LITMIR.BIZ

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insubstantial as her dreams of a life with Ben.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

      She didn’t know whether he was apologising for Jason or because he couldn’t give her the reassurances she wanted.

      ‘I...I won’t make all the compromises again, Ben,’ she said brokenly. ‘No matter how much I love you.’

      She slapped her hand to her mouth.

      The ‘L’ word.

      She hadn’t meant to say it. It had just slipped out.

      Say it, Ben. Tell me you love me. Let me at least take that away with me.

      But he didn’t.

      Maybe he couldn’t.

      And that told her everything.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, his voice as husky as she’d ever heard it. ‘I can’t be what you want me to be.’

      If he told her she could do better than him she’d scream so loud they’d hear it all the way to New Zealand.

      Instead he pulled her to him, held her tight against his powerful chest. It was the place she most wanted to be in the world. But she’d learned that compromise which was all one way wouldn’t make either of them happy.

      ‘I’m sorry too,’ she murmured, fighting tears. ‘But I’m not sorry I took that turn-off to Dolphin Bay. Not sorry we had our four-day fling.’

      He pulled her to her feet. ‘It’s not over. We still have this evening. Tonight.’

      She shook her head. ‘It’s perfect the way it is. I don’t want to ruin the memories. I...I couldn’t deal with counting down the hours to the last time we’ll see each other.’

      With fingers that trembled she traced down his cheek to the line of his jaw, trying to memorise every detail of his face. She realised she didn’t have any photos to remember him by. Recalled there’d been a photographer at the dinner dance. She would check the website and download one. But not until she could look at his image and smile rather than weep.

      ‘Sandy—’ he started.

      But she silenced him with a kiss—short, sweet, final.

      ‘If you say you’re sorry one more time I’ll burst into tears and make a spectacle of myself. I’m going back to my room now. I’ve got phone calls to make. E-mails to send. Packing to do.’

      A nerve flickered near the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll call by later to...to say goodbye.’

      ‘Sure,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice under control. ‘But I’m saying my goodbye now. No regrets. No what-ifs. Just gratitude for what we had together.’

      She kissed him again. And wondered why he didn’t hear the sound of her heart breaking.

      * * *

      Ben couldn’t bear to watch Sandy walk away. He turned and made his way to the boathouse. Every step was an effort, as if he were fighting his way through a rip.

      His house seemed empty and desolate—the home of a solitary widower. There was a glass next to the sink with Sandy’s lipstick on the rim, but no other trace of her. He stripped off his smoke-stained clothes, pulled on his board shorts and headed for Big Ray Beach.

      He battled the surf as if it were a foe, not the friend it had always been to him. He let the waves pound him, pummel him, punish him for not being able to break away from his self-imposed exile. The waves reared up over him, as if harnessing his anger at the cruel twist of fate that had brought Sandy back into his life but hadn’t given him the strength to take the second chance she had offered him.

      Finally, exhausted, he made his way back to the boathouse.

      For one wild moment he let himself imagine what it would be like to come back to the house to find Sandy there. Her bright smile, her welcoming arms, her loving presence.

      But the house was bare and sterile, his footsteps loud and lonely on the floorboards. That empty glass on the draining board seemed to mock him. He picked up the photo of him and Sandy on the beach that long-ago summer. All their dreams and hopes had stretched out ahead of them—untainted by betrayal and pain and loss.

      He put down the photo with its faded image of first love. He’d lost her then. And he’d been so damned frightened of losing her at some undefined time in the future he’d lost her now.

      He slammed his fist down so hard on the dresser that the framed photo flew off the top. He rescued it from shattering on the floor only just in time.

      What a damn fool he was.

      He’d allowed the fears of the past to choke all hope for the future.

      Sandy had offered him a second chance. And he’d blown it.

      Sandy. Warm, vibrant, generous Sandy. With her don’t-let-anything-get-you-down attitude.

      That special magic she’d brought into his life had nothing to do with the glitter she trailed around with her. Sandy’s magic was hope, it was joy, but most of all it was love.

      Love he’d thought he didn’t deserve. With bitterness and self-loathing he’d punished himself too harshly. And by not forgiving himself he’d punished Sandy, too.

      The final rusted-over part of him shifted like the seismic movement of tectonic plates deep below the floor of the ocean. It hurt. But not as much as it would hurt to lose Sandy for good.

      He had to claim that love—tell her how much she meant to him. Show her he’d found the courage and the purpose to move forward instead of tripping himself up by looking back.

      He showered and changed and headed for the hotel.

      Practising in his head what he’d say to her, he rode the elevator to Sandy’s room. Knocked on the door. Once. Twice. But no reply.

      ‘Sandy?’ he called.

      He fished out the master key from his wallet and opened the door.

      She was gone.

      The suitcase with all her stuff spilling out of it was missing. Her bedlinen had been pulled down to the end of the bed. There was just a trace of her vanilla scent lingering in the air. And on the desk a trail of that darn glitter, glinting in the coppery light of the setting sun.

      In the midst of the glitter was a page torn out from the fairy notebook she always carried in her bag. It was folded in two and had his name scrawled on the outside.

      His gut tightened to an agonising knot. With unsteady hands he unfolded the note.

      Ben—thank you for the best four days of my life. I’m so glad I took a chance with you. No regrets. No ‘what ifs’. Sandy xx.’

      He fumbled for his mobile. To beg her to come back. But her number went straight to voicemail. Of course it did. She wouldn’t want to talk to him.

      He stood rooted to the ground as the implications of it all hit him.

      He’d lost her.

      Then he gave himself a mental shaking.

      He could find her again.

      It would take at least ten hours for her to drive to Melbourne. More if she took the coastal road. It wasn’t worth pursuing her by car.

      In the morning he’d drive to Sydney, then catch a plane to Melbourne.

      He’d seek her out.

      And hope like hell that she’d listen to what he had to say.

      * * *

      Sandy had abandoned her plan to mosey down the coastal road to Melbourne. Instead she cut across the Clyde Mountain and drove to Canberra, where she could connect to the more straightforward route of the Hume Highway.

      She

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