Even drenched in the warmth of the evening sunset, Sydney felt a chill. The wind was whipping off the water and settled beneath her cardigan. Holding her glass in one hand, she swiped the crocheted blanket from the back of the worn couch and draped it around her shoulders.

“Fuck,” she muttered as the Chardonnay splashed over the rim onto her skirt.

Why didn’t her mother put a table out here? Sh...