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to think very seriously about your proposal,” she told him, and she meant it.

      “Listen, if it’s your parents that worry you, I’ll talk to them.”

      “I make my own decisions, Warren.” She shuddered at the thought of Warren confronting either of her parents. It wouldn’t be a meeting of minds, that much she could guarantee.

      “When will you have an answer?” he asked, ever the businessman. He wouldn’t allow her to keep him dangling long.

      “Next week,” she told him. Even if she did reject his proposal, nothing about their relationship would change. Warren knew it and so did she.

      Seth phoned Justine from Alaska the following night. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He always seemed to know when she least wanted him to call.

      “Hi,” he said. His clear voice sounded as if he were across the street rather than a thousand miles north.

      “Hello, Seth.”

      A short pause followed her greeting. “You don’t seem happy to hear from me.”

      “I’m not.”

      “Any reason for that?”

      She closed her eyes and sighed. She might as well tell him. The sooner Seth knew, the better—for both of them. “Warren asked me to marry him last night.”

      Another brief hesitation, then, “Have you accepted his proposal?”

      “Not yet.”

      “Are you tempted?”

      She wasn’t, but letting Seth think otherwise was a sure way to get him out of the picture. “I don’t know.”

      “When will you know?”

      “Soon.”

      He didn’t argue with her or try to persuade her to reject the other man. Nor did he say she’d be a fool if she agreed to marry Warren. Instead he asked, “Do you love him?” He kept his tone conversational, as though her answer was a matter of indifference to him.

      “I haven’t decided that yet, either.” She was fond of Warren, but compared to the fire that surfaced whenever she was with Seth, fond was a bland emotion.

      “Are you waiting for me to make your decision for you?” Seth asked.

      “Don’t be ridiculous.”

      “That’s what it sounds like to me.”

      She sighed loudly. “I only mentioned it because I thought you should know.”

      He snickered, irritating her even more.

      “What was that about?” she demanded.

      “Did you tell your boyfriend how you practically dragged me into your bed?”

      That was a low blow, and Justine had no intention of responding.

      “Warren knows about you.” She wasn’t absolutely sure if that was true, but she had her suspicions. Most likely, her being seen with Seth was what had prompted the marriage proposal.

      “I’ll bet he does.” Seth’s anger had vanished as soon as it appeared. “Well,” he said, apparently bored with the subject, “I guess you have an important decision to make.”

      “You’re right, I do.”

      “Call me when you’ve made it.”

      Justine sensed that he was about to hang up, and perversely, she didn’t want their conversation to end, not like this. And yet, she was helpless to do anything but agree. “I will,” she whispered, miserable and furious at the same time.

      “On second thought,” he said, and she could practically hear his scorn, “don’t bother. We both know what you’re going to do.” Having said that, he broke the connection. Justine was left holding the telephone receiver, which buzzed insistently in her ear.

      The sun reflected off the bright green water of Puget Sound as the ferry pulled away from the Bremerton dock and moved smoothly through Rich Passage on the hour-long journey to Seattle. Standing at the railing, with the wind ruffling her dark hair, and breathing in the salty tang of the sea, Olivia turned to smile at Jack.

      “It’s just so beautiful this afternoon.”

      “Hey,” he joked, “I ordered it just for today.”

      She rolled her eyes.

      “This is no joke,” he insisted, with a look so serious she was tempted to laugh outright. “I said, ‘God, I’ve got this important date Sunday afternoon and I’d appreciate a little cooperation from you in the weather department.’”

      “You said that, did you?”

      “I did.”

      Olivia turned back to the railing, leaning her elbows on it, and waited impatiently for a glimpse of the Seattle skyline. Jack’s son, Eric, was picking them up at the ferry terminal and the three of them would have dinner on the waterfront. This would be the first time Olivia had met Eric, and Jack seemed more nervous about it than she did.

      “I’ve taken several vacations in the past few years,” Olivia told him, “and traveled in a number of different countries, but I’ve never found any place more beautiful than Seattle when the sun is shining.”

      “It’s lush and green, all right,” Jack said, grumbling, “as it should be after three months of drizzle and rain.”

      “Is it time for you to sit under a happy light?” she asked, posing the question to him that she’d once asked her children. Whenever the day was especially gloomy and they’d argued and complained about being unable to play outside, Olivia had made them sit under a lamp and read. James had dubbed it the happy light because he’d figured out that until he smiled, she wouldn’t let him leave the chair.

      “Happy light?”

      Olivia explained, and they joked for several minutes. When they fell silent, she noticed how tense he seemed. He left her at the rail and paced the length of the ferry, drank three cups of coffee to her one and fidgeted during the entire ride from the Kitsap Peninsula into Elliot Bay.

      Olivia recognized Eric as Jack’s son the instant she saw him. He was as tall as his father, with an athletic build, and other than his choice of clothing, they looked very much alike.

      “Hello, Eric,” Olivia said, extending her hand.

      “This is Olivia Lockhart.” Jack introduced her, sweeping his arm in her general direction.

      Father and son didn’t hug or exchange handshakes. Since Stan was quite demonstrative, it struck her as odd.

      “How was the ferry ride?” Eric asked as they started walking along the waterfront.

      “Great,” Jack said enthusiastically, as though they’d just stepped off a cruise ship instead of a one-hour Puget Sound crossing.

      “Are you hungry?” Eric asked next.

      “Famished.”

      Olivia glanced at father and son, surprised by the awkwardness she continued to sense.

      Eric told them he’d chosen a restaurant before their arrival and made reservations. “I hope you like crab,” he said, leading the way.

      “Love it,” Olivia assured him.

      Eric turned to his father. “I’m game,” Jack muttered.

      Apparently Eric wasn’t acquainted with his father’s tastes. That, too, seemed odd. The restaurant Eric had chosen specialized in freshly cooked crab, served on newspaper-lined table-tops. Each patron was supplied with a wooden mallet and a bib. By the time they finished cracking the steaming Dungeness crab and dipping the pieces in melted butter, they were talking with ease, bursts of conversation punctuated by laughter.

      Everything

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