And there was something else, too—something in her tone, or maybe her accent, that tugged at a thread in the back of his mind. It was a weird sensation.
He decided to ignore it.
“It’s okay,” he managed, his voice far too cracked and hoarse to be convincing. “Don’t worry about it.”
She snorted. It was a soft, horse-like sound, and something about it tugged on that thread again. “It most certainly is not okay,” she said. “I must’ve squashed you.”
This was the part where he lied gallantly. “I wouldn’t say squashed—”
“I would.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“I might believe you,” she said wryly, “if you weren’t still wheezing like a donkey.”
Samir managed to choke out a laugh in between wheezes.
Maybe his eyes were adjusting, or maybe some of the cloud cover had passed. Whatever the reason, he suddenly caught a glimpse of his strange companion: the gleam of moonlight on long, dark hair as she tipped her head back; the outline of a sharp, rather no-nonsense nose; the curve of the impressively substantial shoulder that had found its way to his throat. No wonder he was still a bit winded.
“Please,” she said, sounding oddly, subtly urgent. “Let me be sorry. I’m very, very sorry.”
He recognised something in her voice—something self-flagellating and hopeful all at once. Something he’d heard in his own voice, once upon a time. Or rather, he thought he did. He was probably imagining things.
“If it matters so much,” he said lightly, “you can be as sorry as you like.”
“Oh, thank you,” she murmured, a slight smile in her voice. “I appreciate it.”
And wasn’t the human mind such a strange thing? Because, out of everything she’d said over the past five minutes, it was that single phrase—those three little words—that pulled loose the insistent, tugging thread in his mind.
“I appreciate it,” she’d said fifteen years ago, after he’d given her a stolen Cornetto. She’d been all prim and proper while she unwrapped his ill-gotten goods, and for some reason it had made his teenaged heart sing. He’d wanted to steal a thousand more Cornettos, just for her.
Over the course of the summer, he probably had.
Samir sank his fingers into the gritty sand, grounding himself even as strange hope ran wild. Surely not. Surely not. This woman, whoever she was, dredged up old memories for some other reason. She just happened to have the same accent and that same arch tone. It was a coincidence. Because the chances of meeting her again, here, after all this time…
It wasn’t possible. That sort of thing didn’t happen.
But Samir found himself squinting at her in the darkness, anyway, as if he could will himself to develop night vision.
“Are you okay?” she asked. She might as well have whacked him over the head. Now he was sure. He was positive. He could’ve predicted every inflection in that sentence, from the way she glided over the you to the wobbling lilt on okay, as if she really gave a shit. Because she did.
“Laura?” he asked slowly. And, though he’d been certain a second ago, just saying her name made it seem so impossible. Made him think that he must be mistaken.
Until she stilled, her shadowy outline stiffening. Her voice was hard as glass and twice as fragile when she demanded, “Who are you?”
Because of course she’d be freaked out by a strange man knowing her name. Who wouldn’t? Through the flood of disbelief rushing over him, he managed to say, “It’s Samir. Samir Bianchi. Do you remember me?”
For a single, stuttering heartbeat, he thought the answer might be no. But then she spoke, sounding as astonished as he felt. “Samir? Seriously?
It was her.
2
“Holy shit,” Samir said.
Samir. Samir. Her mind couldn’t quite take that part in.
His incredulous laughter was as bright as the few stars beaming through the clouds. “Laura Albright. I’m sitting on a beach with Laura Albright. Again. What the fuck?”
Laura almost jumped out of her skin when he said her maiden name. Albright. It sounded good. Perfect, in fact. Like summer nights and freedom. Like before. Like herself.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmured, sounding like some high school reunion cliché. But this was way beyond school reunion shit, because Samir had never belonged to the mundane world of home and studying and sensible behaviour. Samir had been her six-week rebellion. Samir had been everything.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. The force of his attention cut through the dark, just like she remembered. She felt it—but not like the weight of her husband’s insatiable eyes. Not