Page 26 of Take Me Away

As we continue walking, I catch Kit giving me a sidelong glance. ‘Don’t you need a bodyguard or something? Thought all you Hollywood types travelled with security.’

The unexpected comment catches me off guard, and I can’t help but laugh – a genuine one that bubbles up from somewhere I thought had dried up months ago.

‘Not exactly A-list enough for that,’ I say, the tension momentarily broken. ‘Besides, I came here to escape all that.’

‘Escape what?’ Maisie asks, looking up at me with curiosity.

‘Just … crowds,’ I say carefully. ‘Sometimes when people know who you are, they want to take your picture all the time.’

‘That sounds awesome,’ Maisie declares.

‘It’s not,’ Kit and I say in unison, then exchange a startled glance.

For just a moment, there’s a shift in the air – a flicker of the old connection, gone almost before I can register it.

‘It gets … overwhelming,’ I add, looking away, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. ‘That’s why Sea Salt Bay is nice. Nobody cares if I’m wearing the wrong shoes or forgot to brush my hair.’

Kit makes a noncommittal sound, but I notice his gaze lingering on me a beat longer than necessary before he turns back to the path ahead.

‘Do you swim, Isla?’ Maisie asks, looking up at me.

‘A bit. Not very well.’ I grimace, remembering the three times her dad had to pull me up from the waves when I’d gone too deep, and how it’s now possible for him to keep walking ahead, staring into the dark like the memories don’t exist because time erased them. ‘I used to drown, frequently. In fact, your dad saved me once when an enormous wave tried to take me out.’

Maisie’s eyes are saucers in the moonlight. ‘Dad! You saved Isla Quinn’s life and you don’t tell everyone you meet. I’d tell everyone. Even Daisy Reynolds and she is all snooty and thinks she knows better than everyone.’

‘Let’s not tell Daisy Reynolds anything, shall we?’ He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even flick me a side-eye.

‘I bet you can handle the sea better than me,’ I tell her. Her curls are bouncing and they are so cute.

‘I’m learning butterfly. It’s the hardest one. Dad says I’m good at it, though.’ Maisie is still chattering.

‘She is,’ Kit says, and there’s the slightest warmth in his gruff voice, although I know it’s not aimed at me, rather his daughter. ‘Natural in the water.’

‘Like her dad,’ I say, and then wish very much that I could keep random thoughts inside my head.

Kit glances at me. ‘You remember?’

‘Of course I remember. I’ve been away. I haven’t had a lobotomy.’ I mean, how could I forget? Kit swimming out to rescue Mr Patel’s ridiculous toy poodle when it fell out of the dinghy. Kit teaching the nervous local kids to dive off the rocks. Kit and me, floating on our backs under the stars, fingers loosely linked.

‘Dad’s teaching me to sail too,’ Maisie continues, oblivious to the current of memory flowing between us. ‘But only in the little boat. Not the big one for fishing.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ I say, meaning it. Of course Kit would raise a water baby. Salt water runs in his veins.

We reach the gate to Salt Cottage. I know they have to go past to get to the house with the fish-shaped door knocker.

‘Well,’ I say. This is awkward.

‘Did you know the lady who lived in this cottage?’ Maisie asks.

‘I did, she was my grandmother.’

‘I’m sorry she died,’ Maisie says with the direct sympathy children are so good at.

‘Thank you. I miss her.’

There’s a pause, pregnant with things unsaid. Kit shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

‘We should go,’ he says finally.