Her heart constricted at the sight.
“Sam!” Her voice was lost as the offshore wind whipped in from the coast, drumming in her ears. Remi raced back to her car, knowing she had to get there before he left.
* * *
—
As she walked across the bluff, he stood stock-still, his back to her, the waves crashing below. When she reached his side, he simply held out his hand.
She clasped her fingers around his.
They stood there in companionable silence for a minute or so, until Sam finally turned to her. “I thought you had a party?”
“Changed my mind.” A few more seconds of quiet, then Remi saying, “I missed you at yours.”
“Trying to get an early start on a long trip.”
The wind swept across the bluff, the low shrubs and long, dry grass bending beneath it. “So, this was where we were going to build our house?”
“That was the plan.”
“Can we buy it back?”
His smile was bittersweet as his eyes met hers. “That would be difficult. Never got to the real estate office.”
“You didn’t sell?”
“How could I?” He looked back out over the water. “This is where we were going to build our home.”
“We don’t have to build anything. I’ve warmed to the idea of camping. Who needs hot and cold running water, carpeting, and electricity? The appeal of sleeping in a bag with zippers has grown on me.”
“I have a tent in the Jeep.”
Before she had a chance to comment, he took her in his arms.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
The present day
Sam, Remi, and St. Julien Perlmutter had long since finished dinner, retired to the library, and settled in front of the fire, each with a glass of port.
“Sorry,” Perlmutter said when they finished telling their story. “I seem to have gotten something in my eye.” He blinked a couple of times. “What an extraordinary tale. And then you married?”
“We did,” Remi said. “Though it was a bit of a compromise. My mother, firmly entrenched in Boston society, wanted at least a year a
nd a half to plan.”
“Whereas I,” Sam said, “wanted to get married the next day.”
Remi smiled at him. “We were married six months to the day after we met.”
“That’s astounding,” Perlmutter said, stroking the head of his dachshund, Fritz, who rested comfortably on his ample lap. “What about the Poseidon’s Trident treasure? Neither of you ever went back to look for it?”
“Not officially,” Sam said. “Although we did go back to visit our friends a few times over the years.”
“They haven’t given up the search,” Remi added. “Which is what has us worried.”