He dressed and shrugged on his coat. We walked to the truck together in silence, and I forced away the tears I could feel coming. As I went to get in on the passenger side, he grabbed my wrist softly. ‘Gwyneth?’

I turned to him. He explored my face, his own pained.

‘Yes?’ I asked, hoping he’d tell me it was a mistake, he did see the connection between us.

‘It’s been good seeing you.’ Then his hand slipped from mine.

Chapter Sixteen

I ended up staying in Iceland for a few more weeks, heading out to Reykjavik with Lyngar, the Icelandic guide I’d spent a few nights with in the camp. I made it clear nothing would happen. I didn’t want to do what Dylan had done to me. He was fine with that. In fact, I even stayed in his spare room and we spent the nights talking. It was a relief to have him as a friend without the complication of sex.

I found myself feeling completely strung out. A little voice inside told me this was how it felt to have your heart broken but I dismissed it. I wasn’t one of those women whose emotions and life were so guided by a man that they fell to pieces when someone didn’t feel the same way. I told myself it was just trying to figure out what to do next that was draining me.

But the fact was, Dylan had blindsided me. I rarely got people wrong. But boy, had I got him wrong! And though I tried to tell myself it was just one of those things, I couldn’t help dwelling on it. I threw myself into going out into Reykjavik with Lyngar and his friends. It was such a wonderful city with stunning architecture and unique places to eat and drink. It was a welcome respite from the raw nature of the ice beach.

One evening, I passed a gallery and was surprised to see Hekla inside, swaying to the music as she spoke to someone. She caught me watching her, strode towards the door and opened it wide. ‘Gwyneth! Come in, come in! You can see what I do!’

I hesitated as I gazed at all the people inside.

‘We have champagne,’ she added. ‘Lots of it.’

Lyngar grabbed my hand and dragged me in. I recognised some of the faces there from the party Asher and Helka held at their house. That memory brought a stab of pain as I thought of how it had felt to see Dylan there. I wondered what he was doing now. Was he still in Iceland?

Among the crowd were artists, many of whom had disabilities. Hekla explained it was their art that hung on the walls, her charity making is possible by funding physiotherapy sessions and prosthetics.

‘Is Asher here?’ I asked, looking around.