Page 9 of Dead Drift

How could he have been so stupid as to leave her? To leave such a blessed life behind?

He cleared his throat and switched his attention back to the photographs. “Which island?” he asked.

“The big one.”

He leaned in closer to examine the photo. “Cool shot.”

“Thanks. Tanner took it when we all traveled there a couple months ago after Griffin and Finley’s wedding. We kind of crashed their honeymoon,” she said sheepishly but with a hint of the smart-aleck smirk he loved.

“Seriously?” He laughed. “I’m sure they appreciated that.”

“Their travel agent made it sound so awesome, and we stayed on different islands—hopping opposite them, so when they were on Maui, we were on the Big Island, when they were on the Big Island, we were on Kauai.”

“Sounds like a great trip.” He’d never been. Measures of national security never seemed to occur in paradise, at least not since Pearl Harbor.

“It was. We hiked up volcanoes, went swimming with sea turtles, and snorkeled with dolphins.”

“And went cliff-jumping,” he said, gesturing to the picture.

“Yeah, that too.” She smiled.

She had remained the adventurous, wanderlust-filled girl he loved. “What’s been your favorite place to visit?”

“Oooh.” She grabbed a flavored sparkling water from the fridge and offered him one. He passed. They tasted like bubbly nothingness to him, though everyone else seemed to be crazy about them.

She held up a Mighty Mango Naked juice.

“Great,” he said.

She tossed the cold bottle to him and he caught it. “Thanks.”

She nodded, took a seat on a barstool facing him, and tracked back to his question. “My favorite place to visit. Hmm. That’s a tough choice, but I’d have to say the Big Island.”

He leaned against the counter, loving the way her face looked as she mentioned it. “Why?”

“Because it’s breathtaking, full of adventure, and low on people.”

“Sounds like your perfect spot.” He untwisted the bottle cap and took a swig of the fruity drink.

“How about you?” she asked, managing to sit cross-legged on the barstool.

He’d seen a lot of beautiful places, but hardly ever under pleasant circumstances. “I’d have to say Barcelona.”

She leaned forward. “Why?”

“Because it’s gorgeous, has beautiful beaches, and, of course, is home to the best futbol team.”

“Barca fan?” she asked, tapping her water bottle decorated with bright pink berries.

“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes. “You know Barca?” She’d been a hockey fan in college.

“It’s hard to not know who Lionel Messi is.”

“True.”

“So, Barcelona . . . ?” she pressed.

“Oh, it’s a city that doesn’t feel like a city.” He moved to lean over the counter. His hands mere inches from her, his head dipped under the cabinet overhanging the galley bar where she sat on the opposite side. “It’s got quirky but fantastic architecture, all thanks to Gaudi.”