Palm Beach International Airport was pandemonium and Isla was relieved to finally yank her suitcase from the carousel and get outside. Dark clouds had begun to form and she paused to look up at them. They were extraordinary and would have made an excellent black and white photo. Maybe Marlowe was right. Maybe she should take up photography again. Someday.
Isla pulled out her phone and checked the details for meeting Marlowe. As she was opening Eve's text, she heard her name being called — or rather, she heard Grace's name being called. Marlowe was walking toward her, grinning in all his dimpled glory. Wearing jeans and a casual jacket, he was a tall, handsome drink of water.
He scooped her in his arms. "I've been looking forward to this weekend," he whispered.
"So . . . you're not angry about last time?" She searched his eyes for a sign of animosity, but all she saw was tenderness.
"I thought we covered this." He brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I'm not angry. Promise."
They hadn't really covered it. Yes, he'd said no apology was necessary but that wasn't quite the same thing. Until now, she'd harboured doubts.
"Let's put that behind us, ok?" he said.
"Ok," she said, relieved to be moving on.
Adam was also there, although she hadn't noticed him before. He stood next to an enormous black Cadillac Escalade and held her hand while she climbed aboard. A laptop and stacks of paper covered the back seat. Marlowe reached over her, gathered up the papers and stuffed them into his bag.
"Sorry," he said. "I was doing some work while we waited."
She tried not to look at the pages, tempted though she was to read every one and learn as much as she could about this man and his life. One part jumped out at her though. A signature in handwriting she'd admired before. Colin Jackman.
Damn.
She turned her head and pretended to fuss with the seatbelt. Her hands were shaking. She hadn't wanted to know his full name, but now that she did, she'd have to force herself to forget it.
His name was Marlowe.
Period.
"Do you know where we're going?" she asked, hoping that conversation might be an effective distraction.
Marlowe shook his head. "Nope. But I'm sure it's somewhere amazing. After that ski chalet, who knows what Eve has cooked up."
There was a privacy screen between them and Adam, and she was grateful. It meant he wouldn't have seen her glimpse the papers, but it also meant that she had Marlowe to herself. She looked at his profile, expecting to admire his jawline yet again. Instead, she envisioned the name Colin Jackman hovering in the air above him as though he had been tagged in a Facebook photo. Colin was a man with a job he needed to do and a son he needed to raise. She thought back to that day in the bookstore and wondered if the young man he'd been having coffee with was his son.
He was still talking, although what about, she had no idea. She took his hand and smiled. On Monday, his world could reclaim him, but for the next two days, he was Marlowe. And he was all hers.