Father Formula. Muriel Jensen

issue of whether or not to approach her was settled for him when she walked right by him, Ferdie prancing excitedly on the end of a long leash.

      “Good morning,” she called, her arm stretched way out, thanks to the dog’s eagerness. “We’re off for our constitutional.” Then she did an almost theatrical double take, and dragged the dog to a stop, frowning as she focused on Trevyn. “Is everything all right?”

      The dream always lingered in his eyes for a while. He hated that, considered it a vulnerability, a weakness. After their mild confrontation yesterday, he was surprised by her concern, and annoyed by it.

      “Sure,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

      “Because you look a little…” She paused, apparently searching for the right word. There couldn’t be one, as far as he was concerned.

      She must have read that in his eyes. She shook her head as the dog tugged on her, extending her arm as though she were on the rack. “My mistake,” she said, giving him the feeling she knew she was letting him get away with something.

      That annoyed him further.

      “Need anything from town?” he shouted as she picked up speed in the wake of the dog. He did it to prove to himself that she might annoy him but she couldn’t upset him.

      “No, thanks!” she replied over her shoulder as Ferdie kept going. They raced toward the tree-lined driveway.

      Trevyn opened the four-car garage. David’s spot was empty, but Bram’s Jeep was in place, looking none the worse for the fact that Athena had dumped it on its side on her way to town when she’d first arrived in Dancer’s Beach.

      David had had it towed and repaired.

      Trevyn climbed into his battered red truck. He should get something else someday, he thought. A neat van or SUV onto which he could fasten magnetic signs with the name of his studio. Once he decided on a name.

      Hot Shots? Picture Perfect? Or the more formal McGinty Photos, or Trevyn McGinty Photography?

      Nothing struck a chord.

      He drove off toward town, honking at Alexis and Ferdie at the bottom of the driveway, offering a brief wave.

      She waved back, smiling.

      That was how he remembered Gusty looking the last time he saw her.

      ALEXIS AND FERDIE RAN through the park in downtown Dancer’s Beach. After the dog had worked off steam—though how he could still have any after the mile and a half walk to town was beyond her—they walked up and down the main street and several side streets. She took photographs of scenes she might paint—children on swings in the park, three older men on a bench under a streetlight, kibitzing as the world went by, two little old ladies looking in the window of a flower shop, the old hotel.

      The Buckley Arms was a turn-of-the-century gray-and-white building, five stories high, with an old-fashioned awning to shelter those waiting for cabs in the rain. She smiled, wondering how often people who rode cabs visited Dancer’s Beach.

      She took several shots, then noticed that the coffee bar on the bottom floor of the hotel was still there. She tied Ferdie to a newspaper stand in the front, then went inside to order a hazelnut latte.

      She was considering a hazelnut biscotti to go with it when a voice called from behind her, “Athena!”

      Alexis had been accustomed to being mistaken for one or the other of her sisters when they were children, but they’d been apart so much as adults that it hadn’t happened in years.

      She turned around in surprise, to find an older couple at a round table, half-finished cups of coffee and the newspaper between them.

      The woman clearly waited for recognition. “Peg McKeon?” She smiled expectantly, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “Charlie? We were in the antique shop when you were looking for an egg whip for your sister.”

      Alexis went to their table, smiling apologetically. “I’m Alexis,” she explained. “We’re identical.”

      Peg continued to smile. “So, you’re the one she was shopping for!”

      Alexis shook her head. “That’s Augusta. We’re triplets.”

      Peg put a hand to her lips in amazement. “My goodness! I’d have sworn…!”

      The man stood and pulled a third chair back. “I’ve always thought there should be a system for making copies of pretty girls. If you’re not meeting someone, would you like to join us?”

      The name McKeon was ringing a bell in Alexis’s memory. “Well, sure, if I’m not imposing.”

      “Of course not. I’ll get your drink.”

      Before Alexis could tell him she hadn’t paid for it yet, he had and was delivering it, along with the cookie. “I saw you eyeing the biscotti,” he said as he put it down in front of her. “Impulses should always be indulged. Where’s Athena these days?”

      “Thank you, Charlie. She’s in New York.” She broke her cookie in half and dunked the end in the latte. “Her new husband is meeting with an agent about a book deal, and then she’s closing up her law office in D.C. to move here.”

      Peg nodded knowingly. “So, she did find love.”

      When Alexis looked surprised that her sister would have spoken to strangers on such a subject, Peg added, “I’d been telling her that our sons have all found wonderful wives, but we were worried about our daughter, who doesn’t seem to be able to hold a relationship together. Athena told me not to worry, that Dori would find love. That everybody did. When I asked her if she had, she said, ‘Everybody but me.’” Peg looked pleased. “I’m so glad that’s changed.”

      “She married David Hartford,” Alexis said. “He owns Cliffside.”

      Charlie nodded. “Dori went to a costume party there. She said it’s quite a place.”

      “It’s beautiful. Our aunt used to own it and my sisters and I spent a lot of time there as children. Were you shopping for antiques again this morning?” Alexis asked.

      Peg made a face. “We wanted to get the kids something for the house that they could all enjoy. It’s been three years since they’ve shared the beach house. We thought we’d leave something special for when we all come back at Thanksgiving.”

      Something caught Alexis’s attention through the coffee bar window and she looked out just in time to see Ferdie leap up, forepaws on Trevyn’s chest as the man spoke to him and ruffled his ears.

      “Now, there’s someone you should meet,” Alexis said, waving at him through the window and beckoning him inside. “He’s opening a portrait studio in Dancer’s Beach. I think a portrait of the two of you for the house would be the perfect thing for your children and their families. Or maybe one of all of you together.”

      She wasn’t deliberately setting out to help him, she told herself by way of excusing her behavior. She just recognized and related to that lost look he’d worn when he’d walked out of the house this morning—as though he recognized his surroundings but didn’t feel at home in them. She’d felt that way often enough herself.

      He walked into the coffee bar looking fresh and handsome, whatever had been bothering him earlier somehow resolved, at least for now. He brought the perfumed coastal air in with him and Alexis got a whiff of pine, salt and a trace of apples.

      Alexis made introductions and related the conversation they’d just shared.

      “I told them about you,” she said, pushing him into the fourth chair. “But I don’t remember all your credentials. Tell them about yourself and I’ll get your coffee and refills for the rest of us.”

      He was clearly startled by her helpfulness and looked just a little off-balance for a moment.

      She went to the counter