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“I wasn’t talking about the scenery.”

Mac’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Kelsey…”

“Sorry,” she said, not feeling sorry at all. “Does it make you uncomfortable when I flirt with you?”

“No,” he said after a moment, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

The wind caught her hair, and she saw his eyes follow the movement.

He adjusted their course slightly. “See that lighthouse? There’s a story about it being haunted by a keeper that was lost in a storm. He still walks the tower at night, making sure the light stays on.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes, I am.” But his smile was warm, playful even. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” She stood, moving closer to where he stood at the helm. “Tell me about the ghost.”

As Mac launched into the story, Kelsey watched the animation in his face, the way his hands waved as he talked. He was coming alive out here on the water, she realized. The familiar frown had vanished from his features.

The mansion appeared through the sea mist like something from a gothic novel. Its weathered gray exterior was stark against the clear blue sky. Kelsey moved closer to the helm, her shoulder brushing Mac’s arm as she pointed.

“That’s the mansion? It looks more imposing from this view.”

“Yeah.” Mac adjusted their course slightly, his body warm beside her. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The boat rocked in the waves, Kelsey struggled to keep her footing, and Mac reached out to steady her. His hand lingered on her back.

“Why do they call the island Widow’s Point?” She turned to look at him, close enough now to see the faint stubble he’d missed while shaving along his jaw.

“You want the romantic version or the practical one?” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“Both.”

“Well, the house was built in the late 1800’s by Captain Wilson for his new bride.” Mac’s voice took on a storyteller’s cadence. “Story goes that she’d walk the widow’s walk, that railed platform on top, watching for his ship whenever he was due home.”

“Did something happen to him?”

Mac nodded. “One winter, his ship never made it back to port.”

“That’s heartbreaking.” Kelsey shivered despite the warm air. Mac’s fingers spread over small of her back.

“The interesting part is what she did after,” he continued. “Instead of retreating into mourning, she turned the house into a haven for other widows and unwed expectant mothers. Gave them a safe place to land while they figured out their next steps. I understand it was a pretty busy place.”

“Your grandmother worked there, right? You mentioned that before.”

“She did. By then it was owned by a foundation that kept up the work the widow had started. That’s actually how she met my grandfather.” His thumb traced small circles on her back, probably unconsciously, but it was doing delicious things to her senses. “He used to deliver supplies to the house. When the foundation that ran it decided to sell, he bought it. It’s been empty since.”

“I bet there’s quite a story there.”

Mac laughed. “Several. But that’s the mansion, not the island. It’s not why the island is called Widow’s Point.” He reached past her to tap the sonar display, his chest pressing briefly against her shoulder. “See those dark spots? Underwater rocks, just below the surface. They’ve claimed more than a few ships over the years. The lighthouse was built to warn sailors away, but before that…”

“The rocks made widows of sailor’s wives,” Kelsey finished.

“Exactly. Here, look.” He adjusted something on the screen, and the underwater typography became clearer. “They’re practically invisible, especially in storms.”

Kelsey studied the underwater rocks on the display, acutely aware of the clean scent of Mac’s aftershave. “Is that why we find so much sea glass in the cove?”

“It is.” His breath stirred her hair. “Every piece you pick up probably has a story behind it. Cargo from shipwrecks, bottles thrown overboard—decades of maritime history tumbled smooth by the waves. The currents bring it to our cove.”