"That so?" Grandpa grunted.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like this woman.
But Clare was already pulling me back toward the sand, whispering, “Come on, your grandfather can take care of himself.”
And he could. I just wasn’t sure I liked what that meant.
CHAPTER FOUR
*CLARE
The waves lapped gently against the shore, the scent of salt and cooling sand mixing with the buttery aroma of Ethan’s carefully packed picnic. He’d gone all out—grilled chicken, fresh sourdough, a crisp salad that made me feel like I was eating at a five-star bistro instead of sitting on a blanket under the open sky. Candles sputtered in the breeze. It was perfect.
Or at least, it should have been.
I took a sip of wine and tried to focus on Ethan, on the food, on the moment. But I couldn’t. Not with the gnawing guilt twisting inside me.
“I can’t stop thinking that this is all my fault,” I admitted, setting my glass on the blanket. “People keep showing up, and he’s too polite to turn them away.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “What if this woman is up to something?”
Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I don’t like it either.”
As if on cue, footsteps crunched on the path behind us.
“Oh, for the love—” Ethan turned, already bracing himself.
Mrs. Henderson.
She strode toward us, her gardening apron still dusted with dirt, arms crossed. “You two noticed all these strangers lurking around Walter’s house?”
Ethan nodded. “It’s why I feel like I should be—”
“Spying?” I asked.
Ethan gave me a look. “Watching out for him.”
“Same thing.” I leaned back on one arm, studying Ethan.
