“I was just over in the ticket booth.” The man pointed toward the door on the opposite side of the lobby. “I was trying to see if there was a number to call. I didn’t think the front door was meant to be left open like that.”
“Didn’t you hear me calling out?”
“I’m afraid not.” He shook his head. “The windows were open and the sound of the surf tends to drown everything else out.”
“Did you knock over the rack of brochures?”
“No, that was my first clue that something was amiss,” he said.
Amiss. Such an old-fashioned word choice. When was the last time she’d heard someone use a word like that in casual conversation?
“Indeed.” She nodded. “So, what drew you out of the booth?” She still stared at the gloves. She intended to ask about them next. Goldie wondered if she ought to be afraid of this strange man. She suspected she ought to be. But she wasn’t. He looked too familiar to be threatening.
“I saw a sudden flash,” he said, “and I thought I’d better come out and investigate.”
“Why are you wearing gloves?”
“You certainly ask a lot of questions!” He smiled now, tilting his head to study her. His next line had a note of teasing challenge to it. “Perhaps I’ve just flown in from a much warmer climate and was chilled?”
“You said you came in from London.”
“Well, be that as it may, it’s actually quite cool out. Whydon’tyou wear gloves?”
“I’m not concerned about keeping my hands warm,” Goldie said. She eyed him suspiciously. “Or leaving fingerprints.”
“Nor am I.” The man sighed. He tugged at the fingers of his left glove with his right hand. He placed a finger on the railing, deliberately leaving a print. “There. If anyone wants me, they’ve got me now.”
He turned his bare hand over. Goldie observed the delicate pattern of blisters and scars across the palm. It was so oddly symmetrical, it almost looked like lace or the crystal fractals within a snowflake.
It reminded her of the rashes she got when she came into contact with sea water.
“I have a skin condition, if you must know.,” he said. “I’m allergic to the sun. My skin reacts poorly if I’m exposed for any length of time.”
This was not what Goldie was expecting to hear.
Despite the scarring, his fingers were long and elegant. He wore a fascinating gold signet ring. The old-fashioned kind that were used for wax seals. It had an emblem upon it, half sun and half moon. Goldie leaned in closer to get a better look, but the man pulled his hand away and tugged the glove back on.
“It’s an autoimmune thing,” he said, entirely unselfconsciously. “Not lethal, but I still prefer to take precautions. Especially when I’m traveling.” He nudged a flyer with his toe. “I saw a phone in the ticket office. Should we call someone about the break-in?”
“Of course.” Goldie nodded. She was already thinking who to call.
“I take it you’re a local?” the man asked as they walked back toward the ticket office. He paused and held the door for her, a gentleman’s gesture that was becoming less common. At one time, men were simply expected to hold the door for women. It was an unwritten rule. But over her time on the planet, this rule had changed. For a while, it was common for a man to hold the door forprettywomen. Still later, the barest expectation that was left was that they would hold the door for old and frail women. And then, at some point, people had simply stopped holding doors. Society had become less rigid, but also less polite. She’d learned to adjust her expectations.
“Yes, I’m local. I’ve lived here for several years,” Goldie answered, adding, “I like it here. It suits my creative vision.”
“So you’re an artist, then?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow.
Goldie smiled. “You might say. What gave it away?”
“Creative vision and tax attorney don’t seem to go as well together.”
“You never know,” Goldie kibbitzed. “I’ve known some rather creative CPAs.”
The man folded his arms across his chest and studied her. “This might seem forward, but I think you should have breakfast with me after we get this break-in sorted. “
If Goldie didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting with her. And, as if that wasn’t strange enough, she wasenjoyingit. There was a flutter in her stomach and a tingly electricity in her limbs that she hadn’t felt in decades. Perhaps longer. It was preposterous, embarrassing even, that she should have such a powerful reaction to a stranger. Worse yet—one who was so much younger than her. She was going to make a fool of herself.
“I’m afraid I’m busy,” she mumbled. “But if you’re looking for advice on what to do on the island, you might try grabbing some of the flyers in the lobby. The tourism office should be open in an hour or so.”
