was dim, private, and romantic, with the smell of the sea in the air and wind brushing palm fronds together. Perfect.
When he joined her he seemed completely at ease, in no way put out by having to spend all those hours with a teenager.
“You’ve really been terrific to him tonight,” she said. “Thanks.”
“No need. He’s an awesome kid,” he said. “Smart and inquisitive. Great sense of humor.”
“He’s very dry-witted,” she agreed. “Sometimes downright sarcastic.”
“Hey, he’s a teenager. He’s doing his job,” he said, sitting down next to her. “I’m glad I got to know him.”
Did she detect a strange note in his voice? The same one she heard when he said he was staying in town . . . something was just not right.
“I have to ask you a question,” she said, lifting her glass. “And you have to promise to be completely honest.”
That got her a rueful smile. “Of course.”
“Because something you said, and did, has kind of been niggling at me all night.”
The smile disappeared. “Really? What?”
“When we got in the car to leave tonight, you had to take a duffel bag out of the backseat to make room for me.”
He took a sip of his beer, not looking at her as she continued.
“But right before that, you said you’d decided to stay a few extra days. So, when did you decide that? As you pulled up and saw—”
“You in those shorts.” The answer was fast—and a little too slick? “I drove around the corner, saw paradise plastered on the hood of a Chevy, and changed my plans.”
God, she wanted to believe that.
“Now I have a question.” His tone was serious, and his expression matched.
“Fair enough. Shoot.”
“You must have been pretty young when you got married, huh? I mean Quinn’s thirteen and you’re . . .”
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard this. “I was nineteen when he was born,” she said, heat rising to her cheeks because she’d just demanded honesty, and he’d countered with the one and only thing in her life that didn’t get that same treatment. “And, yes, I married young.”
He would assume, as everyone did, that she and Smitty had to get married. And she would tell him the truth: that she and Smitty married when Quinn was a year old. No one had ever questioned anything beyond that. They’d met when she was two months’ pregnant, and almost from the beginning, they’d been complicit in the lie.
Except she’d insisted on putting the truth on Quinn’s birth certificate.
“So, did you meet your husband in high school?”
“Um, no.” She’d told the story enough times and it was so close to reality that it even felt genuine. “I dropped out of high school, and came down to the Keys really young. I got a job working in the kitchen for Smitty because I was too young to serve alcohol, and we . . . well, it was pretty much love at first sight.” Maybe not love. Maybe . . . need. Love came later. “We ended up getting married when Quinn was about a year old.”
She never actually said Smitty was Quinn’s father, but everyone made the assumption.
Except something about his expression said he didn’t believe her. “Why didn’t you get married before he was born?”
Why was he looking at her like that? “Lots of people wait. And I was really young. A lot younger than Smitty.”
He nodded, obviously thinking it all through, and for some reason, didn’t seem quite . . . satisfied.
“He was twelve years older than me,” she added.
Still, he didn’t respond.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, fighting a little wave of defensiveness and embarrassment. “A lot of people live together before they’re married,” she said, her voice sounding weak to her. “And have babies.”
The romance of the moment slipped a little, along with her heart. He didn’t like her story, she could tell. Well, he’d really hate the rest of it, then.
Quinn’s not Smitty’s child. I was a drug dealer’s girlfriend who had an affair with a narc.
He picked up his beer and took a drink, then set it down a little hard. “Did you call the police?”
Call the police? For what? Then she realized what he was referring to.
“When we were robbed? Of course. Actually, it’s a sheriff in Marathon, and they did a full report. But they’ll never find who did it.”
“What’d they take?”
“Well, it was weird,” she said, lifting her wineglass. “They took only paper: old receipts, bar tabs, and a strongbox from my office, which had some legal