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“And thank you again for your contribution. Margaret was thrilled when she heard.”

“I’m happy to support the work,” I say.

“You’ve built something worthwhile here.”

David smiles. “Margaret will want to see you. She’s outside somewhere.”

“I’ll find her.”

I keep moving before the conversation can grow into anything longer.

There are familiar faces scattered through the house and several more on the terrace, but I don’t stop unless someone speaks to me directly. I exchange a few greetings, accept a drink I don’t intend to finish, and make my way toward the back of the property.

I came here for one reason.

Blaire.

The terrace opens onto a broad lawn filled with small groups of guests. Some are gathered near the pool, others closer to the house, and several conversations are happening around the tables set beneath umbrellas.

I scan the crowd.

Then I see her.

She is standing roughly twenty yards away, speaking with a woman I recognize from the gathering’s guest list. Her hair is loose, and she is wearing a flowing dress that moves slightly in the breeze.

Everything in me sharpens.

She looks up.

Our eyes meet.

The change in her expression is immediate.

She goes completely still.

Then the color drains from her face.

For a second, I think it is simply shock. She never expected to see me here, and certainly not in Nantucket.

Then her attention flicks toward the lawn behind her.

She looks back at me just as quickly.

Something about the movement catches my attention, but I’m already walking toward her.

I have spent too much time rehearsing this conversation in my head to hesitate now.

I am less than ten feet away when Margaret Pembroke steps into my path.

“Ross,” Margaret says warmly. “There you are.”

I stop and turn toward her.

“Margaret.”

She reaches for my hand with both of hers.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says.