head. “Gotta go, munchkin. Give me a hug?” She scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. “You be good for Grandma, okay?”
He saw the flash of sadness in her dark eyes when she pulled away, but she only nodded and said, “’Kay.”
Patrick called his goodbyes to his folks, then let himself out the front door, where the cold wind wreaked havoc with his face grafts, even for the short sprint to his truck. Sure, the idea of being around April Ross produced a kick to the gut the likes of which Patrick hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. But after the hell he’d been through? A little lust was the least of his worries. Especially since this was a nonstarter. What with her being married and all.
And thank God for that.
Chapter Two
“T hat’s not what you had on five minutes ago.”
Shooting daggers at her cousin Melanie, April selected a coffee from the carousel on the gleaming, brand-new quartz counter and plopped it into the Keurig maker. The old kitchen, although huge, had been so outdated it nearly qualified for historical preservation status. And not in a good way. Now it was a chef’s dream, with miles of countertops and cabinets, double ovens and a massive, stainless-steel-topped island, and—the pièce de résistance —a six-burner commercial-grade stove...in pink. Just for Mel. Who, now that true love had brought her back to St. Mary’s after more than ten years away, had agreed—after much haranguing on April’s part—to bring her mad cooking skills to the inn.
“I was cold,” April said. “So I put on a heavier sweater.”
“And changed your pants. And your headband—”
“Shut. Up.”
“And that’s your fourth cup of coffee this morning.” The brunette grinned, her own mug of coffee nestled against her generous bosom, not so generously covered by a hot pink velour hoodie. Underneath long bangs, her gray-green eyes glittered. “That much caffeine and you’re gonna sound like a chipmunk on speed. Although I do like that shade of purple on you.”
Their other cousin, Blythe, an interior designer in D.C. who was there for a few days to check on the remodel’s progress, wandered into the kitchen, yawning, a study in drapey grays and silvers. Tall, blond and impossibly chic, she frowned at April.
“Weren’t you wearing something different at breakfast?”
Melanie poked Blythe as she bit into one of her own homemade cinnamon rolls. “I remember Patrick Shaughnessy. If vaguely. Dude’s definitely worth the wardrobe crazies.”
Her coffee brewed, April grabbed the porcelain mug, watching the sunlight dance across her rings before she turned and caught sight of the clock, a big, old-fashioned schoolroom thing Blythe had found in some antiques store. Ten minutes. Sighing, she leaned against the counter and looked at Mel. Time to reveal a detail or two she’d left out when she’d told them he was coming to give the estimate.
“I take it he was pretty good-looking back then?” she asked her cousin.
“In a craggy, Heathcliffian sort of way, yeah. All the Shaughnessy boys were.”
“So his face...it wasn’t scarred?”
“Scarred? You mean, like...a cut that didn’t heal properly?”
“No. Worse. Like...I don’t know. Burned, maybe?”
“What? Ohmigod, are you serious? Is it...bad?”
April nodded. “Although it’s only one side of his face, so I didn’t notice at first. But when I did...” She grimaced. “I sort of...freaked out.”
Mel frowned. “Freaked out, how?”
“I ran. Like some frightened little twit who thought she’d seen the bogeyman. And yes, he saw the whole thing.”
“Ouch,” Blythe said.
“Exactly.” April’s gaze drifted out the new kitchen window, widened to take advantage of the shoreline view at the back of the property, the private dock jutting out into the glittering water. Her dock now. Her property. For a moment the thought made her feel all sparkly inside, until the guilt blotted it out again. “He has