Leo grunted and fiddled with the tie on his shoe. She twisted her head to watch him instead of the sky.
“You know, you can take off your oxfords,” she suggested.
He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged one white-clad shoulder. He removed the left shoe first, then the right. When he kept his white socks on, Mattie had to suppress a grin. It was so much like Leo to stay buttoned up, even in a place where most people took their pleasure.
“It’s okay to strip to your bare feet.” She wiggled her own gritty toes and then waggled her eyebrows suggestively. He rewarded her with one of his true sheepish grins. He pulled off the cotton material, then folded them neatly and carefully placed them in his shoes.
“Let’s make a sandcastle,” Mattie suggested. It was a wonderfully youthful notion, creating something so grand out of something so insubstantial.
Leo made a soft surprised exhale that hovered between a chuckle and a grunt. “I wouldn’t begin to know how.”
His quiet words reverberated through Mattie. Their stark honesty sounded almost like a confession. Knowing how much Leo valued his privacy, she simply began to mold sand into a pile.
“You need a good base first.” She paused her work on the foundation to brush away an errant red curl that had blown into her face. His blue eyes followed the motion, and something in his gaze made her feelpeculiar—a wonderful, giddy peculiar. He leaned forward, and for one heart-clenching moment, she thought he would tuck the lock behind her ear. He didn’t reach for her, though, but rather for the sand. He pushed a heap against hers, nearly doubling the size.
“Now pat it down.” Mattie demonstrated. “Make sure it is solid.”
They both reached down at the same time, and his larger hand half covered hers. For a moment, his fingers curled around hers, trapping them between the coolness of the overturned sand and the heat of his flesh. Between the sand and his calluses, a delicious friction scraped against her skin. She inhaled, sharp and poignant.
“Like this?” he asked, his voice as rough as the grit between their interlaced fingers. She nodded, squeezing his hand.
“Like this.”
He leaned forward, his brown bangs brushing against her forehead. She could feel his breath, warm and pleasant against her cheeks. Her eyes began to flutter closed, but before they could completely shut, the call of the loon rent the air. The eerie warble sliced through the gossamer strands pulling Mattie and Leo together. Suddenly he jerked, yanking his hand away so fast puffs of sand flew. An odd sense of loss filled Mattie as Leo’s brilliant blue gaze left hers. With fast, economical motions, he molded the sand as carefully as a stone mason laying rock for a real fortress.
Mattie fought the urge to use her right hand to touch where his fingers had held her left. Her skin still felt tingly and oddly alive. Curiously, she regarded Leo, who seemed to be gathering enough building material to erect a life-size monument.
“What kind of castle should we build?” She kept her voice cheerful and light.
Leo eased back on his haunches and regarded the large lump with more scrutiny than necessary. He wiped his brow with his forearm, the weave of his jersey easily picking up the fine particles.
“I had a château in mind.”
Surprise rushed through Mattie. She’d had that pegged wrong. She’d thought he would want to build a tough, no-nonsense fortress, especially after his confession last night about his unease over staying in Vera’s house. Leo pressed the sand into a rounded turret. When it started to collapse, Mattie moved to help shore up the crumbling structure. Their hands brushed together again, warmth meeting warmth. Mattie expected Leo to quickly withdraw.
He didn’t.
Instead he spoke, low and deep and more earnest than she’d ever heard before. “I flew over a lot of châteaus in France. It was different than staying in one. I could see the history instead of the luxury.”
Mattie studiously kept her attention on the pale-white castle emerging from under their fingertips. She was afraid if she hazarded a glance in Leo’s direction, he might freeze up.
Leo shifted on his haunches as he worked on a sloped roof. “There was so much destruction. Shells had torn up roads, fields, entire villages. Places that had stood for centuries. I saw refugees who’d lost their homes where their families had lived for generations. The war blew up so much tradition, so many connections and ties. But then I’d see one of the old châteaus rising from the ground, and there was a sort of strength in that. A promise of continuity.”
Mattie didn’t speak for a moment, wanting to make sure she wasn’t interrupting. She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to make him relive anything he didn’t want to about the war. Instead, she made an observation that gave him the choice to alter the direction of the conversation. “I didn’t know you liked old buildings.”
“I find a certain peace in a structure that’s stood for year after year, no matter the changes around it.”
Mattie placed a blade of grass above one of the windows like a lintel. “Not a fan of the modern skyscraper?”
“They have their purposes.”
“I love tall buildings,” Mattie admitted.
“Old stone structures are solid.” Leo was situated between Mattie and the sun, so she had to squint to make out his features in the brilliant light. He looked so sober, not at all like a man creating a whimsical sandcastle. She wondered, for a moment, if he’d positioned himself purposely in the glare.
“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about the past,” Mattie admitted.
“I like order.” Leo tilted his head to inspect the rear of the castle, effectively putting a barricade between them. “The past is a known entity. The future is not.”
