Sophie had always been a cautious person, a good girl. The idea of spending her inheritance to rent a house, sight unseen, on Nantucket, a resort island she had only visited on day trips, was downright epic for her.

The house looked British, like something out of an old black-and-white mystery involving butlers and Bentleys, except shingled with gray wood instead of built with brick or stone. An ancient, thick wisteria vine drooped its violet blooms over the front door. Trellises covered with climbing pink roses framed the doors of the two wings.

What a perfect summer house! It wouldn’t matter if Sophie never dusted, if the kids tracked sand in, if it rained for days in a row.

Sophie rose, turning to see her son and daughter standing in the doorway of the music room, both her children staring at her as if she’d turned into green cheese.

A man stood there, too, holding the hand of a little boy.

What?

For one frightening moment, Sophie thought she was hallucinating.

“Hello?” the man greeted her, tentatively, carefully, as if she might start foaming at the mouth.

“Sorry,” Sophie said, wiping the tears away. “Sorry. Got carried away. How can I help you?”

The man smiled quizzically. “Um, well, not to be rude, but, uh, you can tell me what you’re doing in my house.” He was tall and incredibly good-looking, with thick black hair and green eyes with such dark lashes it looked as if he’d used eyeliner.

“Your house? This is our house.”

The man was young, younger than Sophie, and his clothes gave him an adolescent air, especially his rumpled T- shirt printed with the slogan Geeks Do It with More Ram. Politely, he inquired, “This house is the old Swenson guest cottage, right?”

“It is. I’m renting it from Susie Swenson.”

“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. I’m renting it from Ivan Swenson. Susie and Ivan are cousins. And not particularly communicative with each other, it seems.”

Sophie stared speechlessly. Her unexpected piano tsunami had flushed away her usual, Capable Mommy persona. It didn’t help that the young man was jaw-droppingly handsome. She had to turn her eyes away from him in order to think. Her children frowned at her. She rose from the bench. “Maybe I’d better join you in the living room. We need to sort this out.”

“Good idea.” The man approached Sophie with his hand held out, his small son clinging to his leg and gawking wide- eyed at Sophie as if she might explode at any moment. “I’m Trevor Black. From Boston. This is my son, Leo.”

Trevor Black was relaxed, easy in his body, present but not pressing. Zack always came on strong—the blazing smile, the hearty greeting. Trevor’s hand was a bridge, not a rope to jerk her into Zack’s realm. She lightly touched his palm, and her heart leapt in her chest. Oh, good. She was physically attracted to some random young guy right in front of her children. Nice.

She knew her cheeks were scarlet. She withdrew her hand and summoned up any dignity she could find. “Sophie Anderson, also from Boston. This is Jonah and Lacey. Come on, kids. Let’s all sit down and talk.” She gestured toward the living room like Vanna White, feeling silly.

They sat on facing sofas. Lacey was almost on top of Sophie while Jonah, obviously embarrassed by his mother, sat at the end. Across from them, Trevor sat with his son squeezed next to him, leg to leg.

“Where should we start?” Sophie asked.