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I swallow, unable to take my eyes off her.

“It's… breathtaking.”

The word comes out quieter than I mean it to. Her head cocks slightly to the side before her eyebrows pull together.

“But you're not looking at the sea.”

Shit.

She points behind her and I force my eyes away from her.

Right. The sea.

I walk closer to the railing and finally look.

Fuck. Okay.

Behind a bush covered in tiny red flowers, the water stretches out in a blue so clear I can see the darker patches beneath the surface even from up here. The beach below is a mix of pale stones and sand, and on either side of the house the coastline curves outward, wrapping around this small piece of shore until it almost looks private.

Nothing like the beaches I've seen before. Nothing like L.A. Hell, nothing like anything back home.

Children are playing somewhere farther down the beach, their voices carrying on the wind alongside faint music from one of the little beachfront bars in the distance. Waves roll onto the shore below in a steady rhythm, louder than I expected them to be, then drag back over the stones with a sound I'm already starting to understand must be the one Nora grew up falling asleep to. Farther out, boats sit like tiny white marks against all that blue, and every time the sunlight shifts across the water, it seems to change color with it.

There's so much to look at that I understand how someone could spend hours standing here and still find something they hadn't noticed before.

I understand now why she climbed over her sister to get to the fucking airplane window. Why she stopped outside the airport and breathed. Why she kept staring out of the car like she was afraid she'd miss something.

It's gorgeous. I could probably stand here for an hour and still not see all of it.

And somehow my eyes find her again anyway.

Like they prefer her beauty over any other.

Of fucking course they do.

She's leaning against the railing now, watching me instead of the water, waiting for my verdict like my opinion of this place somehow matters to her.

And maybe that's what gets me.

She brought me here. Into this.

Her childhood bedroom is ten feet away. Her grandmother lives behind us. Those ridiculous mugs are still sitting in the house next door. Somewhere around here are the trees she stole figs from and the roads she ran down barefoot as a kid. This sea was outside her window long before Chicago.

Long before Damiano.

Long before me.

And she's standing here watching my face because she wants to know if I like it.

I look back at the water.

“Beautiful.”

One word. That's all I trust myself with.

She smiles and turns toward the sea again.

I should do the same.