Megan's mate

his legs Indian-style.

The boy's got your eyes.

Her smile faded.

No, Kevin's are brown.

Like his father's.

No, not the color. The look in them. Goes a lot deeper than brown or blue. How much have you told him?

I

She brought herself back, angled her chin.

I didn't come here to discuss my

personal life with you.

What did you come here to discuss?

I came to get the children, and to go over your books.

Nathaniel nodded at her briefcase.

Got them in there?

Yes.

She retrieved it, then, because she saw little choice, sat on the deck facing him.

I've finished the first quarter that's January, February, March. Your outlay exceeded your income during that period, though you did have some cash flow through boat repairs. There is an outstanding account payable from February.

She

took out files, flipped through the neatly computer-generated sheets.

A Mr. Jacques

LaRue, in the amount of twelve hundred and thirty-two dollars and thirty-six cents.

LaRue's had a tough year.

Nathaniel poured more lemonade.

Holt and I agreed to

give him some more time.

That's your business, of course. Traditionally there would be late charges on any outstanding account after thirty days.

Traditionally, on the island, we're a little friendlier.

Your choice.

She adjusted her glasses.

Now, as you can see, I've arranged the books into logical columns. Expenses rent, utilities, office supplies, advertising and so forth. Then we have wages and withholding.

New perfume.

She glanced over.

What?

You're wearing a new perfume. There's a hint of jasmine in it.

Distracted, she stared at him.

Coco gave it to me.

I like it.

He leaned closer.

A lot.

Well.

She cleared her throat, flipped a page.

And here we have income. I've

added the weekly ticket sales from the tours to give you a month-by-month total, and a year-to-date. I see that you run a package deal with The Retreat, discounting your tour for hotel guests.

Seemed friendly and like good business.

Yes, it's very smart business. On the average, eighty percent of the hotel guests take advantage of the package. I... Do you have to sit so close?

Yeah. Have dinner with me tonight, Meg.

No.

Afraid to be alone with me?

Yes. Now, as you can see, in March your income began an upswing Bring the boy.

What?

Am I mumbling?

He smiled at her and slipped her glasses off her nose.

I said

bring Kevin along. We'll take a drive out to this place I know. Great lobster rolls.

He gave the word

lobster

a broad New England twist that made her smile.

I can't

claim they're up to Coco's standards, but there's plenty of local color.

We'll see.

Uh-uh. Parental cop-out.

She sighed, shrugged.

All right. Kevin would enjoy it.

Good.

He handed her glasses back before he rose to heft another board.

Tonight, then.

Tonight?

Why wait? You can call Suzanna, tell her we'll drop the kids off at her house on the way.

I suppose I could.

Now that his back was to her, she had no choice but to watch the ripple of muscles play as he set the board. She ignored the quick tug at her midsection, and reminded herself that her son would be along as chaperon.

I've

never had a lobster roll.

Then you're in for a treat.

He was absolutely right. The long, winding drive in the spectacular T-Bird was joy enough. The little villages they passed through were as scenic as any postcard. The sun dipped down toward the horizon in the west, and the breeze in the open car smelled of fish, then flowers, then sea.

The restaurant was hardly more than a diner, a square of faded gray wood set on stilts in the water, across a rickety gangplank. The interior decoration ran to torn fishnets and battered lobster buoys.

Scarred tables dotted the equally scarred floor. The booths were designed to rip the hell out of panty hose. A dubious effort at romantic atmosphere was added by the painted tuna can and hurricane globe set in the center of each table. The candles globbed in the base of the cans were unlit. Today's menu was scrawled on a chalkboard hanging beside the open kitchen.

We got lobster rolls, lobster salad and lobster lobster, a waitress explained to an

obviously frazzled family of four.

We got beer, we got milk, i.e. tea and soft drinks. There's French fries and coleslaw, and no ice cream 'cause the machine's not working. What'll you have?

When she spotted Nathaniel, she abandoned her customers and gave him a hard punch in the chest.

Where you been, Captain?

Oh, out and about, Jule. Got me a taste for lobster roll.

You came to the right place.

The waitress, scarecrow-thin with a puff of steel gray hair, eyed Megan craftily.

So, who's this?

Megan O'Riley, her son Kevin. This is Julie Peterson. The best lobster cook on Mount Desert Island.

The new accountant from The Towers.

Julie gave a brisk nod.

Well, sit down, sit

down. I'll fix you up when I get a minute.

She swiveled back to her other

customers.

You make up your mind yet, or are you just going to sit and take the air?