CHAPTER THREE

      THE AIR HAD a bite to it the next day when Sylvie finally ventured outside midmorning. Not cold, but not summer warm, either. She shivered as she walked along the beach. She’d always hated the change from summer to fall. It signified having to leave and go back to school. Although she’d completed her master’s degree a couple of years ago, her family would still be expecting her to leave soon.

      She was running out of reasons to stay. Since Pops had moved into a seniors apartment at the complex, he didn’t need her as much. And all she did at the café was order supplies and fill in for Tyler.

      Her family and friends believed all her problems would go away once she returned to her life in Toronto. But even before she’d come home it had become a daily struggle to go to her studio and produce something other people might be interested in. Not that she considered her audience when she was painting. Nothing killed an original idea or approach faster than letting public perception intrude.

      Weeks before Pops’s heart attack, the joy she’d once felt from creating had shriveled into a hard knot of anxiety. Her therapist hadn’t helped. Dr. Carmichael had managed to get her to admit she hated living in Toronto, and that Oliver was as much a prop in her life as her studio and her Yorkville apartment. Who wouldn’t be depressed by an admission like that?

      She stopped walking and watched as the sun dappled gold on the ocean surface. Losing your mother was a turning point in anyone’s life. But to discover her father and brothers had lied about her mom’s death—or at the very least, not told the entire truth—was devastating. Sylvie couldn’t even decide what they’d done or not done, but she knew they would have made any decision with her best interests at heart—which was wonderful when you were nine years old. But at twenty-six years of age she needed the whole truth if she had a hope of dealing with this new view of their not-so-idyllic family life. They’d had more than a few years to come clean, and yet they hadn’t.

      As recently as last week, she’d stopped by Dusty’s with a six-pack of beer, hoping to loosen his tongue. She’d wasted her money because he’d been on to her scheme before he’d finished one beer and made up a fantastic story about Pops joining a cult of mermaids. She laughed out loud. Maybe she hadn’t wasted her money after all. They’d had a great time, just the two of them, kicking back and trying to best the other with how silly they could be.

      But to have Adam Hunter move in right next door... If her memories that had surfaced from the shock of almost losing her father were true, then his grandmother was responsible for wrecking her parents’ marriage, and thereby indirectly responsible for her mother’s death. That long-ago night, she’d overheard her parents fighting about Adam’s grandmother, and soon afterward her mother had stormed out of the house and died in a head-on collision with a truck not even two miles out of Collina. Sylvie shivered. Had it really been an accident or had her mother killed herself?

      She wished Adam would go back to where he came from instead of hanging around her backyard.

      Maybe she wasn’t being fair, but she hated the constant reminder of how things weren’t right with her family.

      She turned when she heard a sound behind her and plowed into her father. “Pops!”

      “There now.” He engulfed her in a hug, surrounding her with all things safe, the smell of Old Spice and the feel of rough wool against her cheek. “You were off in a world all your own.” He patted her affectionately on the back and released her. “How’s my little Em this morning?”

      Sylvie forced a smile. Her father had given her the nickname when the critics noted her work was reminiscent of Emily Carr’s art. “What are you doing here, Pops?”

      “I need to get in my two kilometers a day, so I thought I’d join you for your walk on the beach.” He slipped his arm through hers, and they started down the beach. “I wanted to check out the new neighbor, as well. Cal likes him.” Pops smiled. “That’s high praise coming from your brother.”

      They strolled amicably along the beach for a few minutes before Pops tugged her closer to his side. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, honey. You see, I’m thinking of putting the café up for sale. I thought I should tell you first, even though you’ll be heading back to Toronto soon, anyway.”

      “What?” She stumbled and almost fell. Not only was he expecting her to return to Toronto any day now, but he also wanted to sell the café.

      “It doesn’t make sense to keep the old place. You’re living in Toronto, the boys are both settled in their careers, and I’m tired, hon. I don’t want the responsibility of taking care of the café. I never did, really. When Mrs. Marley ran it, I didn’t have to do much, but since she’s retired, it’s like I’ve got a whole new job. Plus, the money from the sale will make my life a lot easier.”

      Tears rushed her. She’d never seen her father look embarrassed before.

      “The last few months I’ve been dipping into the profit margin from the café because my pension doesn’t cover all my medical expenses. That works in the summer when we’re doing a good trade, but now the season’s over, I’ve got to find money somewhere. The boys think it’s a good idea.”

      “But, Pops—”

      “Now, honey, don’t cry. I know we’ve owned the old joint forever, but it’s either that or sell the house. I can’t hang on to both.”

      Sylvie