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at his post, the decision made for them.
    â€œI was starting to think you were hiding from me,” he says, sliding the book back onto the shelf. “It wouldn’t be hard to do here. This place should come with a map.”
    â€œYou said that about the last place Whit found for us.”
    â€œDid I?”
    Just the mention of that first weekend together thirteen years earlier and the enormous room fills with memories, charged and electric like the air before a summer storm. Liv feels herself sinking and forces her thoughts to stay afloat. In the present, where they belong.
    She gestures to his jaw. “It’s different.”
    â€œIt’s easy.” He rubs at his beard. “I’ve gotten lazy in my old age.”
    â€œI find that hard to believe.” She smiles. “I like it. It suits you.”
    His eyes flicker over her face. “You look good, Liv.”
    â€œGod, not really.” She pushes at the limp knot of her hair. “I feel about as toned as a roasted marshmallow. You’re the one who looks like you could swim the English Channel.”
    â€œThat’s kind of you.”
    â€œI’m anxious to get back in the water. This project will probably be my last time diving. At least that’s what I’ve promised my doctor.”
    His eyes widen briefly.
    â€œYou look surprised,” Liv says.
    â€œI am. I can’t believe you’re still diving.”
    â€œYou couldn’t believe I ever started.” She regrets the comment as soon as it’s out. The air, once fresh and unblemished, feels heavy now, the weight of their old argument landing between them like a dropped stone. She wants to repair her mistake.
    â€œCan I get you a glass of wine?” she asks.
    â€œNo, thanks. I don’t drink anymore.”
    She blinks at him. Sam, not drink?
    He smiles wryly. “Now who looks surprised?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting . . .”
    â€œIt’s okay—I get that reaction all the time. It’s like telling people I’ve quit showering. They’re horrified.”
    She laughs, maybe too loudly. She wonders if something happened to make Sam stop drinking completely.
    â€œI
would
take some coffee, if you have it.”
    â€œOf course.”
    A purpose. Thank God. She leads him to the kitchen andcrosses to the still-warm carafe, finding some coffee remains. She pours, grateful for the crackle of the liquid rising to fill the quiet, hopeful her hands will hold without trembling when she delivers him the cup. She doesn’t bother to offer him cream or sugar—he always took his black. To pretend she doesn’t remember seems insincere. As he takes several long sips, she notices the strands of red in his short beard, reminded of the ones she was so shocked to find farther down his body when they’d first slept together. Copper and gold threads. In those early days, everything had reminded her of treasure.
    She rubs her bare arms. “Thank you for rescuing us, Sam. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to. Or want to, for that matter.”
    â€œSo asking me was your idea?”
    Liv meets his eyes. There’s no point in lying; Sam would never have believed the suggestion came from Whit.
    She moves to the sliders and looks out, not sure what she’s searching for, or whom. It’s dark enough that she can see Sam in the reflection. He’s watching her as he drinks.
    She turns back but remains against the glass, the cool surface startling on her neck.
    â€œI was surprised to see you back in the charter business,” she says. “I assumed when you left for law school, you’d eventually practice.”
    â€œI did. For a while. But after my dad died, I got out. He left me some money and I figured a boat was as good an investment as any.”
    â€œYour dad?” Sympathy washes over her. “I’m so sorry. When did he