Philip put his empty beer bottle down on the table. “Then I’d say you’ve got something worth exploring.”
“I don’t think so. Even I have a problem with screwing the same person’s life up twice.”
BRITTANY HAD INTENDED to spend the afternoon writing her blog and exploring ideas for her future, but after ten minutes of staring at her laptop screen without seeing it, she gave up. Her head felt fuzzy from jet lag. Her thoughts were full of Zach and she needed to clear her brain before she could work, so she took the sandy path that led directly from the cottage to the beach.
A couple with two young children was flying a kite near the water’s edge. Shaped like a dragon, it dived towards the sand and soared skyward again in a blaze of color, its tail flapping in the wind.
Brittany watched for a while and then walked to the rocks at the far end of the beach. Protecting her wrist, she clambered out of reach of the sea and chose a flat boulder as a seat. From here she could see the granite outcrop where the puffins nested and one of the boat tours hovering close by. She recognized the boat and knew it was skippered by Doug, famous locally for managing to cram the maximum number of tourists onto each trip.
He was one of the many islanders who had found alternative ways to supplement the fishing business. On Puffin Island, they’d been luckier than some of the smaller islands in the bay. The varied and beautiful landscape and sheltered natural harbors made it a favorite not only for people looking for a weekend retreat from the city, but also for the sailing community, all of whom created a demand for restaurants and other services the locals were only too happy to provide.
Despite the swell of summer visitors, Shell Bay was never crowded. Day-trippers chose to stay on the beaches closer to the ferry and locals were too busy trying to tempt money out of the summer visitors to have much time to enjoy the pleasures of their own island.
The sea air cleared her head and she returned to the cottage, cut herself a slice of cheese and wrestled with the loaf of bread Emily had delivered the day before. With one hand, the end result was an uneven wedge that definitely could have provided a useful prop for an Indiana Jones movie.
The casserole was in the fridge, a constant reminder that her ex-husband had moved back to the island and she was considered to be in dire need of sympathy.
Muttering under her breath, she reached for her phone and sent a text to Skylar.
Are you busy this weekend? I have a casserole.
The reply came moments later.
You cooked? Are you sick?
Brittany grinned and texted back.
Don’t ask. Just eat.
There was a brief pause.
I’ll bring the wine. Tell Em to get a babysitter.
Feeling instantly better, Brittany flipped open her laptop and nibbled the cheese while she checked her emails.
There was a message from Spyros, her colleague from Greece, asking if she’d contact him.
She checked the time, decided he’d still be awake and called.
Moments later his face was on the screen and she felt her mood lift.
“Hey, you—how’s your day going? Tripped up any more innocent archaeologists? I’m guessing it’s the only way you can get a woman.”
“I was nowhere near you at the time.”
“You made me laugh. My concentration lapsed. And I’m paying the price.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Like hell. A reminder that next time I need to look where I’m stepping. I got your message. You can’t manage without me? You want me to fly back so you can drop grapes in my mouth?”
“We found something.” His voice was deep and rich, his Greek accent more pronounced than usual. “I thought you’d like to see it.”
She felt the rush of excitement that came with every new find. “You found it after I left? Do you have it? Show me.”
He held it up to the camera and she narrowed her eyes. “Closer.” She paused and studied the screen. “Could be obsidian. Hard to tell from here. Want to send it to me so I can take a closer look?” They both knew objects couldn’t be removed from the country where they were found and Spyros smiled, showing a flash of white teeth in a bronzed, handsome face.
“I think the Greek government might object. And US Customs might not be thrilled, either. It’s sharp.”