Her dark eyes narrowed. "You're so d.a.m.ned annoying. Quit being nice. I'm not nice. I'm horrible and you're still here, still watching my back. Be a jerk, for G.o.d's sake."

Carly stood. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing. Everything. I can't..." She swore under her breath, then pulled something out of her back pocket. She dropped it on the desk, then turned and left.

Carly picked up the folded paper, opened it and realized it was a photo.

"Oh, no," she breathed, going both hot and cold. Her fingers trembled, causing the picture to shake.

The image was simple. It showed Mich.e.l.le in a lace-covered dress, a bridal bouquet in her hand. She was standing next to a tall man in a suit.

A wedding picture, Carly thought in disbelief. And Sam was the groom.

Twenty-Five.

Carly was able to escape the inn after lunch. Gabby wasn't due home for a couple of hours and the first new guests generally didn't check in until after three. She called Sam on his cell and asked him to meet her at the Coffee Shack, by the marina. He was waiting when she arrived.

After ordering an extra pump of mocha in her latte, she joined him outside on the deck. The afternoon was gray, but nearly seventy. Cranes circled overhead, calling out. She wondered if Leonard was nearby and wished she could have wanted to have s.e.x with him. It would have made her life a lot less complicated.

Sam stood as she approached and held out a chair. "Finally," he said. "I was beginning to think you were sending me a message."

He'd called to ask her out. She'd agreed, but with all her responsibilities at work and with Gabby, she'd been unable to figure out a day and time. Mostly because she wasn't sure she wanted see him again. Being around him did things to her body that she didn't like. Or maybe she liked too much. Control was important to her. Being a responsible adult and mother. Unplanned s.e.x on her sofa hadn't been her smartest move.

She pa.s.sed over the folded picture. He opened it and grinned.

"I've seen this before," he told her.

"Not a surprise, considering you were there that day." She set down her coffee and leaned toward him. "You were married to Mich.e.l.le."

"Is that a statement or a question?"

"A statement. You were married to her and you didn't tell me."

"So?"

"Don't you think that's information I would like to have?"

"Why aren't you yelling at Mich.e.l.le? She didn't tell you, either."

"I'm not yelling." She consciously lowered her voice, then glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear the conversation. "Besides, I didn't sleep with Mich.e.l.le. I slept with you. She's my boss. Can you see how knowing that might have been helpful?"

"I guess. Sorry. I wasn't keeping secrets. Mich.e.l.le and I split three years ago. We've stayed friends. We're better that way. We never should have gotten married in the first place."

He sounded so casual, she thought grimly. While she wanted to shriek that he'd lied to her. Technically he hadn't, but there was a serious claim of omission here.

"Is she mad?" he asked.

"Let's just say she's not amused."

He frowned. "She usually doesn't care who I sleep with."

"Mich.e.l.le and I have a past." There was the whole Allen issue. Did Mich.e.l.le think Carly had slept with Sam to get even? The relationship wasn't the same-a divorced husband wasn't exactly a fiance-but there was still a connection.

"You should have told me," she repeated.

"Would that have changed the outcome?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm glad I didn't. I like you, Carly. I want to spend time with you."

"I can't."

"Why? Because of Mich.e.l.le? What does she have to do with anything?"

"I work for her."

"So?"

"She's my friend. It's too weird."

"She's not interested in me in that way. You can't go living your life based on something that happened years ago."

"I have to. I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

He stood and dropped the picture on the table. "You're making this bigger than it is. Trust me, she doesn't care."

"Maybe not, but I do."

He looked at her for a long moment. "All right, then. I guess I'll see you around."

He walked away without looking back. Carly watched him go. She knew she was making the right decision. Mich.e.l.le might not appreciate it, but that was okay. Taking the moral high ground was important. Carly was tired of having to explain her actions, to justify a past she couldn't change. Better to do the right thing to begin with.

Wednesday morning Mich.e.l.le stood by the rear doors of the inn and watched the three couples out on the lawn. One partner was blindfolded; the other was leading the first around. Pauline had explained that the "trust exercise" brought the couple together. Mich.e.l.le wanted to doubt her but she'd seen the proof that the techniques worked.

Carly walked up to her. "What's going on?"

Mich.e.l.le pointed to the couples. "Would you do that? Let some guy blindfold you and lead you around?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"I couldn't. Men are idiots."

Carly laughed. "Maybe, but a blindfold is nothing. If you're married, you're vulnerable all the time. Your partner could kill you in your sleep."

"Okay, that's twisted logic."

"Part of my sparkling personality. By the way, I'm not seeing Sam." She held out the photo. "I spoke to him and said I wasn't interested."

Mich.e.l.le ignored the outstretched picture. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you were married to him."

"I never said you should break up with him."

"It was implied."

"No, it wasn't."

Carly drew in a breath. "Yeah, it was. I'm just telling you, we're not going to be dating."

"As long as it's not because of me."

Carly shoved the paper toward her. "Do you want this back or not?"

"You sound annoyed."

"That's because you're seriously p.i.s.sing me off. You obviously do care whether or not I'm seeing him. If you didn't, you would have chosen another way to tell me the two of you had been married. You were going for shock value. It worked. Be happy."

Mich.e.l.le couldn't remember the last time she'd felt happy. These days she wasn't feeling much of anything. A little anxiety, maybe. A lot less pain. Mostly she was numb-as if the place that made her emotions had died. She wanted to tell herself not feeling anything was an improvement, but she had a feeling it was one more step on the road to the bad place.

"You can see him," Mich.e.l.le said slowly, realizing she meant it. "You're right. I was going for shock value. But not because I was angry, exactly. It was a surprise. Finding out you were sleeping with him."

Carly flushed. "I didn't plan it."

"Sam's a s.e.xy guy."

"Um, okay. But it's over."

"Your choice."

"I should punch you."

Mich.e.l.le smiled. "You can try."

"Maybe not," Carly told her. "What with you being a trained professional and all."

"Exactly." She turned away from the window. "Sam and I were only together for a couple of months. We got married spontaneously. We quickly realized we were too much alike, which makes for a great friendship but not a good marriage."

"Thanks for sharing," Carly said stiffly.

Mich.e.l.le glared at her for a second. "Fine. We'll talk work. I'm going to fire Isabella."

"What?"

"She's the one stealing." Mich.e.l.le had done her best to hide from the truth as long as she could. "We make more money when she's not working than when she is. I've tried to figure out who else it is, but I can't. Damaris is going to be crushed."

"I'm sorry. When are you going to let her go?"

Mich.e.l.le glanced at her watch. "Now. Before the lunch shift."

"I'll come with you. For moral support."

Mich.e.l.le didn't tell her no. Maybe it would be good to have someone else there. Someone objective.

They walked to the dining room. Isabella was on her cell. She ended the call when she saw them and tucked her phone into her pocket.

"Damaris is in the kitchen," she said.

"We're not here to see her," Mich.e.l.le told her. "We need to talk."

"All right."

Mich.e.l.le didn't want to do this, didn't want to say the words, make the accusations, accept the consequences. She didn't want to be the bad guy. Why couldn't Isabella simply do her job and collect her paycheck?

"I'm going to let you go," Mich.e.l.le said quietly. "I know you've been stealing money from the restaurant. I know you take the tickets of the customers who pay in cash and pocket their money. I've checked out everyone who works here and the common denominator is you."

Isabella's dark eyes flashed with anger, but she didn't speak. She turned and hurried to the kitchen. Seconds later she reappeared, pulling Damaris along with her.

"What?" the cook said, drying her hands on her ap.r.o.n. "I'm busy. I'm making soup."

"Tell her," Isabella said to Mich.e.l.le, crossing her arms over her chest. "Say it to her."

Mich.e.l.le looked between the two of them, not sure what was going on. "I'm firing Isabella for stealing."

"I told you she would figure it out," Isabella told her mother-in-law. "I said we should stop, but did you listen? No. You always know what's best." She glared at Mich.e.l.le. "You're so stupid. It's not me. It's her. I do what she tells me to do. Everyone in the family does. Yes, I take the tickets when the customers pay with cash. It wasn't my idea."

Mich.e.l.le didn't understand. Oh, sure, the words made sense and she could even believe Isabella was more of a follower than a mastermind, but Damaris? No. It wasn't possible.

"Be quiet," Damaris said. "Let me explain."

"Fine. I'm done here."

Isabella collected her purse from the hostess station and flounced out. Mich.e.l.le stared back at the woman who had been her friend for well over a decade.

"How could you?"

Damaris pushed up her gla.s.ses, then held up her hands. "Just wait a second. Your mother took advantage of me for years. You know how little she paid me. I had a family to take care of. I'm the reason people come to this place. For the food. I told her that and she said if I wanted to leave, I could. But I didn't want to." Damaris touched Mich.e.l.le's arm. "I stayed because of you."