“Not really, no.” He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head. “But I know you just well enough to be able to tell.”

“Do you blame me?” I met his gaze.

“No.” Sinclair gave me a rueful look. “I truly don’t.”

I looked down at the table, my spoon toying with the ramekin of chocolate mousse we were sharing. I know, you’d think I’d had enough of chocolate today, but you’d be wrong. “I guess it’s just that I’ve been really up-front with you.” I kept my voice low. “You, not so much.”

“Look, Daisy.” Reaching across the table, he took my hands in his, spoon handle and all. “For a long time I didn’t have a choice in the matter. My father sent me back to my mother one month out of every summer. It was part of their . . . agreement. When I turned eighteen, I got to decide for myself. I haven’t been back to the island since, even though . . .” He fell silent a moment. “Well, I haven’t. I put it behind me.”

“Things don’t always stay where we put them,” I said softly.

“No, I know.” Sinclair squeezed my hands, his gaze earnest. “But can we leave it there for just this weekend? Let’s enjoy tonight and tomorrow. Things in town are going to slow down after this, and we’ve got all fall and winter to talk about it.”

My stomach did a flip-flop. He made it sound like he was in this for the long haul, which both delighted and, yeah, terrified me. “Promise?”

“Yeah.” His strong thumbs rubbed the backs of my hands. “I promise.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Did you happen to pack a toothbrush along with a change of clothes?”

“Maybe.” Sinclair smiled. “Does that question mean what I think it does?”

I glanced out toward the darkening street. “Well, I’d hate to think of you biking down the highway at night.”

“Oh, I’ve got good lights on my bike,” he said with a straight face. “Don’t go to any worry on that account, girl.”

“Fine.” I withdrew my hands from his and folded them on the table. “Would you like to come over to my apartment?”

He grinned. “Love to.”

After finishing dessert and paying the tab, we strolled slowly back to the apartment, Sinclair walking his bike alongside me. There were a lot of people out, and most of them smiled at us. Maybe a few of them recognized Sinclair from his tour, but mostly it seemed like they were smiling because we looked like a young, happy, attractive couple having a fun night out on the town. And okay, maybe we were too old to do the hands-in-each-other’s-back-pockets thing, but I have to admit, for the first time in my life, I got what it felt like to be one of the cool couples.