Return to Willow Lake

#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs brings readers home to Avalon, an idyllic town nestled on the tranquil shores of Willow Lake. There, one woman will rediscover her family and her dreams, and find a surprising new love. …

Sonnet Romano’s life is almost perfect. She has the ideal career, the ideal boyfriend, and has just been offered a prestigious fellowship. There’s nothing more a woman wants—except maybe a baby...brother?

When Sonnet finds out her mother is unexpectedly expecting, and that the pregnancy is high risk, she puts everything on hold—the job, the fellowship, the boyfriend—and heads home to Avalon. Once her mom is out of danger, Sonnet intends to pick up her life where she left off.

But when her mother receives a devastating diagnosis, Sonnet must decide what really matters in life, even if that means staying in Avalon and taking a job that forces her to work alongside her biggest, and maybe her sweetest, mistake—award-winning filmmaker Zach Alger. So Sonnet embarks on a summer of laughter and tears, of old dreams and new possibilities, and of finding the home of her heart.

Return to Willow Lake

The

Lakeshore Chronicles

Susan Wiggs

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To imakepesto from beachwriter

Contents

Part One

Must-Do List

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Part Two

Must-Do List (Revised)

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Part Three

Must-Do List (Revised, Again)

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Part Four

Must-Do List (Revised, Round 4)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Part Five

Must-Do List (Last One, Promise)

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Excerpt

Part One

SONNET ROMANO’S

MUST-DO-BEFORE-AGE-THIRTY LIST

college degree

overseas internship

bond with estranged father

find a better apartment

fall in love

A Scout is never taken by surprise; he knows exactly what to do when anything unexpected happens.

—ROBERT BADEN-POWELL (SCOUTING FOR BOYS, 1908)

Chapter One

Moments before the wedding was to begin, Sonnet Romano shuddered with a wave of nervousness. “Mom,” she said, hurrying over to the window, which framed a view of Willow Lake, “what if I screw up?”

Her mother turned from the window. The late afternoon light shrouded Nina Bellamy’s slender form, and for a moment she appeared ethereal and as young as Sonnet herself. Nina looked fantastic in her autumn-gold silk sheath, her dark hair swept back into a low chignon. Only someone who knew her the way Sonnet did might notice the subtle lines of fatigue around her eyes and mouth, the vague puffiness of her skin. Just prior to the wedding, she’d attended the funeral, up in Albany, of her favorite aunt, who had died the week before of cancer, and the grief of goodbye lingered in her face.

“You’re not going to screw up,” Nina said. “You’re going to be fabulous. You look amazing in that dress, you’ve memorized everything you’re going to do and say, and it’s going to be a wonderful evening.”

“Yes, but—”

“Remember what I used to say when you were little—your smile is my sunshine.”

“I remember.” And the memory did its magic, bringing a smile to her face. Her mom had raised Sonnet alone, but only now that she was grown did she appreciate how hard that had been for Nina. “You gave me lots of memories, Mom.”

“Come here, you.” Nina opened her arms and Sonnet gratefully slipped into her mother’s embrace.

“This feels nice. I wish I had a chance to come back here more often.” Sonnet turned her face to the warm breeze blowing in through the window. The sheer beauty of the lake, nestled between the gentle swells of the Catskills, made her heart ache. Though she’d grown up in Avalon, the place felt foreign to Sonnet now, a world she used to inhabit and couldn’t wait to leave.

Despite her vivid memories of her childhood here, playing in the woods with her friends or sledding down the hills in winter, she’d never truly appreciated the scenery until she’d left it behind, eager to find her life far away. Now that she lived in Manhattan, crammed into a closet-sized walk-up studio on a noisy East Side street, she finally understood the appeal of her old hometown.

“I wish you could, too,” Nina said. “It’s time-consuming, isn’t it, saving the world?”

Sonnet chuckled. “Is that what I’m doing? Saving the world?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Sweetie, I’m so proud to tell people you work with UNESCO, that your department saves children’s lives all over the world.”

“Ah, thanks, Mom. You make me think I do more than write emails and fill out forms.” Sonnet often found herself wishing she could actually work with a child every once in a while. Buried in administrative chores, it was easy to forget.

On the smoothly-mown lawn below, guests were beginning to take their seats for the ceremony. Many of the groom’s friends were in military dress uniform, adding a note of gravitas to the atmosphere.

“Wow,” said Sonnet, “it’s really happening, Mom. Finally.”

“Yes,” Nina agreed. “Finally.”

A chorus of squeals came from the adjacent room, where the rest of the bridal party was getting ready.

“Daisy’s going to be the prettiest bride ever,” Sonnet said, feeling a thrum of emotion in her chest. The bride was Sonnet’s best friend as well as her stepsister, and she was about to marry the love of her life. To Sonnet it felt like a dream come true…but also, deep in a hidden corner of her heart, a loss of sorts. Now someone else would be the keeper of Daisy’s most private secrets, her soft place to fall, the person on the other end of the phone in the middle of the night.

“Until it’s your turn,” Nina said. “Then you’ll be the prettiest bride ever.”

Sonnet gave her mom’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t hold your breath. I’m busy saving the world, remember?”

“Just don’t get so busy you forget to fall in love,” Nina said.

Sonnet laughed. “I think you need to embroider that on a pillow. How about— Hello.” Her mind drained of everything but the sight of the tallest groomsman in the wedding party, escorting the grandmother of the bride to her seat in the front row.

In a dove-gray swallowtail tux, he moved with long-limbed grace, although his height was not the most striking thing about him. It was his hair, as long and pale as a banner of surrender, giving him the otherworldly look of a mythical creature. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“Holy cow,” she said. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” said her mother. “Zach Alger.”

“Whoa.”

“He’s finally grown into his looks, hasn’t he?” Nina commented. “I’d forgotten how long it’s been since you last saw him. The two of you used to be so close.”

Zach Alger. Surely not, thought Sonnet, practically leaning out the open window. This couldn’t be the Zach Alger she’d grown up with, the whiter-shade-of-pale boy who lived down the street, with his big goofy ears and braces on his teeth. Her best friend in high school, the freakishly skinny kid who worked at the Sky River Bakery. This couldn’t be the college geek working his way through school, obsessed with cameras and all things video.

Zach Alger, she thought. Well, well. Since high school, he and Sonnet had gone in different directions, and she hadn’t seen him in ages. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

After helping Daisy’s grandmother to her seat, he pulled a flask from his tux pocket and took a swig. All right, thought Sonnet. That was the Zach she knew—a guy with more talent than ambition, a guy with a troubled background he couldn’t seem to shake, a guy who was part of her past, but had no possible place in her future.

Movement in the next room reminded her she had an important job to do today. She peered through the doorway at Daisy, who was surrounded by the hairstylist, makeup artist, wedding planner, her mom Sophie, the photographer and several people Sonnet didn’t recognize. “What do you say?” she asked her mother. “Shall we go help Daisy get married?’

Nina grinned. “She wouldn’t dare make a move without you.”

“Or you. Honestly, when you married Daisy’s dad, she hit the stepmom jackpot.”

Nina’s grin turned to a soft smile, and her dark eyes took on an expression that pulled Sonnet into days gone by, when it had just been the two of them, making their way in the world. Nina had turned a teenage pregnancy into a small but lovely life for herself and Sonnet. Yes, she was married now—unexpectedly, in the middle of her life—but their two-against-the-world time together belonged solely to Nina and Sonnet.

“You’re going all mushy on me, aren’t you?” Sonnet said.

“Yeah, baby. I am. Just wait until you’re the bride. I’ll need CPR.” The shadows in the room were just starting to deepen; evening was coming on.

“No, you won’t, Mom,” Sonnet assured her. “You’ll rise to the occasion. You always do.”

Nina took her hand again, and together they stepped through the door.

Chapter Two

The wedding wound down like a noisy parade fading into the distance. In its wake was the curious mellow quiet of a just-passed storm. Sonnet stood on the broad lawn by the pavilion at Camp Kioga, surveying the petal-strewn aftermath and holding onto a well-earned sense of accomplishment.

As maid of honor, she’d been intimately involved with every aspect of the event, from coordinating Daisy’s bachelorette party to picking the colors of the table linens. But today hadn’t been about table decorations or small appliances. It had been about friends and family and a celebration so joyous she could still feel its echo deep inside her.

Rather than feeling exhausted after the long, emotional day, she was chased by a feeling of restlessness. It was strange, coming back to the place she’d once called home, seeing people who looked her over and remarked, “I remember when you were this tall” or “Why hasn’t some guy snatched you up by now?” as if being twenty-eight and unmarried was taboo in a town like this.

She smiled a little, pretending she didn’t feel the tiniest dig of impatience with her personal life. No. She wasn’t impatient. It was hard, caught up in the wedding whirlwind, to ignore the fact that nearly everyone in sight was coupled up.

Taking a deep breath, she went back to savoring the success of the day. The bride and groom had just departed. Her maid of honor duties were done. In the glow of twinkling fairy lights, the band was breaking down its set. The catering crew got going on the cleanup. The last of the wedding guests were slowly melting into the darkness of the perfect fall evening, the air redolent of crisp leaves and ripe apples. There had been a bonfire at the lakeshore, but it had burned to glowing embers by now. Some of the visitors headed for the parking lot, while the out-of-towners wended their way to the storybook pretty lakefront bungalows of the Camp Kioga, which through the years had been transformed from a family camp to a kids’ camp to its present iteration, a gathering place for celebrating life’s events. A good number of the guests were, like Sonnet, pleasantly tipsy.

A bright moon peeked over the dark hills surrounding Willow Lake, throwing silvery shadows across the still water and trampled grass. Childish laughter streamed from somewhere close by, and three little kids chased each other between the banquet tables. In the low light, Sonnet couldn’t tell whose kids they were, but their joyous abandon lifted her heart. She adored children; she always had. In a place deep down in the center of her, she felt a soft tug of yearning, but it was a yearning that would likely go unfulfilled for a very long time. Maybe forever. She had big plans for her future, but at the moment, those plans did not include settling down and having kids of her own.

In the first place, there was no one to settle down with. Unlike Daisy, who had found the love of her life and was going forward with clear-eyed certainty, Sonnet had no vision of who might be that person for her, that one adored man who would become her whole world. In all honesty, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure such a person existed. There was nothing missing from her life, nothing at all. It wasn’t as if she needed to add someone like the final piece of a puzzle.

Greg Bellamy, Sonnet’s stepfather, came walking across the now-trampled lawn, heading for the gazebo to shell out extra tips for the band. As father of the bride, he was all smiles. Sonnet went over to him, teasingly holding out her hand, palm up. “Hey, where’s the tip for the maid of honor?”

Greg chuckled, looking handsome but tired and slightly disheveled in his tux, the black silk bow tie undone and hanging on either side of his unbuttoned collar. “Here’s a tip for you. Take a couple of aspirin before you go to bed tonight. It’ll counteract those Jell-O shots you did at the reception.”

“You saw that?” She grinned. “Whoops.”

“It’s okay. You’ve earned it, kiddo. Great job today. You looked like a million, and that toast you made at the reception—hilarious. Everybody loved it. You’re a born public speaker.”

“Yeah? Aw, thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, for an evil stepfather.” Sonnet loved her mom’s husband. Through the years, he’d been a great mentor and friend to her. But he wasn’t her dad. Sonnet’s father, General Laurence Jeffries, played that role, although he had been virtually absent from her childhood, making a career for himself far from the bucolic charm of Avalon. When Sonnet went off to college at American University and then graduate school at Georgetown, however, she and Laurence had reconnected; she had dived into his world of public service and strategy and diplomacy, eagerly soaking up his knowledge and expertise.

She was the first to admit that hero worship made for a much more complicated relationship with Laurence than she had with Greg.

Nina came over to join them, her heeled pumps dangling from one hand. “What’s this I hear about Jell-O shots? You were doing them without me?”

“Trust me,” said Greg, “the champagne cocktails were a lot more fun.”

“I trust you. And you were an amazing father of the bride,” she said to Greg, smiling up at him.

“I cried like a baby girl.” He offered a sheepish grin.

“We all did,” Sonnet assured him. “Weddings seem to have that effect on people. Daisy’s even more so, because of all the trouble she’s had.”

“Speaking of trouble, I need to go make sure we’ve settled up with everybody else,” Greg said.

“I’ll come with,” Nina said. “You might need propping up when you see some of the final bills.”

Greg slipped his arm around Nina. “In that case, how about we have one last glass of champagne together? For courage.”

“Good plan.” Nina helped herself to a couple of flutes from one of the tables. “Join us down by the lake?”

Sonnet found a half-empty bottle and poured herself a glass. “I think I’ll stick around here and…” She paused. After all was said and done, the maid of honor had no further duties. “…drink alone.”

“Ah, baby.” Her mom offered a soft smile. “Your time will come, just like I was saying before the wedding. No one can say where or when, but it’ll happen.”

“Gah, Mom.” Sonnet grimaced. “I’m not mooning about my love life. That’s the last thing on my mind.”

“If you say so.” Nina lifted her glass in salute.

“I say so. Go away.” Sonnet made a shooing motion with her free hand. “Go drink with your husband. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? I’m planning to be on the noon train to the city.” She watched her mom and stepdad wander down the gentle slope toward the lake, their silhouettes dark against the moonlight.

They paused at the water’s edge and stood facing the moonlit surface, Greg holding Nina protectively from behind, his hands folded over her midsection. Sonnet sighed, feeling a wave of gladness for her mom. Yet at the same time, the sight of them embracing made her heart ache. Sonnet tried to imagine herself in that role—the bride. Would her own father walk her down the aisle, the tears flowing freely down his face? Doubtful. General Laurence Jeffries, now a candidate for the United States Senate, was more figurehead than father.

And when she pictured herself walking down the aisle, she couldn’t form a mental image of the guy waiting at the end of it. She wasn’t going to hold her breath waiting for him.

“I hate weddings.” Zach Alger sidled over and slammed back a bottle of Utica Club. “I especially hate weddings that require me to behave myself.”

Sonnet had spent most of the day sneaking glances at Zach, trying to accustom herself to this new version of her oldest friend. They hadn’t had a chance to talk at the wedding; the evening had sped by with her still doing her duty as maid of honor. Now, mellow from drinking and dancing, she regarded him through squinted eyes. It was hard to get her head around the idea that he had been a part of her life since preschool. That, perhaps, was the only reason she didn’t swoon sideways when he walked past, the way most women did. Still, it was hard to get used to his unique, striking looks—so blond he was sometimes mistaken for an albino, and now built like a Greek athlete, yet oddly oblivious to his effect on the opposite sex.

She gave him a superior sniff, falling into her old role as sidekick. “You mean there’s a kind of wedding that doesn’t require you to behave yourself?” She plucked an untouched flute of champagne from one of the tables that hadn’t yet been cleared.

“I’m a wedding videographer. I’ve filmed more weddings than I’ve been to baseball games. I haven’t seen a Saturday night in five years. And what do I do when one finally rolls around? I go to a freaking wedding.”

“Daisy’s wedding.”

“Any wedding. I hate them all.”

She scowled at him. “How can you be hating on Daisy Bellamy’s wedding?”

Just hearing herself say the words aloud filled her with a sense of wonder—not because Daisy had married the man of her dreams. That in itself was wonderful. But the real miracle was that Daisy had gotten married at all. Her parents’ divorce had been so hard on her. Back when Daisy’s dad and Sonnet’s mom were first getting together, both girls had agreed that marriage was too perilous and restrictive, and they’d made a pact to avoid it at all costs.

Now Daisy was soaring off to wedded bliss, and Sonnet was stuck keeping her end of the pact. She cringed at the picture of her own romantic future. Thanks to her impossibly busy career as a director at UNESCO, she had almost no time to date, let alone get swept away and fall in love. She dreamed of it, though. Who didn’t? Who didn’t want the kind of love Daisy had found? Or her mother and Greg Bellamy? Or the head couple of the Bellamy clan, Jane and Charles, who had been married for more than fifty years.

Of course Sonnet wanted that—the love, the security, the lifelong project of building a family with her soul mate. It sounded so magical. And so unreachable. When it came to a serious relationship, she had never quite figured out how to get from Point A to Point B.

Lately, though, there was a glimmer on the horizon from a most unexpected source. Her father—yes, her super-accomplished, goal-oriented father—had introduced her to a guy. His name was Orlando Rivera, and he was heading up the general’s run for office. Like the general, he’d attended West Point. He was in his thirties, ridiculously handsome, from the eldest son of a monied Cuban-American family. He had the dark appeal of a Latin lover and was fluent in English and Spanish. And, maybe most importantly of all, he was in the tight inner circle of satellites that revolved around her father.

“I’m allowed to hate anything I want,” Zach said, grabbing the champagne from her hand and guzzling it down.

Defiantly, she picked up a half-empty bottle that was bobbing in an ice bucket and took back the glass. “It was Daisy’s big day, and if you were any kind of gentleman, you’d be happy for her. And for me,” she groused at him. “I got to stand up at the altar for my best friend—”

“Hey,” he groused back. “I thought I was your best friend.”

“You never come to see me.” She feigned a dramatic sigh. “You don’t call, you don’t text… Besides, I can have more than one.”

“Best is a superlative term. There can only be one.”

She refilled the glass and took a gulp, enjoying the lovely head rush of the bubbly. “You and your rules. Both you and Daisy are my besties and there’s nothing you can do about it, so there.”

“Oh yeah? I can think of something.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down toward the dark, flat expanse of Willow Lake.

“What the heck are you doing?” she said, twisting her hand out of his.

“The party’s over, but I’m not tired. Are you tired?”

“No, but—”

“Hey, check it out.” He led the way down the slope to the water’s edge.

“Check what out? I’m going to ruin my shoes.”

He stopped and turned. “Then take them off.”

“But I—”

“Lean on me,” he said, going down on one knee in front of her. He slipped off one sandal and then the other. She felt an unexpected frisson of sensation when he touched her. “That’s better, anyway.”

She sniffed again, unwilling to admit that the coarse sand on the lakeshore felt delicious under her bare feet. “Fine, what are we checking out?”

“I saw something.…” He gestured at the water lapping gently up the sandy slope.

She saw it, too, a glimmer in the moonlight. Then she frowned and lifted the hem of her dress to wade out and grab it. “A champagne bottle,” she said. “Somebody littered.” Holding it up to the light, she squinted. “There’s a message inside, Zach.”

“Yeah? Open it up and check it out,” he said.

“No way,” she said. “It might be someone’s private business.”

“What? How can you find a message in a bottle and not look at it?”

“It’s bad karma to pry into it. I won’t be party to snooping around someone else’s emotional baggage.” Defiantly, she flung the bottle as far as she could. It landed unseen, with a decisive plop. “What kind of idiot leaves a message in a bottle in a landlocked lake, anyway?” she asked.

“You should have looked,” he said churlishly. “It might have been important. Maybe it was a cry for help and you just ignored it.”

“Maybe it was some teenager’s angsty poetry and I did her a favor by getting rid of it.”

“Right.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dock jutting out into the lake.

She pulled back. “Wait a minute. Now what are we doing?”

“I told Wendela I’d take the boat over to the boathouse.”

Wendela was the wedding planner, and Zach did most of the videography work for her. In addition, she often enlisted him to do other odd jobs at events. In a small town, it was a way for him to cobble together a living, Sonnet supposed. He was talented at what he did; during the reception, Wendela had told her he’d won some prestigious awards for his work. But like all artists, he struggled. Awards didn’t translate into a viable income.

“You’re here as a wedding guest,” she protested. “Wendela wouldn’t expect you to work tonight.”

“What, driving a boat is suddenly work? Since when?”

“You have a point. What is it with guys and boats?”

“There are some things that cannot be resisted.” He slipped off his bow tie and opened the collar of his tuxedo shirt, his Adam’s apple rippling as he sighed with relief.

Good Lord, had he been working out? She didn’t ask, because everyone knew that was just code for “I think you’re hot.”

And she didn’t. How could she? He was Zach—as familiar as a lifelong friend, yet suddenly…exotic.

“I shouldn’t have done those Jell-O shots,” she murmured. Pulling her attention elsewhere, she stood on the dock and looked out at the moon-silvered water. The sight of the lake never failed to ignite a rush of memories. She had been here before, many times through the years.

During her junior high and high school years, when Camp Kioga had been closed down, she and Zach used to sneak onto the premises with their friends on hot summer days, swimming and reliving the glory days of the resort, which dated back to the 1920s. And every once in a while, the two of them would slip into the boathouse and pretend to be smugglers or pirates or stuntmen in the circus. Sometimes, even as youngsters, they would fall so deep into the fantasy that they’d lose track of time. She remembered talking with him for hours, seemingly about nothing, but managing to encompass everything important. When she was with Zach, it never felt strange that she didn’t have a dad, or that she was biracial, or that her mom had to work all the time to make ends meet. When she was with Zach, she just felt…like herself. Maybe that was why their friendship felt so sturdy, even when they almost never saw each other.

An owl hooted from a secret place in the darkness, startling Sonnet from her thoughts. “It’s getting late,” she said softly. “I’m leaving.”

He gently closed his hand around her wrist. “Come with me.”

A shiver coursed through her, and she didn’t resist when he drew her close, slipping his arm around her waist and edging her toward the boat moored at the end of the dock. It was a vintage Chris-Craft runabout, its wooden hull and brass fittings polished to a sheen so bright it seemed to glow in the moonlight. The old boat had been used in the wedding, mostly for a photo shoot but also, and most romantically, to transport the bride and groom to the floatplane dock, where they’d been whisked away to their honeymoon at Mohonk Mountain House. A Just Married sign was tied to the stern.

“Hang on to me,” Zach whispered. “I don’t want you falling in.”

“I won’t fall—whoa.” She clung to him as the boat listed beneath her weight. The open cabin smelled of the lake, and the flowers that had been used to decorate it, and the fresh scent made her dizzy. The second wave of champagne was kicking in.

“Take my jacket,” he said, wrapping it around her shoulders. “Chilly tonight.”

She took a seat in the cockpit, feeling the peculiar intimacy of his body heat lingering in the folds of the jacket. She reveled in the slickness of the satin lining, which smelled faintly of men’s cologne and sweat. Oh boy, she thought.

There was an open bottle of champagne in the cubby by her knees, so she grabbed it and took a long, thirsty swig. Why not? she thought. Her official duties for the wedding were done, and it was time to relax.

Zach untied the boat and shoved off. He turned on the running lights and motor, handling the Chris-Craft with expert smoothness. He’d always been good with his hands, whether handling a vintage motorboat or a complicated video camera. As they motored across the placid water toward the rustic wooden boathouse, Sonnet admitted to herself that although she loved living in New York City, there were things she missed about the remote Catskills area where she’d grown up—the moon on the water, the fresh feeling of the wind in her face, the quiet and the darkness of the wilderness, the familiarity of a friend who knew her so well they didn’t really have to talk.

She had another drink of champagne, feeling a keen exuberance as she watched loose flower petals fluttering through the night air, into the wake of the boat.

She offered the bottle to Zach.

“No thanks,” he said. “Not until I moor the boat.”

She sat back and enjoyed the short crossing to the boathouse, which was bathed in the soft golden glow of lights along the dock.

Over the buzz of the engine, he pointed out the constellations. “See that group up there? It’s called Coma Berenices—Berenice’s hair. It was named for an Egyptian queen who cut off all her hair in exchange for some goddess to keep her husband safe in battle. The goddess liked the hair so much, she took it to the heavens and turned it into a cluster of stars.”

“Talk about a good hair day.” She was beyond pleasantly tipsy now. “I’d never cut off my hair. Took me years to get it this long.”

“Not even to keep your husband safe in battle?”

“I don’t have a husband. So I’ll be keeping my fabled locks, thank you very much. Berenice’s hair. I swear, your mind is a lint trap for stuff like this. Where do you learn it?”

“The internet. Yeah, I like geeking out over trivia on the internet, so sue me.”

“I’m not going to sue you. Whatever floats your boat, ha ha.”

“You can find out anything online. Ever watch that video of the Naga fireballs?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Too busy overachieving?”

“Since when is that a crime?”

“Never said it was.” Zach guided the boat inside, cutting the engine to let it nudge its way into the moorage, gently bumping against the rubber fenders.

“There,” he said, taking the champagne from her, “I’ve done my good deed for the day. Here’s looking at you, kid.”

“Too dark in here to see,” she pointed out. “Oh, right. That’s a movie reference. I forgot, you’re a walking movie encyclopedia.”