I know your face, Sasha thought. I’ve seen it countless times.
“Could I sit down?”
The woman angled her head, continued her cool, unblinking study. Carelessly she slid her feet off the chair. “Sure, but if you’re thinking about hitting on me, except for a one-nighter in college, I stick with men.”
“No, it’s not that.” Sasha sat, tried to find her bearings. Before she could, a waiter in a white jacket stopped by the table.
“Kalispera. Could I bring you a drink, miss?”
“Yes, actually, yes. Ah, what are you drinking?”
The woman lifted her glass. “Peach Bellini.”
“That sounds just right. Would you like another? I’ll buy you a drink.”
Under her thick sweep of bangs, the woman’s eyebrows lifted. “Sure.”
“Two then, thanks. I’m Sasha,” she said when he left to fill the order. “Sasha Riggs.”
“Riley Gwin.”
“Riley.” A name, she thought, to go with the face. “I know how this is going to sound, but . . . I’ve dreamed about you.”
Riley took another sip, smiled. “It sounds like you’re hitting on me. And you’re really pretty, Sasha, but—”
“No, no, I mean literally. I recognized you because I’ve dreamed about you, for months now.”
“Okay. What was I doing?”
“I can’t expect you to believe me. But the dreams are why I’m here, in Corfu. I don’t— Wait.” The sketches, she thought, and pushed to her feet.
A picture was worth a thousand, after all.
“I want to show you something. Will you wait until I come back?”
Riley only shrugged, lifted her glass. “I’ve got another drink coming, so I’ll be here for a while yet.”
“Five minutes,” Sasha promised, and hurried away.
Sipping her drink, Riley considered. She knew all about dreams, and wouldn’t discount them out of hand. She’d seen and experienced far too much in her life to discount anything out of hand.
And this Sasha Riggs struck her as sincere. Nervy, wound tight, but sincere. Still, she had her own reasons for being in Corfu, and they didn’t include starring in someone else’s dreams.
The waiter came back with a tray, set the drinks, a bowl of fat olives, another of fancy nuts on the table. “The other lady?” he asked.
“She forgot something. She’ll be right back.” Riley handed him her empty glass. “Efkharisto.”
She tried an almond, went back to contemplating the sea, glanced back again when she heard the hurried footsteps—wedged sandals on stone.
Sasha sat again, holding a leather portfolio. “I’m an artist,” she began.
“Congratulations.”
“I’ve had these dreams all winter. They started right after the first of the year. Every night.” Waking dreams, too, but she wasn’t ready to share that much. “I sketched the people, the places in them, the ones that kept reoccurring.”
She opened the portfolio, chose the sketch that had brought her to where she sat. “I drew this weeks ago.”
Riley took the sketch, lips pursing as she studied it. “You’re good, and yeah, this is Corfu.”