“Fancy meeting you here,” she called, tentatively.

“Hello,” said Lakewood.

“Was last time at the shore?”

“Fire Island,” said Lakewood. “Captain Falconer’s clambake.”

“Of course,” she said, sounding relieved. “I knew I knew you from somewhere.”

Lakewood searched his memory, goading himself: Lakewood! If you can land a 12-inch, five-hundred-pound shell on a dreadnought steaming at sixteen knots from a ship rolling in ten-foot seas, you ought to be able to remember the name of this Gibson Girl lovely who is smiling at you.

“Miss Dee,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Katherine Dee.” And then, because his mother had raised him properly, Lakewood doffed his hat and extended his hand and said, “Grover Lakewood. How very nice to see you again.”

When her smile spread into one of delighted recognition, the sunlight of her brilliant hair seemed to migrate into her eyes. Lakewood thought he had died and gone to Heaven. “What a wonderful coincidence!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Climbing,” said Lakewood. “Climbing the rocks.”

She stared in what appeared to be disbelief. “Now, that is a coincidence.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. There’s a cliff up that path that I’m going to climb.” She cocked an eyebrow that was so pale as to be almost invisible. “Did you follow me here?”

“What?” Lakewood flushed and began to stammer. “No, I—”

Katherine Dee laughed. “I’m teasing you. I didn’t mean you followed me. How would you even have known where to find me? No, it’s a perfect coincidence.” Again she cocked her head. “But not really . . . Do you remember when we talked at the clambake?”

Lakewood nodded. They hadn’t talked as much as he would have liked to. She had seemed to know everybody on the captain’s yacht and had flitted from one person to another, chatting up a storm. But he remembered. “We decided we both liked to be out of doors.”

“Even though I have to wear a hat for the sun because my skin is so pale.”

More pale skin had been visible that summery day. Lakewood remembered round, firm arms bared almost to her shoulders, her shapely neck, her ankles.

“Shall we?” she asked.

“What?”

“Climb the rocks.”

“Yes! Yes. Yes, let’s.”

They started along the path, brushing shoulders where it narrowed. Every time they touched, he felt an electric shock, and he was thoroughly smitten by the time she asked, “Do you still work for the captain?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I seem to recall that you told me something about cannons.”

“They call them guns in the Navy. Not cannons.”

“Really? I didn’t know there was a difference. You said ‘they.’ Aren’t you in the Navy?”

“No, I work in a civilian position. But I report to Captain Falconer.”

“He seemed like a very nice man.”

Lakewood smiled. “ ‘Nice’ is not the first word that comes to mind for Captain Falconer.” Driven, demanding, and daunting came closer to the mark.

“Someone told me he was inspiring.”