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butterscotch squares, which had sorely depleted her flour supply. She scrounged the cupboards in her kitchenette for a quick idea but could only come up with teddy bear-shaped graham crackers, several squares of bittersweet chocolate, and a bag of mini-marshmallows. The bribe-ability factor of a s’mores casserole was questionable, but she was going to have to give it a go. She greased a small glass dish, made layers, like a lasagna, of teddy bears, marshmallows, and chopped-up chocolate. Then she broiled it until the marshmallows on top turned golden brown.
    She glanced through the window by her front door, and saw that Nate’s lights were still on. His was the largest cabin and it sat directly across the inlet from hers. It was only eight thirty, so she figured it wasn’t too late to go visit him.
    She set the dish on her porch railing while she locked her front door. Then, using her red-checked potholder mittens, she carried the dish with both hands as she followed the well-worn path along the water’s edge.
    She took in the signs of early spring. Crickets and tree frogs sang their nightly symphony, and the chilly evening air made a fine mist rise from the hot dish in her hands.
    She climbed the three steps to Nate’s porch and knocked on the front door with the toe of her shoe. Instantly, there was an explosion of canine proportions on the other side of the door as Hank, Nate’s golden retriever, went into a frenzy of barking.
    Brenna moved to stand in front of the window, so that Hank would see her and settle down, but she was distracted by her own disheveled reflection and frowned. Her hair had come out of the band at the nape of her neck and was now hanging in her face, making her look as if she’d spent a hard day scrubbing toilets. Fabulous.
    Why hadn’t she thought to run a comb through her hair or put on some lipstick? Darn it. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, they were just landlord and tenant. Still, it would have boosted her confidence, given that she was about to become a huge buttinsky.
    Nate opened the door with one hand on Hank’s collar to keep the dog from launching himself at Brenna. He, too, was dressed casually in jeans and sneakers and a long-sleeved T-shirt. His brown wavy hair was messy, as if he’d recently run his fingers through it, and there was a shadow of stubble on his chin as if he had opted not to shave that morning.
    “My dentist is going to love you,” he said. His mouth tipped up to one side and she knew he was teasing her.
    “Maybe I’ll have him put me on retainer,” she said.
    “You keep this up and he’s going to put me in retainers,” he retorted.
    “You’re right,” she said. She glanced at the dish in her hands and back at him and schooled her features into one of grave concern. “I really shouldn’t unload this s’mores casserole on you. Maybe I have some broccoli that I could steam and bring that over instead.”
    “Hey, I never said I minded if my dentist loves you.” Nate let go of Hank and reached to take the dish from her.
    “It’s hot,” she warned and held it away from him. Hank took the opportunity to jump up, and she turned so his paws landed on her hip while he gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
    “Down, Hank,” Nate ordered. Hank ignored him and Brenna laughed as Nate had to grab his collar again and pull him down. “Come on in.”
    Brenna followed him into the house as he led the way through the living room and into the kitchen.
    Nate’s cottage was exactly like hers but had one more bedroom. Outside they were the same white clapboard with green shudders and a small front porch, and inside they had the same hardwood floors and white plaster walls. But where Brenna had hung prints of her favorite masterpieces on her walls, Nate kept his bare. She often wondered about that but figured it would be rude to ask.
    He led her through the living room, which hosted a large-screen TV and several cushy leather chairs, and into the