She lifted the little nosegay from her pillow, held it to her nose. Immediately she was thrown back into that brief kiss, felt the warmth, the light pressure on her lips.
A team, she reminded herself. Not a romance, but a mission.
Though she’d do her duty, she gave herself the pleasure of throwing open her terrace doors, stepping out into that wild beauty. She smelled fruit and flowers and sea, gave herself the assignment of finding a watering can so she could tend the terrace pots, all filled with spearing and tumbling flowers in breathlessly hot colors.
She leaned on the iron railing, scanned the empty beach, then saw Annika topping the cliff steps. She wore a pink dress today, pale and pretty with a skirt that floated around her thighs as she started across the grass in bare feet.
She paused every few feet to sniff flowers, stroke leaves. When she looked up, saw Sasha, she beamed a smile, waved.
“Hello!”
“Good morning. You’re up and around early.”
“I don’t want to miss things, and I needed to swim.”
In what? Sasha nearly asked, then decided it wasn’t her business.
“Everyone was sleeping, but you’re awake now.”
“Yes, I am. I’m just going to get a shower and dress. I’ll be down soon.”
Sasha basked in the shower, wondered what it would take to have body jets installed in her shower at home—and thought whatever it took, it would be worth it.
Considering the agenda, she put on jeans, a tank, and a camp shirt, then laced up her hiking boots. She reordered her pack, lightening her load. And though it embarrassed her, even with no one to see, she took a sprig of lavender from the clutch and pressed it between the pages of the journal she’d bought for the journey.
Muttering at herself, she banded her hair back in a tail, and went downstairs.
She heard voices as she approached the kitchen, and caught the morning scents of coffee and bacon. Bran said he’d take breakfast, she remembered, and put on the casual smile she’d practiced in the mirror.
She walked in to see Annika frowning down at a mug of coffee. “Why doesn’t it taste the way it smells?”
“Too strong, is it? I don’t see the use of coffee unless it’s strong enough to stand up and dance, so I’ve a habit of brewing it that way.”
Bran stood at the stove, scooping bacon from the frying pan with a fork, tossing it onto a plate covered with paper towels. Casual, Sasha thought, and strolled in. “The stronger the better.”
Annika turned, held out the mug. “You would like it?”
“Thanks. There’s juice in the fridge if you’d rather.” At Annika’s blank smile, Sasha walked over, got out the pitcher. Then, as the woman seemed so pleasantly helpless, a glass.
Annika took a testing sip. “Oh! This is very nice. I like it much more than the coffee. I’m apology, Bran.”
“Sorry. You’re sorry,” he corrected. “And no need to be.”
“When did you learn English?” Keeping it casual, Sasha leaned back against the counter.
“English?”
“The language.”
“Oh. I know this one and some others. But sometimes the words are wrong. You can tell me when they are, and I can learn. Can you cook, like Bran?”
“I can cook.”
“You can teach me. It looks fun and smells nice.”
“Sure, I guess. But for now, maybe you could set the table.”
Annika pointed. “The table.”