wet sand, and took a deep breath.
Madison felt so different now than when she’d arrived six weeks ago. Then she’d been harried and hurried, battling frequent migraines and near-constant anxiety.
But with the slower pace of life in Moonglow Cove, the rhythm of the ocean, and the nearness of family, her frantic symptoms had slowly dissipated, and along with them the wounded anger she’d once clung to so tightly.
For the first time in five years, she felt as if she could fully breathe.
She took a deep inhale, filling her lungs with the smell of home, and hugged herself. She was starting to heal, too, from losing Claire Estelle, although that was a bone-deep pain only time could fully ease.
Soon, she’d be back in New York and the days would whiz by in a flurry of activity.
She paused, realizing for the first time why she pushed herself so hard to achieve, her primary driver—she was afraid to be alone with herself and her thoughts. Staying busy kept the demons at bay.
The demons had dogged her since her parents’ death, when she’d taken on adult responsibilities. Even though Grammy had been there for them, Madison had never been able to shake the role of dutiful oldest daughter, the one who took care of everything whether anyone wanted her to or not.
“Face it. You like playing the hero,” she mumbled to herself.
Okay, she did. Was that so terrible?
If you get too bossy, it is.
Madison bent down to pick up a seashell, raised her head, and spied a handsome man striding across the sand toward her.
She knew him.
Madison froze in place, unable to breathe.
The man was her ex-fiancé, Raoul Chalifour.
“Madison,” Raoul called out to her in that French accent of his that once upon a time melted her like butter in the hot sun. She’d heard he moved to Houston after their breakup and thought she was safe from seeing him here. What was he doing back in Moonglow Cove?
She jammed on her sandals and started trotting toward the Moonglow Inn as fast as she could without breaking into a full-on sprint.
“Please don’t run away,” he called.
Ignoring every instinct in her body to get away from him, Madison forced herself to stop and turn around.
If he was determined to speak to her, he’d just follow her anyway. Better to do this on an empty beach than at the Moonglow Inn.
“What do you want, Raoul?” She kept her voice cool, detached, and ignored the hard thumping of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. Not because she wanted him—she most certainly did not—but because she was still angry.
And here she thought she’d been making progress.
Unclenching her jaw at the things she could not control, Madison studied her ex.
He wore chinos and a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt, like some guy from a cologne commercial. Swarthy skin, straight white teeth, a thatch of thick black hair, a devastating dimple in his right cheek. Ocean waves rolled in behind him. He pushed up his shirtsleeves, jammed his hands in his pockets in that boyish way of his, and gave her a lopsided smile that begged Don’t be mad at me.
Once upon a time, she’d been unable to resist that smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Houston.”
“I did.”
He still owned the car dealership in Moonglow Cove, she’d noticed when she drove past the car lot on her way to the hospital. But it seemed a bit early in the morning for him to be checking in on the dealership.
“Can we talk?”
Madison held up both hands. “Look, I gotta go.”
“I came to see you.”
“I have nothing to say to you, Raoul.” She turned away again.
“Wait.” He hopped across the sand, snagged her wrist.
She shot him her best quelling stare, the one Shelley said could dry oil paint in under sixty seconds. “Do not touch me.”
He dropped his hands. “You are right. I should not touch you.”
“What is it, Raoul?” she asked, feeling off-kilter. “What do you want from me?”
“You look beautiful, Madison,” he murmured.
“What do you want?”
“I heard about your grandmother. That you were back in Moonglow Cove, and I came looking for you—”
“Why?” she asked, hearing the desperation in her own voice. Did he not understand he was an ugly reminder of the past she wanted to forget?
“I’m sorry about your grandmother. She was a great woman.”
“Is a great woman.”
“I always liked her.”
“What. Do. You. Want?” She gritted her teeth.
“To ask for your forgiveness.”
“Why?”
“I treated you badly.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I shouldn’t have done what I