And she sure as hell hadn’t been wearing nubby turquoise pants and a soft white blouse that was unbuttoned low enough that he could tell she was wearing some flimsy lacy push-up bra underneath it when he’d found her emptying his closet and manhandling his underwear.

They stood beside each other while the grips adjusted and readjusted the lights and the camera crews settled into position. He tried not to watch while the sound guy threaded a microphone wire up underneath the front of her blouse and clipped it to the low V where it fell open. When Kyra came up to brush her mother’s hair back off her shoulder Will could see just how much the two resembled each other.

Maddie moved so carefully he could tell she was afraid to wrinkle what had to be borrowed clothing. Occasionally she ran a hand over her hair then looked surprised at how it felt. He knew that he should compliment her appearance. But the truth was he liked the way she looked better when she didn’t look quite so good.

He wasn’t completely stupid, though, so he told her how great she looked. And riled her up intentionally just a little bit so she wouldn’t be nervous.

“So what do we do now?” she asked when the lighting guy directed them to turn toward each other so that their key lights could be checked yet again. Will didn’t actually know whether he’d dragged her into this to get back at her for keeping him up worrying all night or simply to yank her chain, but he realized now as the crew bustled around them that although she’d been caught on camera for hours on end for Do Over, she’d never had to perform on cue or play directly to a camera—all things he’d done more times than he could count. Though this might be one of the few times he’d ever done it sober.

“Just tune them out the best you can,” he said quietly, though he had no doubt the microphones were picking up everything. “That’s right, look me in the eye and follow my lead.”

He held her gaze as the cameras aligned on the two of them and Jeanne Bletzer counted them down. When she pointed at Will he smiled, made sure they were close enough to fit in the shot, and began to talk to Maddie as if the camera weren’t there.

“So, are you ready to cook on all this shiny new equipment?” he asked, studying her eyes, which seemed surprisingly panic free.

“Hmm . . . I don’t know.” She cocked her head as if considering. “It depends. Just what am I going to have to do?” She raised an eyebrow—a clear How was that?—and he swallowed back a laugh.

“I don’t know. Just whatever I tell you to.” He gave her a wink.

She straightened, then surprised the hell out of him by turning directly to the camera and rolling her eyes in an exaggerated way. “I know we don’t know each other all that well. So I’m not sure whether you realize just how small a chance there is of that happening.”

This time he laughed out loud. He really couldn’t help it. Every time he started feeling sorry for Maddie or thinking she didn’t have the backbone for something she surprised the hell out of him. Like last night when he was sure she’d be phoning him or Hudson or even Roberto and begging one of them to come get them and instead she’d just passed out life jackets and told everyone to go to sleep.

“That small, huh?” He laughed again and felt like they were slipping into one of those old husband-and-wife comedy routines he’d seen at the Grand Ole Opry as a kid. Not too different from what Maddie had told him Max Golden had performed with his wife, Millie. “I can’t tell you how crushed I am to hear that.”

It was her turn to laugh. It was a light, tinkling sound that made him smile.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll get over it.”

And then somehow, it was just “game on.” “I’ll try,” Will said. “In the meantime we’re going to make my secret marinade and then grill ourselves some redfish fillets. Right here in my absolutely brand-smacking-new outdoor kitchen.”

He saw Jeanne Bletzer’s happy smile. Felt the cameras zoom in for close-ups.

“You have a secret marinade?” Maddie asked dubiously. “You, whose refrigerator echoes like the Grand Canyon?”

“I do. In fact, I’ve already got some fine-looking fillets marinating in it right now.”

She looked at him suspiciously, and he knew just how great it would play on camera. “What kind of bottle did it come in?” she asked, her brow lowering. “And does it double as a salad dressing?”

They played it just like that all the way through, neither of them needing a script. No flubs, no retakes. If there was anything she didn’t need from him it was coaching.

At the end she pulled out a little surprise of her own. “I have something I wanted to show you.” She pulled out a piece of white cardboard with names and dates written on it in black marker then held it so that he and the camera could read it.

“What’s that?”

“A cooking schedule.” She smiled innocently.

“And who is it for?” he asked.

“Why, for all of us.”

He took a minute to study it and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud again.

“Now that this is the best and most gloriously equipped kitchen on the island, I think we should all take turns cooking dinner in it.” Her smile was wide and extremely satisfied.

“And who’s going to decide who does what when?” he asked, more than prepared to play straight man.

“I will,” she said without hesitation. “I think my former career as a full-time homemaker makes me somewhat more qualified than a rock ’n’ roll icon who’s used to being cosseted and waited on. Are you with me, ladies?”

Once again she’d surprised him. And not just because he wasn’t a hundred percent sure what “cosseted” meant.

The women in the pavilion, including their Kreative Kitchens producer, whooped in agreement and woman power. And Maddie Singer chose to take his silence for agreement.

“That’s great!” she said, a huge smile lighting her perfectly made-up face. “I’ll have it ready to go when everybody gets back from the Fourth of July break.”

There was another moment of stunned silence on his end. And then a satisfied shout of “Cut!” from Jeanne Bletzer. “That’s a wrap, everyone.”

She thanked the crew and told them to go ahead and pack it up. To Will and Maddie she said, “Great job, you two. I can’t tell you how pleasantly surprised I am. You were great together—like James Garner and Mariette Hartley in those Polaroid commercials. Way more chemistry than I was expecting.”

She was shaking both of their hands with unbridled enthusiasm. “You two could definitely take that show on the road.”

Chapter Thirty-one

As a rule Avery didn’t believe in crying. She’d spent almost her entire thirteenth year doing little else after Deirdre up and left them. When she’d finally hiccuped to a stop she’d been pale and exhausted, but the tears hadn’t brought back her mother. The same could be said for the tears she’d shed at the demise of her marriage, the death of her father, and the end of her role on a television show she’d created.

Losing her father’s hard-earned fortune to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme had left her fighting mad, which had struck her as far more productive. But saying good-bye to Fred Strahlendorf, and even temporarily to Roberto, made her eyes go slightly damp with gratitude and affection.

In fact, as the three of them walked through the structures with Fred’s assistant Danny trailing behind, she wanted to weep with joy at all that they’d accomplished in such a short period of time.

While Roberto seemed content to let his work speak for itself, Fred handed her a folder neatly filled with paperwork. An agenda and checklist for their walk-through had been stapled to the inside flap of the folder.

“So, William’s suite, his new kitchenette, and the guest rooms are good to go,” Fred said upstairs in the main house. “I talked to your AC people and I understand they’re putting in a damper system, so I’ve wired for the individual thermostats they plan to put in each guest room.”

In the foyer he pointed up toward the beams in the vaulted ceiling. “You see that each beam is wired for the pinpoint lights Deirdre showed me. Having the upstairs floor open made it easy to access from above.” He removed a mechanical pencil from his pocket protector and checked off each item as they moved. “Your kitchen wiring is ready, based on Deirdre’s drawings. I’ve made notes for the kitchen people.” He handed her a precisely laid-out diagram of the electrical plan. “But Danny or I could probably get back for a day or two during the installation, which I assume will be sometime in early to mid August.”

Avery’s eyes were comfortably dry now. But she thought she felt her heart flutter with happiness.

The garage-turned-guesthouse was another joy to behold. The framing was complete and the rooms now easily identifiable. Roberto ran a hand over a tricky piece of carpentry here and there in the two new bathrooms and over the newly constructed pocket door frames between the downstairs sitting room and bedroom and smiled dreamily. Fred flipped to the next page in the folder and said, “The upstairs and downstairs have been treated as completely different entities even though they can be joined and rented as one large unit. I spent a good bit of time on the switching for the stairs—we don’t want a guest in one suite to accidentally turn the stair lights on and off when the units are rented to unrelated guests.” He showed her the schematics and how he’d handled this. Then he checked it off the list.

They paused at the fork in the path that led to William Hightower’s studio, the only structure none of them had been allowed to enter or touch. “It’s a travesty,” Roberto said. “Wild Will not making music is an insult to the universe. Someone needs to stage an intervention.”