Then the voices went silent and the world was still. Even the surf stopped. All Marissa could hear was the faint sound of their lips brushing softly. Her vision blurred—she closed her eyes.

She could feel the dappled sunlight on her shoulders and it seemed inseparable from the heat of Linda’s body next to hers. Whatever had broken was vaporizing to ash as cold places inside her blossomed in the warmth.

Linda’s lips brushed hers again, then pressed harder. The still moment ended with a crash of waves as Marissa slipped her arms around Linda’s waist. She didn’t so much open her mouth to Linda as she yielded to Linda’s slow, careful exploration. All of her yielded, including the last vestiges of disbelief.

The moments when Linda had made her feel interesting— desirable even—had been like rain on her parched ego. The kiss, the deliberate but light movement of Linda’s hips against hers, threatened to become a hurricane. And she wanted to be swept away.

Linda raised her head and asked again, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” was all Marissa could manage. She found her reflection in the depths of Linda’s eyes and for once it didn’t shock her. She wanted to be the woman Linda seemed to see and it was as scary as much as it was welcome.

“I got the coconut open,” Linda murmured, and she kissed Marissa again, briefly, but with more fire. But before Marissa could react, she sat up and examined her coconut milk-spattered arms. “Now I’m all wet.”

Marissa laughed—what else was there to do? “I think you may be the biggest flirt I’ve ever met.”

Linda paused in the act of dusting sand off her arms. “Takes one to know one.”

“I am not a flirt, really. I don’t know how.”

“That just means you’re a natural. I had to go to charm school.”

“You graduated summa cum laude, didn’t you?”

This time it was Linda who laughed as she rose gracefully to her feet. “Shower before dinner?”

“A good idea.” There was sand in places that weren’t fond of any kind of abrasion. As Marissa followed Linda to their bungalow, carrying one of the mangled coconuts, she relived the kiss, over and over. Something had broken, something had healed.

She wanted more.

The Last Supper, as Linda dubbed it, was as delicious as the others. Marissa had more raw tuna and no breadfruit. The sweet rice with the tuna was perfect when chased by a dab of local mashed root of some kind. She didn’t follow the French word for it but her mouth called it horseradish.

“I don’t think I should have anything to drink.” Marissa dabbed up the last of the rice with her fingertip, aware she was being uncivilized but Linda was doing the same thing and grinning. “My head is still a little dicey.”

“Now, how can I appear to be a suave and debonair financier if you’re sober?”

Marissa couldn’t resist the teasing in Linda’s voice. “You’ll just have to work harder.”