The Secret Sister by Brenda Novak

did.
    Once she was dressed, she decided to leave Rafe a note. It seemed the polite thing to do. She wanted to put some sort of official end to what they’d done, and a hastily written thank-you provided the added benefit of allowing her to escape this uncomfortable situation without having to deal with him directly.
    Using the pen she found not far away, she turned over his note and wrote on the other side. “Sorry I made you late for work. I hope you had a great day.”
    No, that last part sounded odd. He’d probably connect that to what they’d done, so she crossed it out and tried again.
    I hope the repairs are coming together for you. Don’t worry about the furniture. I’m sure your daughter needs your time more than I do. You work hard enough as it is. I’m going to see if my mother will send her caretaker over with the truck.
    She’d had no business asking Rafe to help in the first place. Why should he have to fill in for Keith? She was just being stubborn. Yesterday, even while she shivered on the beach, she’d sworn she’d do anything before going to her mother.
    But approaching Josephine was suddenly preferable to relying on her new neighbor.
    Should she end her note with some reference to the sex? Maybe include a thank-you? Tell him she’d had a nice time?
    No. She couldn’t do that without sounding dismissive or shallow—or glib. Come to think of it, there wasn’t much point in writing what she’d just written, since he had the key to the cottage where the furniture was stored. If she managed to wrangle other help, he’d know about it long before he got home because she’d have to get the key.
    â€œSo much for that.” Somewhat relieved and yet disappointed at the same time, she wadded up the note and tossed it in the trash can in Rafe’s bathroom. While she was there, she was tempted to go through his medicine cabinet to see what he wore that smelled so good. She was ready to blame everything that’d happened today on his cologne. It was certainly easier than blaming herself...
    Going through his medicine cabinet was intrusive, like searching through his drawers, so she refused to abuse his trust in that way. But she couldn’t help glancing around his house as she left. Rafe’s bungalow was much neater than she would’ve expected. The furnishings weren’t expensive or particularly tasteful—nothing that would meet with her mother’s approval or show up in a decorating magazine—but they weren’t tacky, either. For a guy who’d had so little growing up, she thought he’d done quite well for himself. If she had to describe his decorating style, it would be “sensible and comfortable.” His bedroom, although slightly more Spartan than the rest of the house, followed this theme. So did his living room, which contained a large flat-screen TV, along with an overstuffed sectional and chaise, a recliner with an accent table nearby and a coffee table in the center.
    He hadn’t hung much on the walls, though. It wasn’t as if improving that space could benefit Laney, since she couldn’t see. And Maisey guessed he didn’t care enough about art to bother.
    Or perhaps he’d get to that with time. She had to remind herself that he hadn’t lived in Smuggler’s Cove for very long. Jack would want his space to “show well” should anyone see it. But Jack was a different kind of man—very fastidious and driven.
    Maisey was almost at the door when she spotted a pile of children’s books on the coffee table and had to stop. She loved books, all books, but especially children’s books, even if it was only to look through them to admire other people’s work.
    Half hoping she’d discover a Molly Brimble story, she sorted through the stack. None of her books was there, but she hadn’t seriously expected to find one. If Rafe knew she’d written