He was burning to know about her husband, to examine her pain so he might feel differently about his.
‘You’re right,’ he said instead of following any of those urges. ‘I’ve learned to be selfish.’
‘But is it selfishness or self-preservation?’
The question reminded him of their online chat. When he’d complained about difficult customers, she’d always taken his side – even when he’d been at fault. ‘Selfishness,’ he insisted. ‘You’re the proof of that, Mrs Goschl.’
She froze when he called her that – a barrier raised. Good. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You were pushed and you grew stronger, accepted your life. I was pushed and I broke and ran away, made a new life where I don’t have anyone relying on me.’
Her hand shifted on his shoulder, bringing back that ripple of deep knowledge – instinct – thatshecould grow to rely on him. But prolonging the touch, drawing closer, would definitely be selfish when she wanted a friend, not a flaky lover.
‘I only have a week with no one relying on me.’ Her voice was husky and soft and he felt it in his stomach.
‘But putting pressure on yourself won’t help,’ he insisted. ‘Maybe it would be better to start with just twenty minutes of reading, rather than a full hour. Or maybe just do what you want this week – with or without me. I won’t be offended.’ He might be relieved for the time away from this relentless pull.
‘I should be making the most of this downtime.’
‘There’s no “should”, Toni.’
She smiled. How she had the grace – and strength – to do so, he had no idea. ‘I know. I shouldn’t feel guilty either.’
Her sigh was so deep and long, it tickled the hairs at his temples. He was kneeling in front of her, his hand behind herknee, and he didn’t want to move away. When he lifted his gaze to her face, he found her studying her own hand on his shoulder. Her fingers moved experimentally.
When was the last time she’d kissed someone? Been intimate with them? It was none of his business.
The murmur of voices and the swish of undergrowth made them snap away from each other, as though caught in a compromising position. A moment later, a family wearing caps and sun shirts appeared at the edge of the forest, making their way carefully down the steep rock.
Toni’s exhale was choppy – gratifyingly so – as Gabri hung his head and tried not to think about what could have happened if they’d been alone a moment longer. This wasn’t what he’d wanted. Friendship was simple, beautiful, wholesome. He needed to ignore the undercurrent of wanting and focus on Toni and what she needed this week.
Respite. Good food. His soothing island.
‘I see other people do know about this place.’ Her light tone matched a small smile.
‘It’s not a secret,’ he replied.
Leaning on her knees, she stared out at the water. Her hair was in her face again, but he forced himself to ignore it.
‘It’s notourbeach any more.’
10
He had not almost kissed her. That was the story Toni was sticking to anyway, especially since the other option was ruminating on how much she’d wanted him to, what a wonderfully selfish thing it would have been. It had been difficult enough to keep her thoughts on course, hobbling back through the forest with his arm tight around her waist.
His shirt was wrapped around her leg – she had high-definition memories of him whipping it off – meaning her nose had been a few inches from his bare chest, close enough to take in the shift of his lean muscles beneath tanned skin.
She saw a lot of skin and muscle at work, on reception at the climbing gym, but it was different up close – different with Gabri, this man she knew well, but also didn’t know at all. And he was different from Miro, the husband who was now so distant in her memory, she wasn’t sure of the shade of his skin. Pale, certainly – much paler than Gabri’s Mediterranean tan – but there had been a time when she would have recognised the constellation of freckles on his arms.
Now he was an awkward and confusing memory, haunting these awkward and confusing moments where she was appreciating another man’s chest.
Arriving back at Gabri’s house, she was certain the cut just needed a dressing and she’d be fine, but he still looked at her as though he might call an ambulance if she so much as grimaced. The way he’d gone pale when he’d checked her wound at the cove still showed on his face. It puzzled her, his overreaction, but perhaps that was normal for people without her extensive experience of grazed knees and nosebleeds.
When he tried to usher her into the bathroom, she stopped him. ‘I can do it. You don’t seem very comfortable with injuries. I appreciate borrowing your shirt, though.’
He glanced at the ceiling, his expression twisting. ‘Very diplomatic of you, softening the blow. “Thanks, but I don’t need you freaking out and making everything worse,” is what you mean, though. I’ll show you where I keep everything.’
‘I do have quite a lot of experience patching up minor wounds,’ she pointed out. ‘Cillian went through a phase where he skinned his knee every other day. And did you know wounds on the head bleed more profusely than others? It’s something to do with the capillaries being close to the skin. You don’t want to imagine the moment when your son walks into the room with blood pouring out of his mouth.’
