She could never go home again.
*
*
*
“Have you thought what you’re going to say to him?” Lara asked as they climbed the hil toward the center of town, a two-block stretch of parked cars, telephone poles, and gray-shingled houses. A few family groups wandered the dusk, peering in the darkened windows of picturesque storefronts. Island Realty.
Lighthouse Gift Shop. An amorphous group of F o r g o t t e n s e a 23 7
teenagers blocking the sidewalk in front of Wiley’s Market shuffled to let them by. One of the boys muttered a comment as they passed. One of the girls laughed. With a pang, Lara thought of Bria.
It was al very ordinary, she supposed. It was like nothing she knew. She had never been part of a family. She had never been like those teens, chafing against the restrictions of a parent’s love, experimenting with freedom within safe distance of home.
Maybe she was going through some kind of delayed adolescence.
She stole a glance at Iestyn. He looked at home here, with his sun-streaked hair and easy, waterman’s stride.
There was more to her flight from Rockhaven than teenage rebel ion. More to her feelings for him than a dizzy infatuation with sex.
He could belong here. Her heart swel ed with hope and loss. He could make a life here.
For a moment, she let herself imagine it, Iestyn, working on the water during the day, coming home at night to a grayshingled house and a couple of children with golden eyes . . .
He slanted a look down at her. “Say to who?”
She pul ed her thoughts back together, embarrassed to be caught dreaming over a future that didn’t belong to her.
“Dylan Hunter. Have you planned what to say?”
“Besides hel o?”
“I’m sure you have questions, but I think it’s important to explain about the amnesia because . . .” She caught him grinning at her and broke off. “What? It’s good to be prepared.”
“It is if you know what you’re preparing for. We don’t.”
He caught her hand, making her jolt with surprise and pleasure, adjusting his steps to hers. Anyone looking at them would think they were any couple strol ing to dinner.
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V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
But they weren’t.
“Relax,” he murmured. “We’l make it up as we go along.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she confessed.
He stroked her knuckles with his thumb, tiny circles she felt in the pit of her stomach. “You’re doing fine so far.”
She had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about their search for Lucy Hunter.
The red awning of Antonia’s Ristorante stretched over the sidewalk, glowing from the lights outside and in. The bel over the door jangled as Iestyn opened it for Lara to precede him inside.
Red vinyl booths and crowded four-top tables, a scarred wooden floor, and an open pass-through window. Voices hummed. Dishes clattered. Smel s floated on the air, a rich broth of garlic, onions, clams.
Lara inhaled appreciatively and heard Iestyn suck in his breath behind her.
She turned at once, her nerves jumping, but he only opened the door wider, stepping back to let an older couple leave.
Inside, a few tables were clearing. A black-haired busboy who couldn’t be more than fifteen stopped with a tray ful of dishes.
His face lit with pleasure when he saw them. “Zack!
Man, why didn’t you tel me you were . . .” His dark eyes flickered. His face flushed. “Sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”
“Who?” Lara asked.
The boy jerked one shoulder in a shrug. Apology.
Dismissal. “Sit anywhere,” he said. “Hailey wil take your order.”
They found a booth near the kitchen, with a view of the chalkboard menu.
“Zack?” Lara repeated quietly when they were seated.
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Iestyn rubbed at the front of his shirt, over the burn.
“Who knows?”
