Page 64 of One Last Gift

Sam unpacked the rest of the bag, handing her a peanut-butter sandwich on white bread, which made her laugh again, a whole carrot, which he’d topped and tailed but hadn’t peeled because apparently he hadn’t been able to find the peeler, and two rice cakes.

Sam grimaced a little as he took stock of their makeshift picnic. “Sorry. It was the best I could do with what was there.”

“No, I love it. Peanut butter is my favorite, anyway. I don’t buy it at home because otherwise I eat the whole jar in a matter of days and that can’t be good for you.”

Sam smiled that crooked smile. “I know, I remember. Me and Tom caught you eating it out of the jar at Claire’s house more than once.”

“Right,” Cassie said, though in truth she’d forgotten that, and felt a little jolt at the fact he’d remembered.

The sun was starting to set now, turning a deep yellow, making the sky around it colorful, orange giving way to pink, purple, and blue, the light reflecting on the calm ocean out on the horizon. It was so unbelievably beautiful that it felt a little surreal that she was actually here, watching it, on a little corner of the earth.

Having finished his food, Sam shifted and leaned back so that his posture mimicked hers. Their hands were close, almost touching, and Cassie felt like she could feel the pulse of his fingertips stretching across the space to meet hers. The skin on her forearms prickled.

“Did you know Tom had come down here?” She spoke into the silence between them, silence that did not, for once, feel awkward. He hesitated, then shook his head. “Me neither,” Cassie admitted. “Why do you think he came?”

Sam continued to look out at the sunset. “I don’t know. We talked about coming to Cornwall to go surfing one year, but never did it. But maybe he came on his own—if he’d told me, I’d have wanted to come, I guess, and if he wanted to be alone…” There was a moment of quiet between them after he trailed off.

“It makes me sad,” Cassie murmured, “that he was low and couldn’t tell me. I didn’t know he still felt sad about our parents.” She frowned, and for a moment she thought of the story Linda had told her at Tom’s funeral, about the whisky, the fact that Tom was so clearly trying to be like their dad—a dad who neither of them had really known—in some small way. “That sounds silly. I don’t mean that—of course he was sad, it’s not something that ever went away, for either of us, but I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” he said softly. “But I think he wanted to be strong for you. You were so special to him, Cassie.” He turned, looking at her now instead of the horizon. “You’re…” But he broke off and turned his gaze away from her again. She let out a slow breath.

When it became clear that Sam wasn’t going to continue, Cassie spoke again. “Do you think he’s, you know, out there?”

Sam didn’t speak right away. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I don’t really believe in all that, but I also don’t not want to believe it.” She nodded—she felt the same. And if Tom was out there, then he’d like this, she thought: to see her and Sam together, sitting in companionable silence.

The sun was nearly gone now, sinking below the ocean, its reflection making it seem almost whole again. A cool breeze caressed her cheek and she shivered a little. She should’ve brought a jacket or something—she knew better than to be cocky and set out without one in England. Sam clearly noticed, because he reached out, put an arm around her and pulled her gently to his side, without saying anything. The warmth of him enveloped her, chasing away the slight chill in the air, and her skin prickled where his bare skin touched hers. After a moment, she dropped her head onto his shoulder. It felt easy, natural, to sit with him like this, a little like the friendly relationship they’d had when they were teenagers, before she’d decided to close her heart off from him. Only this time there was something more there, and her body felt tense, expectant.

“It’s so breathtaking,” Cassie whispered, as the last of the sun disappeared, leaving its warmth behind in the air before night came to steal the color away.

Sam kissed the top of her head. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, smiled, and saw his face soften into a smile back at her. Her heartbeat quickened as she met his gaze, blue eyes even bluer out here, by the ocean. She felt rooted there, unable to break the eye contact. His expression changed, those eyes becoming more intense, more focused, and his eyebrows pulled together into a soft frown. Not angry or confused, Cassie would guess, but questioning. Then, slowly, he leaned toward her, closing the distance between them, and kissed her. Lightly at first, barely a whisper, but then she reached up, cupped the back of his neck.

And she was kissing him back, her other hand coming up to his shoulder, pulling him closer toward her, and, God, it was like falling, drowning, all thought going from her head so that the only real thing in the world was him. All these years later, and Sam was still the only one who could do this to her, could set her body alight like this.

She couldn’t be sure how long it was before he broke away, and she was relieved to see that she was not the only one breathing heavily. He ran his hands down the sides of her arms, pulled back slightly, and she shivered again, whether from the touch or from the sudden departure of his warmth, she couldn’t be sure.

“Come on,” Sam said, a little huskily. “You’re cold and it’s getting dark—we’d better get back.”

“Right,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t fancy getting lost out here.”

He got up, held out a hand and pulled her to her feet, then dropped her hand again, almost like he didn’t want to touch her. She folded her arms as they walked back along the cliff edge, so that she couldn’t do something stupid like reach out to try to take his hand again.

Was it just her, or was the air in between them humming with electricity? It could just be her. But then, he’d kissed her, hadn’t he? He’d definitely been the one to make the first move. She tried not to think of the last time this had happened, all those years ago. Tried not to think of how he’d so clearly regretted it then. Tried not to keep glancing at him now as they approached the lighthouse, wondering what he was thinking, whether he regretted it this time, too. Her skin was prickling with energy as he unlocked the door, held it open so she could go in ahead of him.

They headed to the kitchen, Sam putting the mugs in the sink while Cassie hovered, curling her fingertips around the wooden chair in front of her. It seemed too light in here, compared with the darkness settling in outside. She headed for the cupboards, needing to do something. “Tea?” she asked, perhaps a touch too brightly, as she moved some things around to see if she could find any. For God’s sake, why was she asking him if he wanted tea?

She glanced over her shoulder, saw him shaking his head. “I can’t drink caffeine late at night—I won’t sleep.”

“Really?” For some reason that felt like a funny thing for him to admit—a weird vulnerability that she wouldn’t have expected.

“Yeah. For a while now.”

“Oh. Right.” She closed the cupboard door. She didn’t really want tea either, now that she thought about it. They stood, looking at each other. There it was again, that damn sparking electricity, taking up the space between them even as they stood on opposite sides of the kitchen.

“I’ll, err, go and get the bedding for the sofa, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he came past her, headed into the hallway and then upstairs. She heard his footsteps creaking above her, and found herself twisting her hands as she waited for him to return, getting herself a glass of water just for something to do.

Because what was she supposed to do? There was something there, between them. There always had been, if she was being honest with herself. But that didn’t mean they had to act on it. She’d learned the hard way, hadn’t she, that Sam was not to be trusted? She crossed to the window over the sink, stared out. It was a full moon tonight, the light of it shimmering across the darkness.