“Oh.” A heron craned its long neck from its perch on the branch of an olive tree, like it too was curious at how Sarah was going to explain this. She thought about how she’d reacted to Rachel weeks ago, how her anger at her friend had stemmed from jealousy. “You know, maybe those boys are a little scared inside, or sad, and then being mean to people is a way to distract from how they feel. But it’s not the brave way.”

Benjamin nodded, and Sarah was relieved when his face settled back into innocence. As she smoothed down her hair rumpled by a whip of wind, her eyes caught a glimpse of the fisherman.

Her heart went immediately berserk, and she stumbled back, drinking him in. This time he wore black slacks with a white-collared shirt and was transferring fish from his nets into baskets. He was tall, Sarah decided, taller and thinner than her father at least, who served as her barometer thus far for all things male. Sarah fanned her face and decided this was how people died, from too much excitement heaped upon their organs. She’d thought herself gutsy the past weeks, stalking about for him, but now she understood, she didn’t have it in her to approach him. She would hasten home for the close of the Sabbath and sink to the floor as her father strummed his bouzouki and forget she’d ever set eyes on the fisherman.

As Sarah steered Benjamin back toward town, a shout emanated from the seaside. “Are you going to leave again without saying hello? It’s not a very polite thing to do.”

Sarah gazed around. There was no one else. He pointed at her.

Sarah took Benjamin’s hand and walked over. “I am the most polite girl you will ever meet.”

The fisherman smiled. She was his in that smile. It was blankets and ice cream and meadows, all in that smile.

“You weren’t so polite when you didn’t say hello last time. A month ago now, was it?” He set down his net of fish and raked a hand through sea-sprayed hair.

“You saw me?” Her heels faltered on the unsteady pebble beach, and the boy grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. His touch sent electricity down her bones.

“How could I miss you?” he asked.

Sarah sifted in herself for something clever to say in return. She’d never had a conversation like this before, never known what it would be like to stand in the spotlight of a boy’s affection.

“My name is Milos.” The fisherman stuck out his hand to Benjamin. His eyes were a stillness of sea green, like the spots in the sea beyond the darker blue, and Sarah could understand now what her father meant, how easy it could be to fall inside someone’s eyes.

“Benjamin.” Her brother shook Milos’s hand solemnly.

“And you are?”