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“I’m so sorry.” I touch his arm, and he takes my hand in his and squeezes it as we begin walking back.

“I knew it was bad,” he says, “but I suppose I hoped he’d make a good recovery eventually.”

“He might still. The body is an amazing thing.” I’m having trouble concentrating. Mitch’s fingers are warm around mine, and it feels oddly intimate to be touching a man like this. He looks down at our hands, and then he lifts them to his lips and kisses the top of my fingers before releasing them. I’m not even sure he’s aware he’s doing it.

“I’m surprised he’s so relaxed about selling,” he says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“I think he’s a realist,” I reply. “For the past year, he’s spent most of his time at the back of the shop, reading. He’s left most of the ordering of books and the running of the shop to me. I know he loves seeing the people who come into the shop, but I think he was over running the place a long time ago; it’s why he’s never updated it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“At least here he has regular meals, and there’s someone to keep an eye on him at all times.”

“It does seem like a nice place.”

“Yeah, Louise is lovely, one of those people with a really good heart. She’ll keep an eye on him.”

He sighs, looking toward the park. “I wish Dad had stayed on Evermore. Grandad would have loved it if he’d taken over the running of the shop. But that was never going to happen.” He looks down at the ground as he walks. “I feel as if I’ve let him down, too.”

“Your dad? Or your grandad?”

“Grandad.”

“Mitch, seriously? You’re a schoolteacher. He’s so immensely proud of you. All he ever does is talk about you to everyone. You should hear him. ‘My grandson this,’ and, ‘my grandson that.’”

He stops walking and looks at me, and my throat tightens at the sight of his obvious emotion.

“I know,” he says hoarsely, “but I should have visited more often…” He looks at me. “I should have been there for him… and for you.”

Uncaring who sees, I slide my arms around his waist and give him a big hug. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly. “You old softie,” I whisper, fighting against tears myself. “I know what you mean. I’m the same with Mum. If only I’d come home earlier… But we can only do what we can do. They know we love them, and we do our best.”

He rests his forehead on my shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

I swallow hard. “I’ve missed you, too.”

We stand there quietly. Cars pass us occasionally, but otherwise it’s peaceful. The music festival hasn’t started yet, and although the park is starting to fill with people, they’re a fair distance away.

“It’s so weird coming back here,” Mitch murmurs. “I thought I’d got it out of my system, but it’s like it’s in the blood, you know?”

“The island, you mean?”

He hesitates. Then he says, “Yeah.”

I stroke the back of his neck, feeling the prickle of the short hairs there on my fingers.

“Makes my stomach flip,” he says.

I presume he means revisiting the place of his youth. I don’t have the same issue because I’ve never left, but I can imagine how it might feel if you move away to the big city and then come back.

He lifts his head, but he doesn’t move back, so I lower my hands until they’re resting on his chest.

He frowns. Then he lifts a hand and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I shiver at his touch, and my heart bangs on my ribs.

“I wish things had been different,” he murmurs.

A breeze ruffles the top of his hair, bringing with it the smell of the ocean, or is it his cologne?