Page 19

“Hi, Kat,” he repeats, whispering now.

I hold my breath. He’s standing close. Very close.

Slowly, so very slowly, his hand reaches up to cup my cheek. His blue eyes are startlingly clear—like I can see straight through them into his mind—and I wonder, briefly, what he sees in my green ones. If he can see straight through me too.

Before I can wonder further, he kisses me. Softly, tentatively. A question not voiced, but asked nonetheless. It’s sweetness and light and sunshine and butterflies…everything I’ve always thought I didn’t want, but somehow, coming from him, it feels exactly right.

Because he is sweetness and light and sunshine and butterflies. And maybe I didn’t want it before, but I suddenly realize I sure as hell want it now. Maybe, just like losing to him at pool, this is good for me. Maybe he could be good for me.

If he were Paul or Abe, I’d drag him down the beach without a second thought. But he isn’t a wolf. He’s Matthew. So, of course, he politely pulls away from my lips after only a few seconds. Pulls away, takes my hand, and together we rejoin the party .

And honestly, it’s a little disappointing, but for once in my life, it also feels like enough. Because I know what hunger is. I know what it’s like to be positively ravenous. Insatiable even.

But today, after the smallest of bites, I’m full.

When the sun reaches its apex over Jekyll Island, I’ve returned to the shore with Matt.

We’re seated side by side in the white, pebbly sand.

The waves roll in just beyond our feet, the natural tideline ebbing and flowing with as much ease as the words streaming from our lips.

Never having left Savannah, I’m enraptured by Matthew’s tales of travel, particularly his time at Vanderbilt.

“Nashville sounds simply grand,” I breathe, captivated. “Whatever persuaded you to return to Savannah after medical school?”

He smiles. “My family is here, Kat. My community. Where else would I want to practice medicine?”

I blink twice, disarmed by a shadowy undercurrent of Paul in Matthew’s explanation.

“Where at the hospital do you work?” I ask, barreling forward. “Are there specialties?”

“A few, principally medical and surgical. I work on the medical side, but since the war ended, there’s been research and publications on emergency medical techniques, the kind they used on the battlefield.

A friend of mine from Vanderbilt deployed to the Western Front, and we exchanged letters.

His firsthand accounts were…well, at times, they were difficult to read, but so very important all the same. ”

“Oh.” The corners of my mouth turn down, mimicking his own. “This friend…was he drafted? ”

“No.” In profile, I notice the barest tightening of Matthew’s jaw. His fingers clench into the sand. “He enlisted. They came recruiting at Vanderbilt, offered an accelerated education if we enlisted and deployed as battlefield physicians. William took the deal.”

“I see. Quite brave of him.” I look away, straight over the horizon line. I want to ask, so many men on the frontlines were lost. But I don’t dare. I hold my breath, waiting.

“Yes, quite. All the men who deployed, whether drafted or enlisted, were brave. That’s partly why I let Ethan get away with so much.

” The corner of Matthew’s lip curls in a wry smile.

“He deserves a good laugh. There was precious little to laugh about for so many years…certainly not while he was in France.”

I put a hand on his arm.

“But the past is meant to be learned from,” Matthew continues, nodding.

“I’ve referenced William’s letters often.

His lens as a physician was intrepid, and the techniques they developed during the war are applicable to the home front as well.

I’m in talks with the hospital now, developing our own modified field medicine program to respond to trauma throughout Savannah. ”

“That sounds like rather important work. I’d like to see this bravehearted battlefield Matthew in action. Perhaps I’ll stop by during one of your night shifts for a tour,” I tease.

“Absolutely not. The hospital after midnight is no place you want to be, Kat. The streets aren’t safe at that time either. I would know. It’s how I make my living. These gangs in the bayou…things are only getting worse.”

And because I can’t think of a safe response, I bend forward and slip off my shoes, one after the other. Then I jump ahead and kick my toes in the water, spraying droplets, shooting off a hundred ripples.

I turn to face Matt and smile. “Look out! ”

I slowly draw my leg back, giving him plenty of time to evade, but he only sits there, grinning. Daring me. Unsaid words oscillate between us, swelling bigger and stronger than the ripples in the water.

Will you or won’t you?

Will you—

I kick, spraying him with water. On reflex, he lifts a hand, but it’s ineffective against the onslaught.

Much to my surprise, he laughs and bends over to roll up his trousers, his shoes coming off. He charges into the shallows after me and starts kicking back, showing no mercy.

“Matt, I’m wearing white ,” I squeal after a particularly big spray.

“You should have thought of that before you started a fight you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I can finish it.”

“Can you, pipsqueak?”

And because he asked for it, I deliver.

Target: Matthew DaMolin.

In one quick move, I dart forward and grab his arm. I spin around and duck, yanking him forward over my shoulder. He flips and lands on his butt in the water. I straighten and brush off my hands. “I think that finishes it rather effectively.”

With a shocked laugh, he hauls himself out of the water. His pants are soaked.

“Guess I shouldn’t have worried about you holding your own in the hospital after midnight. You’re the thug who lands my patients in there in the first place.”

He’s teasing, but he’s so close to the truth I bite my lip. I’ve given away far too much. Again.

“You’re lucky you wore white today,” he adds, eyeing me for payback.

“Such a gentleman.” I follow behind as he heads for the beach .

“Perhaps,” he says. “Or perhaps I just don’t want anyone else seeing what I’ve decided is mine.” The grin he tosses over his shoulder is downright sinful.

“Hmm, possessive already?” My heart jumps into my throat.

“Yes. Yes, I think I am. In fact, I’m so possessive, I’m going to go to my mother and ask her for a date with you straightaway. Which is the pinnacle of embarrassment because it’s my mom.”

“Chaperoned Academy dates are no fun. I’ll meet you wherever you want, whenever you want.”

“So it’s a yes then? To a date?”

Paul’s face flashes through my mind.

He told me he’s okay with this. He told me to do this.

“Yes,” I answer, my heart thudding wildly.

“I’ll talk to my mother tomorrow. We’ll do it the right way. At first.”

“Oho! Well, aren’t you confident now? You’re already convinced you’re getting a second date?”

“Yes, I am. And a third and fourth too…uh-oh, I think the Ethan in me is showing.”

I tilt my head back to laugh, deep and full. It’s an honest laugh, which surprises me as much as him.

“I ought to walk you back,” he murmurs, perhaps a bit regretfully. “The sun is setting, and they’ve brought the motorcars around.” He nods up the beach to where my classmates are gathered.

I extend my arm to him, and Matthew walks me to where my fellow fourth-years congregate.

Surprisingly, I notice Daniel hovering nearby with Florence, whose cheeks are flushed and lifted by a grin.

Mellie’s eyes bug out of her head when I arrive with Matthew.

And because it’s Mellie—she literally can’t help herself—she attaches to my side, practically hyperventilating in my ear .

Matthew gives her a brief questioning glance, but I’m not interested in an introduction. Not today. I forcibly separate from her, dragging Matthew a few steps away.

“I’ll see you soon for that date, Kat,” he whispers.

And then, in front of all the girls still standing on the grass and all the ones inside the motorcars with their noses pressed to glass, Matthew DaMolin—in soaking wet pants—leans in and presses his lips to mine.

It’s about as big a statement as he could possibly make, and the whispers begin immediately.