“Maybe she was.” Antonia walked over to the couch and, without warning, sat on his lap, draping her arms over his shoulders. “She doesn’t like you.”

“She’ll get over it. And she used to like me just fine, before Ty drop-kicked her into oblivion. Gus likes me.”

“That’s saying something. He doesn’t like many flatlanders.”

Hank laughed. “I impressed him with my mountain-climbing skills last fall.”

“It’s that you know how to fly a helicopter—he hates them as much as I do. But a rescue helicopter saved his life in Vietnam. He doesn’t talk about it. I think it was a marine helicopter.” She let her fingers ease up his neck, into his hair. “Which is the real Hank Callahan? The Pave Hawk pilot or the man who would be senator?”

“Different chapters in the same life.”

“I like having you here with me. I feel safer with you here. But if you hadn’t figured out where I was, I’d have managed on my own. If I didn’t—if I capsized kayaking or fell off the porch—it wouldn’t be your fault.”

He could feel his eyes darkening, but she kept hers on him and didn’t turn away. “Antonia—”

“You’re not responsible for what happens to me.”

“Guilt isn’t always rational.”

She nodded. “For years, I thought I bore some responsibility for my parents’ deaths. If I’d been better, they might not have gone mountain climbing that day. If I’d asked them not to go—if I’d realized the weather was getting colder and they’d be caught up there—”

“You were five years old.”

“I know.”

“It’s not the same—”

“No, it’s not the same. You were an air force pilot doing his duty overseas when your wife and daughter were killed. But there was nothing you could do to save them, and there was nothing I could do at five to save my parents.” He could see her swallow. “I’m sorry. I have no right—”

“You have every right.”

His mouth found hers, and she smiled into the kiss, pulling him down onto the lumpy, quilt-covered couch. He’d thought of this moment for hours. During the drive from Boston to the Cape, during the short boat ride from the mainland. He’d even imagined the pitterpat of raindrops on the roof. But her urgency took him by surprise. Not, he thought, that he was complaining. She slipped her hands under his shirt and smoothed her palms up his sides, even as their kiss deepened.

“I hoped you’d come,” she whispered into his mouth. “Not consciously, but—” He eased his hand up her thigh, over her hip, and she inhaled. “Hank…”

He smiled. “We can talk later.” Her skin was warm under his hands, but she had on one of those sports bra things that would take a war plan to get into. “Antonia…hell…”

“Allow me.”