Sarah thrust her shoulders back, projecting a confidence she didn’t feel. “Sarah Batis.”

“Sarah.” Her name sounded delightful on his tongue. She was in so much trouble.

“We have to get home now.” She stepped away but then burrowed her heel back into the pebbles because her feet were shouting that they didn’t want to move.

“What was that before, though? Those boys?”

“Sarah told them to stop,” Benjamin said. “They were making fun of my red hair.”

“Your red hair?” Milos’s eyes didn’t stray from Sarah’s as he said, “But why ever would they make fun of that? Why, I happen to think red is the nicest shade of hair that exists.”

*  *  *

They bid goodbye to Milos and walked up from the port, with Benjamin blessedly oblivious to the import of the meeting. He chattered on about Robinson Crusoe, speculating on whether pirates lurked in their own Ionian Sea. Sarah made some mmmm noises and finally gazed back to see Milos standing where they’d left him, staring after her.

“I think I left my shawl. Let me just go back to see.”

“Okay.” Benjamin plopped on a bench, and his book sprang open.

Sarah walked the white gravelly path back to Milos. The sun was doing its spectacular sleepy dance, with two fiery stripes emanating from it on the diagonal, like wings.

“Hello,” said Milos.

She stopped in front of him. “Hello. I thought I might have forgotten my shawl.”

He looked around, indulging her excuse. “Don’t see it.”

“Yes. Well then, I’ll—”

“Meet me tomorrow. Won’t you, I mean?” He smiled, and his dimple flashed, the shadow of it covering briefly the mole on his left cheek. She was beginning to take inventory of his features and qualities, and that was not a good thing.

“Meet you? I don’t know a thing about you.”

“What do you want to know? I’m from Lefkada.” Sarah filed it away—the island seventy-some miles to their south. “I came here to try my luck for the season. See if your fish are any better.”

She laughed. “And?”

He shrugged. “Fish are fish are fish. But maybe I’ve just been waiting for my good-luck charm.” She blushed and looked off at Mouse Island. “I’ll tell you anything you would like to know if you meet me tomorrow.”

Sarah twined her fingers into her dress. “I have to work.”

“After work then.”

You’re not Jewish, she wanted to say. But her mouth wouldn’t expel it. Instead she said, “Where?”

“The Frourio, how about?” The Old Fortress was a Venetian landmark from Byzantine times but not far enough in Sarah’s opinion from the Evraiki and prying neighborly eyes. “Let’s meet at four o’clock on the bridge, and we can picnic on the channel.”

“How about the meadow uphill from the bridge?” She went there sometimes with Rachel, where it was less traveled.