“That’s why I like it. You’re working, but your expression says, ‘Darling, what is it? You look troubled. Come here and tell me everything…’ You’d stop working, put down your tools and listen to me. You’d do anything.”

I would, he thought. I’m in love with you and I would do anything…

“But most of all,” she said, “I like how these two pictures go with the two halves of the poem. Listen.”

She held up the picture of young Kennet staring thoughtfully to the side, and read:

A fisherman he had been in his youth,

And still a sort of fisherman was he;

But other speculations were, in sooth,

Added to his connexion with the sea,

Now she held up the picture of Kennet in the boathouse:

Perhaps not so respectable, in truth:

A little smuggling, and some piracy,

Left him, at last, the sole of many masters

Of an ill-gotten million of piastres.

She put the photos into the spine and closed the book. “A fisherman,” she said. “But also a bit of a pirate…”

She touched the tip of his nose. Her finger trailed down across his lips.

It was Kennet’s first un-orchestrated kiss. He didn’t think, didn’t calculate, didn’t ask. He simply leaned and slowly, quietly, kissed her mouth. Out the corner of his eye, he saw her eyes close, the fringe of lashes fluttering once above her cheekbones. His hand moved into her hair, curving around the back of her little head. Her palm slid along his neck, thumb drawing along his jaw. Then his other hand in her hair. And her other hand on his face. Then his mouth opened. Then hers.

At the first touch of her tongue, he fell off the log, but they didn’t stop kissing. She fell with him, her body sweet and warm on top of his, but the kiss never faltered. She was rolling and his elbow knew to move just so and cradle her head in the soft, sandy dirt. Her arms were up around his neck and he knew just how to hold her. She sighed deep in her chest when he moved on top of her a little. Not too much. He knew precisely when it was just enough to let her feel his weight and his strength, but no more.

He knew how to love this woman.

It had been easier than falling off a log, but now the sun was mercilessly overhead and sharp rocks were digging into his hip and leg. This place was fine for fikas, but not for lovemaking.

“Come on,” he said, getting up.

“Where are we going?”