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“You don’t know me at all.”
And whose fault was that? She sucked in a breath. Harsh words gathered in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, moderated her tone. “I wish we had time to change that.”
The umber eyes that turned in her direction were a stark landscape of cynicism and regret. “But we don’t.” Although he pushed her away with his words, the muscle jumping in his jaw proclaimed he wasn’t happy to do so. His agonized expression matched the pain throbbing in his voice. “My family needs me.”
I need you. Your child needs you.
But all of a sudden she knew she wasn’t going to put that burden on him. What he felt for her wasn’t casual. She was finding it hard to let go. He was going through something similar. But they each had their ways of coping and she should respect that.
Brooke retreated to the opposite side of the room and picked up her sandals. The silence in the house went unbroken for several moments while she reorganized her emotions and set aside her disappointment.
“Are these okay for a hike up to the windmills?” she asked, indicating the footwear. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything more sturdy.”
“They should be fine.” He assessed her feet. “There’s a well-defined path up to get there.”
“Great.”
His brow creased at her flat tone. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just feeling a little off all of a sudden. Nothing breakfast won’t cure.”
Brooke was glad that Elena picked that moment to enter the house with bags of groceries. It kept her and Nic from plunging back into heated waters. With Elena bustling around the kitchen they had little need to exchange more than a few words over a meal of eggs and pastries.
An hour later, they were heading to the windmill. The paved road that led from the town past Nic’s villa gave out two miles farther. Ahead was the narrow path cluttered with large rocks and tree roots that led to the three windmills she’d seen on arriving at Ithaca. Nic set a moderate pace through the irregular terrain, forcing Brooke to focus on where she stepped, and silence filled the space between them. For once she was grateful for the lack of conversation because she had too many conflicting thoughts circling her mind.
“There are a number of windmills on Ithaca,” Nic began as the brush lining the path ahead of them gave way to a flat, rocky expanse. Brooke was glad for her sunglasses as they emerged from the vegetation onto the rocky plateau.
Before them lay the three disused windmills. Twenty feet in diameter, thirty feet tall, their squat, round shapes stood sentinel over all the boats coming and going from the harbor. Their walls once would have been whitewashed, but years of wind and weather had scoured the brick, returning it to shades of gray and tan.
Nic headed toward the structures, his words drifting back to her on the strong breeze. “Corn and wheat would come from all over the islands to be ground here because of the constant winds in this area.”
In the lee of the squat towers, Nic gestured to direct her attention through a curved doorway into the windmill’s interior. “As you can see, the 1953 earthquake caused the grinding wheel and shaft to break and tumble to the bottom.”
“Fascinating.” But her attention was only half on the scene before her. A moment earlier she’d stumbled when her toe caught on a half-buried rock and he’d caught her arm to steady her. His hand had not yet fallen away. “Thank you for bringing me here. The view is amazing. I can see why you enjoy coming to the island.”
“After this we should take the boat to Vathay and have lunch.” He was obviously hoping that by keeping busy they could avoid a repeat of the morning’s events.
Brooke wasn’t sure she could spend a fun-filled afternoon with him while her heart was in the process of shattering. For the first time since her interest in him had sparked, she was bereft of hope. Even after he’d broken things off a month ago, she hadn’t really believed it was over. This morning, she’d finally faced up to reality.
Nic was going to marry someone else and build a life with that person.
“If you don’t mind,” Brooke said, “I think I’d rather just hang out on the terrace and do a little reading. But you go ahead and do whatever it is you’ve been doing before I got here.”
He frowned, obviously unsure what to make of her abrupt about-face. “If that’s what you want to do.”
“It is.” The words sounded heavy.
“Very well.”
For the next fifteen minutes, he inundated her with facts about the area, the aftereffects of the 1953 earthquake and other interesting tidbits about the island. Brooke responded with nods and polite smiles when he paused to see if she was listening. Eventually, he ran out of things to say and they headed back down the path. They had to walk single file until they reached the road. Once they got there they strode side by side without speaking. When Nic’s villa was less than a mile away, to Brooke’s surprise, it was Nic who broke the silence.
