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“I should have just stuck with Millbrook when I had the chance,” Christopher Holmes was saying.

We were sitting in the comfortable indoor dining room of Wave Street Café.

Sunshine glinted off the small forest of potted herbs and succulents lining the sills of high windows.

Muted jazz played low beneath the clink of dishes and the hiss of the espresso machine.

Tucked off Cannery Row and only about a three-minute walk from the hotel, the café was a cozy, upscale-casual breakfast and brunch spot popular with locals, but undiscovered (so far) by conference attendees.

“Why didn’t you?” I’d been curious about that decision for a while.

His world-weary sigh was so heavy it nearly blew the foam cap off his vanilla latte.

“I don’t know.” He grimaced. “I was convinced either Rachel coerced you into it, or you were offering me a deal for old time’s sake.”

I put down my fork. “You think I’d offer you a book deal if I didn’t actually want the book?”

His brown eyes met my gaze directly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I think you’re sentimental, yes.”

I smiled ruefully, “I’m not at all sentimental. I wanted that book. I loved working with you and I love Miss Butterwith. Hell, Miss B. was my first big discovery. I was more than happy to regain control of the series.”

“But you wouldn’t have regained control of the series because W I couldn’t hear it over the crash of waves hitting the shore. But I saw his lips form soundless words, “What the hell, Keiran?”

I had no answer. What could I say? To Finn, of all people.

The idea that we were going to build some kind of Happily Ever After? I must have been out of my mind.

I could feel a weird smile forming. It wasn’t humor. I don’t know what it was aside from an inappropriate response to extreme nervous tension. But I could see Finn’s eyes getting darker and bleaker.

“Is this funny to you?” he asked.

I turned and walked away.