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She’d enjoy the relationship until it was time for him to move on.
And then she’d let him go without ever telling him how she really felt.
And spend the rest of her life trying to get over him.
* * *
He was going to tell her.
Sam stowed the surfboard in the outhouse and locked the door. Tonight he was going to tell Anna that he was in love with her.
He was convinced she felt something, too. She had to.
Feeling nervous for the first time in his thirty-two years, he showered and changed and then strolled into the kitchen. It had become their routine. He cooked for both of them, sometimes from scratch, sometimes just reheating a delicacy from Hilda’s kitchen.
He opened the fridge and found a seafood lasagne. ‘Thank you, Hilda,’ he murmured, sliding it into the oven and then grabbing a beer from the fridge.
He could see Anna already sitting on the deck, her slim brown legs stretched in front of her, a medical journal open on her lap. She had a glass in her hand and her mobile phone was on the table in front of her.
He felt something shift inside him.
Who would have thought it?
Who would ever have thought that the two of them would develop this amazing connection?
He walked out onto the deck and bent to kiss her mouth. He couldn’t resist it. All day he ached to do just that and had to hold himself in check. He didn’t see why he should have to when they were at home.
She pulled away from him, dropped the medical journal and reached for her glass. ‘You’re late. Problems?’
‘Just enjoying the surf.’ He smiled and sprawled in a chair next to her. ‘How was your day?’
‘Fine.’ She shot him a bright smile and Sam frowned slightly, sensing that something was wrong. She was different tonight. Brittle.
‘Has something happened?’
Her eyes flew to his, startled. ‘What could have happened?’
He was now convinced that something had. ‘I don’t know.’ He kept his voice casual. ‘It’s just that you’re a little jumpy.’
Her eyes slid away from his. ‘I’m fine. Just hungry, I expect.’
She was lying.
Sam watched her for a minute and then rose to his feet. ‘All right—let’s eat.’ If she was using hunger as an excuse, he’d get rid of that and then see what happened.
He served the lasagne, handed her a bowl of salad and topped up her wine.
‘Eat.’
She picked up her fork and poked at the food. ‘Thanks. Looks good. Hilda was in today, having trouble with her eczema. All those tourists are stressing her out.’ She chattered away, always keeping the subject neutral, always avoiding eye contact.
And she hardly touched her food. She moved it around her plate, shifted its position and worried it with her fork. But hardly any made it to her mouth.
Sam started to eat. ‘This is fantastic. I tell you, if she wasn’t already married, I’d marry Hilda.’ He loaded his fork. ‘The woman is a magician in the kitchen.’
Anna put her fork down with a clatter and Sam paused, wondering what he’d said to upset her.
He frowned. If he’d upset her, he wished she’d just yell at him. At least he’d know where he stood then. ‘You’re not eating. What’s wrong?’ He reached across the table and took her hand.
