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“He’s the sheriff,” I said. “I imagine he’ll be wherever he needs to be.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Then ask a question you actually want answered.”

“I want to know whether you’re going to talk to him.”

“Why would I?”

“Because you used to talk to him about everything.”

The table went quiet for half a second. Ricky looked as if he hadn’t meant to say quite so much, and Tammy gave him a gentle look that suggested he should leave the subject alone.

I reached for my glass. “That was a long time ago.”

“I know,” Ricky said, more softly. “I just wondered.”

There wasn’t any accusation in his voice. He’d been there when Josiah left, and he’d been there for the years afterward, when I tried to pretend I was fine with the way everything had happened. He’d seen me get on with my life. He’d also seen the occasional moment when a song, a memory, or a passing resemblance could bring the old hurt back so sharply that I had to excuse myself.

He wasn’t asking because he wanted to stir up trouble. He wanted me to be happy. Unfortunately, he seemed to think Josiah might be involved in that outcome. I was starting to be actually worried that he could be right.

“I'm not sure what there is to say,” I admitted.

Tammy set down her fork. “You don’t have to decide that today.”

“I know.”

“Good. Because you’re allowed to enjoy a festival without resolving far too many years of complicated feelings first.”

I gave her a grateful smile. “That’s the most sensible thing anyone’s said all day.”

“Of course it is,” she replied. “I’m the one who cooked.”

Ricky pointed at her. “And I helped.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

We were laughing again when someone knocked at the front door.

Tammy glanced at the clock. “That’ll be Josiah. He said he might stop by if he got away from the harbor in time.”

My stomach tightened, which was a ridiculous reaction to a knock at a friend’s front door. I was thirty-six years old. I paid my own bills, managed my own life, and made a living inventing mysteries for readers who expected me to keep my fictional characters under control. I ought to have been capable of sitting through Sunday dinner with my ex-boyfriend without feeling as though I were waiting for an exam result.

Ricky, meanwhile, looked delighted.

“Don’t,” I warned him.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“Your face has.”

I could have agreed with him and asked her how she could sandbag me like this.

Tammy went to answer the door before I could say anything else.

Josiah’s voice carried down the hall, apologizing for being late. He’d been dealing with a few things at the harbor, Tammy told him it was fine, and a moment later he appeared in the dining room.

He was wearing his uniform trousers and a pale shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was a tiredness around his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen him. He looked from Tammy to Ricky and then to me, pausing just long enough for me to notice.