Barefoot by the Sea

She pushed up and shook sand from the gauzy dress. “In case I’m wrong and it does represent dreams.”

“So you still have hope.”

“Eternally. Flash the light on that ridge, please.”

He did, watching her for a moment, then saw the tide-driven crest of about a zillion shells. “How can you find anything in all those broken shells?”

“Takes a keen eye,” she told him.

They walked for a while in silence, stopping now and again when she saw something that caught her eye. Finally, he asked, “Why were you crying?”

“Frustration. Confusion. Longing.”

He knew them all so well. “About this situation?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

She paused from her searching, clearly struggling with an answer. “Not exactly.”

No? “Hey.” He tipped her chin and forced her face toward his. “We made a deal about the truth.”

“Speak in your regular accent,” she answered softly.

The request threw him. “Excuse me?”

“In English.”

“You mean British.”

“Whatever. I want to hear it.”

“I’m so trained not to, I don’t think I can.”

She wasn’t buying it, narrowing her eyes at him. “You didn’t have any problem when you were talking to Henry.”

“Okay.” He glanced around as if someone might be lurking in the shadows or surf. “What do you want me to say?” He still didn’t break into British.

“My name.”

He nodded. “Tessa Galloway.”

“Sounds almost the same.” She seemed disappointed.

He took a slow breath. “Don’t be sad, pretty Tessa.” He infused the words with the clipped sound of his native accent, reaching to slide his hand around her neck and into her hair. “I will never, ever lie to you again.”

“Nevah, evah?” she repeated with a slow smile.

“Nevah.” He exaggerated the sound, then his own smile faltered as he looked at her. “Oh, Tess.” He closed his eyes and pulled her closer. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She relaxed a little, letting their bodies touch in a move that felt orchestrated by mother nature. Like they belonged together. “I know you are.”

“Do you?” he asked. “Do you know how very sorry I am? How much I care about you? God, I didn’t even know how much I cared about you.”

“Mmm.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. “I like that.”

“How much I care about you?”

“No, that sexy accent.”

He chuckled into her hair. “Then I’ll whisper it in your ear all night.” Tipping her face up, he kissed her forehead, her nose, then brushed her lips. “Do you forgive me, Tessa?”

“God, no. But you can keep talking like that and you have a chance.”

Warmed by the humor, he clicked off the flashlight and let the dark descend over them. “Let’s walk in the water,” he said, guiding her to the surf. “Unless you don’t want your dress to get wet.”

“I don’t care. It’s made for the beach.”

Like her, he was barefoot, and he doubted they’d go in deep enough to get his cargo shorts wet. Arm in arm, they walked toward the swells and foam of low tide, the sand cool between Ian’s toes, the first knots of his restlessness starting to untangle in his gut.

“I talked to Henry,” he finally said.

“And?”

“He’s pissed but not much he can do. I assured him you were trustworthy and he seemed satisfied enough when I told him…” He hesitated as they reached the water, letting the first splash of cold chill his nerves about how to phrase the rest of his sentence. “You’d agreed to sign the paperwork.”

She didn’t answer immediately, using one hand to lift her dress from the next wave. “Sounds so romantic when you put it that way.”

“I guess because it’s not romantic.” But it could be. If only…

“I know, you’re right. I’m still not sure how I’m going to handle things.”

“Things.” He dragged the word out. “We’re not lying anymore, Tessa, so—”

“I never lied,” she shot back, almost slipping out of his arm, but he held on too tight. “And I’m not lying or using euphemisms now.” She stopped fighting his hold and pressed against his side again. “There are a lot of things to consider. Like…” She swallowed and looked up at him. “What happens when you leave?”

Nothing. Everything. The end. “I can’t contact you after that. We’ll have to work out something to tell people.”

She considered that. “If you mean my friends and all the people who work here, there’s nothing to tell. They think I’m doing a pretend ceremony for the benefit of the wedding planners. Mayor Lennox doesn’t know that; we’ll get a real marriage license to sign and then you’ll take it…” She blew out a breath and shook her head. “Where will you be?”

“I don’t know. And you can’t either…” Unless you come with me. He tamped down the plea. “It might be embarrassing with your friends, Tessa, if I disappear.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell them the truth.”

He slowed his step and turned her to face him. “I’m not. I’m worried about how you’ll feel.”

“How I’ll feel?” She looked up at him, the cloud-covered moonlight casting a soft blue glow on her face. “I’ll feel like a woman who did the right thing. I’ll feel like a hero, a volunteer, a savior of one little family.”

His heart swelled. “And I’ll never forget that.”

She put her fingers on his lips to quiet him. “I’ll also feel…” Her throat hitched and caught. “Like I had that damn shell in the palm of my hand and threw it away.”

“Oh, Tess.” He yanked her into him, hope swamping him. “You don’t have to throw it away.”

She inched back, a moment’s hesitation and even a glimmer of light in her eyes. Then it disappeared and she shook her head quickly. “I can’t, John. I can’t.”

Of course she couldn’t, and he had no bloody right to ask. “It’s a hard life,” he agreed. “Lonely and scary and not normal in the least.”

Misty-eyed, she nodded.

He stroked her hair, cupping her cheek. “You have no idea how much I would like to offer you something else.”

“There isn’t anything else, is there?”

“I’m afraid not.”

She closed her eyes, but it didn’t hide the hurt.

“You don’t want to live that way,” Ian said, mustering a truth he didn’t want to say. Then he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Do you?”

For a long, long moment, she stood still and silent. In that time, the gnawing and angst in his gut dissolved completely, transforming into—hope.

Then she dropped her head against him. “How can I?”

Easily. Happily. In his arms and in his life forever. “You can’t,” he said. “I could never ask you to.” Except that in his heart, he had asked a hundred times. And every time, the answer was the same.

She looked up at him. “We have a little time left.”

“A week or two. How do you want to spend it?”

She smiled slowly. “Naked.”

“That can be arranged.”