Seth shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s got a sexy little mask on while he does it, so…”

Luke let that go without comment. It sounded too much like something his niece would say.

He and Colby finished their nutritionally suspect breakfasts, and then Luke herded Colby out the door, back to the car, and then to Colby’s day care, a place run by a local woman who’d been Waldorf-trained and whose very essence screamed “Earth mother,” large beaded jewelry and patterned silk scarves included. Colby seemed to love her, though, so Luke wouldn’t have cared if she’d rocked all leather and a spiked mohawk and greeted them with heavy metal blasting each day.

And then Luke was on his own, just himself and the quiet of the morning. He sat in the car outside the day care for a few minutes too long, something strange and urgent humming under his skin.

He knew where he should be heading: home, to his garage, where he had a table he needed to be working on, a commission he was getting a little too behind on for comfort.

Luke should definitely be going there. He’d down his forgotten morning coffee—cold by now but still drinkable in a pinch—and he’d get to work, cramming in as much productive time as he could before picking Colby up for his afternoon nap.

But when Luke finally pulled away from the day care, instead of turning right off the main road, he found himself turning left. Back to the highway. Toward the beach.

Twice now Luke had heard that haunting song, and twice it had seemed to be coming from the coast. And sure, whoever was singing like a lunatic in the middle of the night was probably safe at home in the morning, but…maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check?