Bong. Bong. The doorbell gives another stately chime, and I give the table one last glance. I’ve set it with our blue-flowered china and plunked a vase of daisies in the middle. With rain pattering on the windows and a loaf of French bread baking in the oven, the kitchen is downright homey. I might be a mess, but there’s no reason perfect Connor Clarke needs to know that. Bong. Bong. Bong. “Ivy, can you get that?” Granddad hollers from his office. He’s on the phone with Erica. They’ve been talking for a while now, his voice rising and falling like choppy waves against the dock. They’re already fighting. Maybe he’ll tell her she can’t come. “Got it!” I hurry down the hall, past the living room we hardly ever use, pausing to tighten the knot on my halter dress. I put it on this morning because the cherry print is cute and I thought it might cheer me up some, but it’s a little lower cut than I remembered.
