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“So do I.”

“So I’ve been told. And so I see. You look after this part of things, and you can trust me, Clarice, and all the rest to look after the business that helped build it.”

She’d never thrown a party anywhere near this size and scope, and discovered just how much skill it required to engage with so many guests, individually or as a group.

There, Cleo’s talents outpaced hers by a mile, but she did her best, chatting with the mayor, the historical society, merchants, restaurateurs, teachers, servers, the police chief, the fire chief.

And took time to sit a few minutes with Lucy Cabot, who’d fostered Yoda, and Pyewacket.

“You have a very happy dog,” Lucy commented.

“He makes me a very happy human.”

“I see Owen built him a dog palace.”

Sonya glanced over to where Pye sat on its roof, the queen of all she surveyed. Out nearer the tree line, a young boy—around Jack’s forever age—threw the ball for Yoda and Mookie to chase. Jones, too dignified for such public displays, sat and watched with mild disdain.

“He likes it, but I think he likes it better when he has company. He’s a sociable dog.”

“He sure has plenty of company today. It’s a terrific party, Sonya. You and Cleo made an impact here.”

“We couldn’t have done it—and boy, do I realize that now—without Bree.”

“She’s a wonder. I’m still coming to grips with how perfect she and Manny seem together. Who knew?”

Rock Hard’s drummer with his flop of hair and Buddy Holly glasses kept the beat. And the chef with her flaming cap of hair and tattoos danced.

Danced, Sonya noted, with Sonya’s uncle, Martin.

“Well yeah, she’s a wonder.”

She rounded more tables, stopped by more groups. She sampled some dishes, sipped the manor’s signature drink. She danced with Ace—the man had the moves.

She told him exactly that.

He responded with a wink and a grin as he twirled her. “Men whocan dance get the girls. That’s how I won my own darling, the prettiest girl in Poole’s Bay.”

When he spun her again, lowered her into a dip, Sonya believed it.

She remembered her mother telling her about one of her father’s dreams of the manor, of people strolling the grounds, standing on the terraces.

Like this, she thought, but this was the now.

She danced with Trey, held close, just swaying.

She thought he had the moves, too.

“Got yourself a hit here, cutie.”

Smiling, she looked up at him. “It feels good, and right and real. It may take me days to recover, but so worth it.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, she looked over at the manor.

And saw. Shadows, shadows at the windows. They were part of it, too—the good, the right, the real. Those who walked the halls, who built the fires and polished the wood. Who’d lived and died inside those great walls.

They weren’t alone in the house facing the sea.

And neither was she.