It also wasn’t her fault when she kind of, sort of, accidentally wound up at Bianchi’s every day that week.
The upside of spending so much time there, aside from the omelettes, was that Samir started sitting with her on his breaks. So they got to talk about things like what her sister Hayley was up to—not much, to Laura’s ever-lasting concern—and the recipes he was considering introducing to the menu.
“Even though I think you’re wrong,” he’d added. “No-one around here really wants Italian food.”
“They would if Max made it,” she sighed wistfully.
“Oh, so you think he’s a better cook than I am?”
“No comment.”
Sometime during the week, the locals decided it was safe to start chatting with her. Maybe because she obviously knew Samir; maybe because Kelly and Daisy started talking to her too, asking questions about the baby and sharing pictures of Kelly and Max’s younger kids. Or maybe because Max himself actually ventured out of the kitchen one day to see her, which was apparently an unheard-of occurrence.
“Just wanted to meet Samir’s mysterious visitor,” he’d said, smiling down from a truly unbelievable height. He was thin as a whippet, with warm brown skin and a manner so self-assured, it was almost... soothing? She could see why he and Samir were so close. She could also see why Max thought she was Samir’s ‘visitor’; she seemed to spend all her time at Bianchi’s.
It wasn’t that she’d come here looking for him—she really hadn’t. She’d never thought she’d see him again. But that was a whole different story.
She’d come here looking for peace. Happiness. The sense of belonging and tranquility that she’d only ever felt once before, for six precious weeks, in this little seaside town. And if she felt that most strongly when she happened to be at Bianchi’s—if she seemed like a calmer, purer, better version of herself when she was trading laughing barbs with Samir—well, that couldn’t be helped, now could it?
When Max put vinegar all over her omelette because Samir told him that’s how she liked it, or when Daisy made her a perfect decaf cappuccino without asking, or when Kelly spent her breaks telling Laura about breathing techniques and cocoa butter… Laura felt like she might actually be able to do this, no matter what her sister said, what her mother said, what Daniel said. And that was a gift.
But honestly? The best part of her day happened when night fell and the moon rose, and she met Samir on the beach.
5
A week after Laura had arrived in Beesley, the moon wasn’t full anymore.
But it still shone bright, and the night was clear enough that when she approached, Samir saw her coming. He watched her coming, in fact, and tried not to enjoy it too much.
Unfortunately, he failed.
The wind whipped her hair in wild swirls until she looked like some kind of goddess. Like a siren. He remembered the way she used to be when she hit the water, the way she’d transform in the ocean, and wondered if she still swam.
She must. Everyone had a passion they couldn’t choose to leave behind, and swimming was hers.
She sat beside him awkwardly, holding her little belly as she sank onto the sand. He resisted the urge to help her because she got all huffy whenever he tried. Honestly, it was a miracle she let him do anything for her at all. He had a strong suspicion that she only came into the cafe for regular omelettes. He was starting to wish that she’d come in just to see him.
But the omelette thing was good too. After all, he hadn’t been joking about looking after her. His ridiculous brother was right about one thing: this woman had once been a girl who’d lit up his universe. The least he could do was pick up the slack left by every shitty human being who’d let her come out here to do this all alone.
“Every time we meet on the beach,” he admitted, “I have this urge to say something dramatic.”
She smiled, moonlight glancing off her plump cheeks. “Such as?”
“You know. We meet again. Something like that.”
“Ah, Bianchi,” she murmured gravely. “I should’ve known I’d find you here.”
He couldn’t help his laughter. “Yes! Like that. Exactly like that.”
She gave a little bow, hair spilling over her shoulders. “Please, hold the applause.”
Something about the familiarity of the moment—the easy belonging, the casual happiness—sank into his bones. It settled there, making him feel whole and anchored in a way he hadn’t for