She wanted to feel useful.
Chapter 24
The sun on the beach was intense. Most of the resort guests had retreated to the pool deck, or the shade on their own cottage porches. Only a few were swimming in the ocean, or using the paddleboards, under Bastian’s watchful eyes.
Conall chose a spot at the far edge of the crescent, spread out his towels, and stabbed one of the provided umbrellas into the sand. He was tilting it to provide the best shade when he spotted Gizelle coming down the steps, and had to suck in his breath.
She walked like a song, every step deliberate and beautiful. When she got down to the hot sand, her pace quickened, and she danced to him. The hair that had frayed from her neglected braid glowed around her face, silver and dark, and her sundress molded to her slight curves in the breeze from the water.
“All those lawns made me hungry,” she said when she got to him.
Conall took the basket and was surprised by the weight; she had carried it so easily. Gizelle circled the towels and carefully sat on one corner, barely in the shade of the umbrella. She tried in vain to brush off all of the sand that had crept onto it.
Conall tucked the basket into the best part of the shade and offered Gizelle a bottle of water out of it. She took it, but waited and watched as Conall opened his own and drank from it, carefully copying his every gesture.
“A sandwich?” Conall offered, inspecting the contents of the basket. Most of the weight was water and an ice pack to keep it cool, but there were also slices of watermelon and strawberries, and cold noodle salad and kettle chips.
“Yes, please,” Gizelle said, eyes shyly down.
&nbs
p; Thin slices of cheese and a generous spread of hummus were garnished with lettuce and tomatoes so fresh Conall would have put money on the fact they’d been grown on the island. The bread, too, was fresh: the perfect combination of chewy and light, with a hearty crust.
Watching Gizelle eat was more fun than even enjoying his own food was—and he had worked up quite an appetite from their zig-zag tour of the island. He couldn’t understand a single thing she tried to say around her mouthfuls of food, and settled for nodding and smiling with a shrug until they’d finished.
He could imagine the contented sigh that she gave, washing down the last bites with her water.
She offered him something from the basket, but her face was tilted down, so Conall couldn’t tell what it was. The slice of watermelon that emerged answered that question.
“Sure,” he said, but she startled back when he reached for it, and it fell to the sand.
He couldn’t hear her exclamation of dismay or apology, but could guess it from her shoulders and her hasty scramble to pick it up.
She tried in vain to brush the sand away, face scrunched in consternation.
“Don’t worry about it,” Conall tried to assure her, but she continued to worry at the melon. “There’s more,” he told her. “It’s just something that happens on beach picnics.”
She didn’t look entirely like she believed him, but she dropped the sandy melon into the empty sandwich wrapper that Conall carefully held out for her.
They sat awkwardly a moment, Conall trying to watch her face without staring in case she spoke, Gizelle trying again to brush the inevitable sand from the towel she was sitting on.
Finally, she looked up. “You’re wondering what on earth to talk about now, since I know nothing about politics and the weather here is always lovely.”
Since that was exactly what Conall had been doing, he had to laugh.
His laugh made Gizelle smile hopefully and he vowed again to do it as much as possible.
“Will you tell me about Boston?” she asked, chin lifted so he could easily see her mouth, but eyes down shyly.
Conall leaned back on his elbows. “Boston is on the ocean,” he started. “But it’s nothing like this ocean. It’s cold water, and busy docks, and city.”
“What’s a city like?” Gizelle asked.
“Busy,” Conall said, feeling apologetic. “Giant buildings taller than any tree all around so that there isn’t much sunlight. Lots of traffic, and people.”
Gizelle shuddered. “Why would anyone want to live that way?”
“It has its points,” Conall defended. “The culture! There are museums and art galleries and gourmet food. And of course the... music.” Once he had started the sentence, he didn’t know another way to end it.