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“Next time?” Mac whispers as Kelsey swings the door open to let him in.

“I haven’t decided if I forgive you yet. I’m still mad. But I’m also very hungry, and whatever you have in that bag smells delicious.”

Mac smiled at her and dropped the bags on the kitchen table. “I’m sorry we missed the lobster rolls. So, I stopped at the next best thing here on the island.”

Kelsey dove into the still steaming bag of deliciousness, suddenly famished as she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. And the wine had gone straight to her head. She picked up one of the lobster rolls and took an enormous bite. Mac watched her, open mouthed.

“Plates are up there,” she said, pointing to the cupboard above the sink. Mac helped himself to a plate and gave Kelsey one as well. “Wine is here if you want some.” Kelsey poured herself another glass, then handed Mac the bottle.

He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured the thimbleful of what was left of the bottle. “Looks like you and Amy did this justice.”

Kelsey sat on the couch, quickly making her lobster roll disappear. Mac sat at the opposite end, and both faced the folder on the coffee table.

“Did you know?” Mac asked quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “About the inheritance?”

Kelsey shook her head. She reached for her wine glass. “Not a clue. I mean, I knew they had money, but this,” she gestured vaguely at the folder. “This is different.”

“It’s a lot.”

“Yeah.” She tucked her feet under her, feeling the wine’s warmth spread through her limbs. “You know what’s weird? I’m happy for Noah. He deserves every good thing. But I’m also…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Worried?”

“Terrified.” She took another sip of wine. “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

Mac set his plate down and turned to face her fully. “I know Jason. Our paths have crossed in business circles. He’s… not a good person, Kelsey. The kind who sees dollar signs where he should see people. And if Margaret gets custody, Jason will have easy control of Noah’s inheritance until he turns twenty-one.” Mac’s voice was gentle but firm. “This isn’t about being a family. It’s about money.”

Kelsey felt tears prick at her eyes. “Noah’s just a little boy. He doesn’t deserve to be a pawn in their games.”

“That’s why I—” Mac stopped himself. “That’s why I thought you should know. Even if I went about it the wrong way.”

“You did.” But the words had lost their earlier anger, softened by wine and understanding. She yawned, her head feeling fuzzy. “But thank you. For caring enough to try.”

The words hung in the air between them as Kelsey’s eyes grew heavy. She shifted, letting her head rest against the couch cushions. “I don’t usually drink so much.” Another yawn interrupted her, and she just thought she would close her eyes just for a minute.

The next thing she was aware of was the soft weight of the afghan being draped over her and then Mac gathering the plates and water running in the sink. Through half-closed eyes, she watched him move quietly through her kitchen, putting things away.

The last thing she heard was the gentle click of the door as he locked it behind him on his way out.

Chapter 11

Mac drove the winding coastal road to his grandfather’s cottage, his mind churning over Jason Prescott’s financial reports, which he’d spent half the night analyzing. The pattern was there: leveraged investments, mounting debt hidden behind shell companies, desperate moves by a desperate man. The kind of desperation that made people dangerous.

The image of Kelsey asleep on her couch last night, vulnerable and trusting despite her anger at him, made his chest tight. He’d watched her longer than he should have, wanting to protect her and Noah. But he’d already overstepped once. She was unaware that in addition to Margaret’s will, he’d also looked into Jason Prescott’s financial situation.

He shouldn’t care so much, but he did. Somehow Kelsey York had gotten under his skin.

Though, admittedly, he’d requested the information before he learned about the custody case due to an imminent merger with another transport company Jason dealt in.

The weathered shingles of his grandfather’s cottage caught the morning light. If anyone could help him understand the full scope of Jason’s dealings, it would be Truman Costigan. The old man might be dying, but his mind was still razor-sharp when it came to business.

Mac found his grandfather lounging in the sun by the picture window, surrounded by the morning paper and a half-eaten breakfast. Truman looked up as he entered, eyes keen despite his frail appearance.

“You’re here early.” Truman folded his paper.

Mac pulled out the chair across from him. “What do you know about Jason Prescott?”

Truman’s eyebrows rose. “Bit of a wastrel. Why?”