“Your mother died,” I say quietly. “Campeau told us about that.”

“She did,” Sylvie says, folding her hands. “She and Bryce were very close. It really upset him when she died. And things got kind of weird after that…” She shakes her head and doesn’t say more.

But I’m curious, and kind of a bastard, so I have to ask, “What’s the deal with you guys, anyway?”

She looks out the window, where there’s steady foot traffic past the restaurant. “We’ve always been good friends. And for a while there I thought we’d be more. But I was wrong.”

My stomach clenches for her. Is Campeau really that stupid? This woman loves him, and he’s unmoved by that?

“Can I ask you a question?” She turns to me with those giant brown eyes. “You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Anything.”

“Does Bryce have a girlfriend? He should just tell me that. But…” She gulps. “It would help me understand.”

“No,” I say softly. “I really don’t think so. I’ve never heard him talk about anyone special.”

“Including me, I suppose.” Her smile is wry.

“Well…” I have to tread carefully here. But, nope, he never talks about her. “He always said how close he is to your family. I know you all mean a lot to him. But he is also the most buttoned-up guy I’ve ever met. I mean—I’m an open book. An over-sharer. But Bryce doesn’t talk about his feelings.”

She fiddles with the chopsticks’ wrapper. “It’s true. You’re right. He’s a man of deeds more than words.”

“Exactly,” I say quickly.

“His deeds could use some work, though,” she grumbles.

Our waitress appears, placing a heaping plate of spicy Szechuan chicken down on our table, along with a molded bowl of white rice.

“Yessss,” Sylvie says with the gusto of a lover in the throes of passion. “Come to mama.”

We dig in, and I have the dual pleasures of spicy chicken and watching Sylvie enjoy the food. We also ordered a noodle dish. And that food doesn’t stand a chance. We both pile food onto our plates with enthusiasm.

“So we’re going to teach some kids to swim next week?”

“That’s the idea.” Sylvie heaps some noodles beside her chicken. “Did you read the handbook? Some of these kids don’t even own bathing suits. So we’re bringing bathing suits with us. And it’s not just a course on swimming. It’s a lifesaving course. They can apply for lifeguard jobs if they pass.”

Wait, what? “They never get in the water, and we’re supposed to teach them to be lifeguards? Does that sound plausible?”

“If they’re strong enough, a little fearless, and willing to listen, anything is possible.” She dives in with her chopsticks.

“Are you, uh, a decent swimmer?” I ask. “I took a lot of swimming lessons as a kid.” I leave out the fact that I hated every one of them. “But I’ve never been responsible for a bunch of wet teenagers who can’t swim.”