"Like I said, we're cutting a deal, but I don't see him walking away without doing some time. You know, the way things work today, you could sue him yourself. Defamation of character, emotional pain and suffering, all that. Your lawyer would tell you."
"I'm not interested in suing Roger. I'm interested in turning the page."
"I figured that." He smiled at her again. "You're a nice woman, Ms. Powell. It's been a pleasure meeting you, even under the circumstances."
She thought about it. "I suppose I have to say the same, Detective Kusack. Even under the circumstances."
He stepped toward the door, stopped. "It's about opening time, isn't it?"
She glanced at her watch. "Just about."
"I wonder…" He tugged on his ear again. "My wife's got this birthday coming up. Tomorrow, actually."
"Detective Kusack," she beamed at him, "you've come to the right place."
Kate told herself she felt wonderful, revived. All of her troubles were behind her. She was starting the next phase of her life.
There was no reason to be nervous about going to Byron's. It was the middle of the day—lunchtime. He wouldn't be home. She would simply pick up her things, as he'd requested, and thereby close that chapter cleanly.
She would not regret. It was fun while it lasted, nothing lasted forever, all good things came to an end.
And if another cliche popped into her mind, she would scream.
She pulled into his driveway. The key she had meticulously removed from her own ring was in her pocket. But when she reached in to pull it out, she found herself holding Seraphina's coin. Baffled, she stared at it. She would have sworn she'd put that in the top drawer of her jewelry box.
She turned it in her hand. The sun caught the edge and shot out dazzling light. That was why her eyes watered, she told herself. It was the reflection off the gold, and she'd taken off her sunglasses. It wasn't because she felt a sudden, wrenching connection to that young girl, standing on the cliff, ready to throw her life away.
Kate Powell was not throwing her life away, she told herself firmly. She was facing it. Only the weak tossed away hope. She had years of happiness left in her life. Years. And she was not going to stand here and cry over some old coin and a misty legend.
This was reality. She blinked back tears. Her reality, and she knew exactly what she was doing.
She found the key, replaced the coin in her pocket. But it was harder than she'd imagined to use the key, knowing it would be the last time.
It was just a house, she thought. There was no reason for her to love it, no reason to feel this aching sense of welcome when she opened the door. There was no reason at all for her to walk to the glass doors and want to weep because the pups were napping in the sunshine.
And geraniums were blooming in gray stone pots. Wind chimes of copper and brass sang in the breeze from the sea. Shells that she had gathered with Byron from the beach were arranged in a wide-mouthed glass bowl on the redwood table.
It was so perfect, she realized, so simply perfect. That was why she wanted to weep.
When the dogs' heads popped up in unison, and they scrambled up to bark and race, she realized she hadn't heard the car. But they had. They reacted just that way whenever they recognized the sound of Byron's return home.
Jolted with panic, she turned around and faced the door as he came in.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't realize you'd be home early."
"I don't suppose you did." But he'd known, thanks to Laura's call, that she would be there.
"I came to get my things. I… I thought it best to come by when you were at work. So it would be less awkward."
"It's awkward now." He stepped toward her, eyes narrowed. "You've been crying."
"No, not really. It was…" Her fingers slid into her pocket, touched the coin. "It was something else entirely. And then I guess it was the dogs. They looked so sweet sleeping in the yard." They were at the door now, tails waving furiously. "I'll miss them."
"Sit down."
"No, I really can't. I want to get back to the shop, and… and I do want to apologize, Byron, for shouting at you the way I did. I really am sorry for that, and I'd hate to think we couldn't at least be civil." She closed her eyes on her own absurdity. "This is very awkward."
He wanted to touch her, badly wanted to touch her. But he knew his own limitations. If he so much as brushed his hand over that short cap of hair, he would want to touch more, have to touch more until he was holding her against him and begging