‘Wow,’ Sunshine said out loud.

      South had to have the best position of any restaurant in the whole world.

      Well, all right, she hadn’t been everywhere in the whole world, and she was sure there must be oodles of well-situated restaurants all over the planet—in fact she would look up ‘most scenic restaurants in the world’—but it was spectacular.

      The restaurant was perched on the edge of the cliff. But in some mind-blowing engineering feat the entrance to it was positioned actually over the cliff and doubled as a small viewing platform. The floor was transparent, so looking down you could see a landscape of trees curving steeply to the beach. Looking directly forward, you could see the deep blue of the ocean; looking to the side and backwards gave you a view into the restaurant. No tables and chairs in there yet, but the space was sharp and clean, with a seemingly endless use of glass to take advantage of the view.

      She breathed in the ultra-fresh air. It was windy, and her hair was flying everywhere, but she didn’t care. This venue was perfectly...perfect for a wedding celebration.

      Perfectly perfect. That had been Leo’s description of the private room at Q Brasserie. He’d been annoyed with himself over the way he’d described it, which had made her want to hug him, because it was just not something to be annoyed about.

      Not that he was the cuddly teddy-bear type you could pat and jolly out of the sullens. He was impatient and standoffish and most of the time just plain monosyllabic cranky. There was no reason at all to feel that he needed to be hugged more often.

      And yet...she wanted to put her arms around him right now.

      Wanted to be close to him, held by him. Comforting. Comforted.

      Dangerous, debilitating thought.

      It had to be the proximity of the ocean messing with her head. For which she should have prepared herself before her arrival. Instead here she was, not knowing when or how hard the jolt would hit her—only knowing that it would.

      So she would force it—get it done, dealt with, before she saw Leo. She didn’t want to slip up in front of him again.

      She took a breath in. Out. Looked out and down, focusing her thoughts... And even though she was expecting it to hit, the pain tore her heart. The memory of Moonbeam was so vivid she gasped.

      Moonbeam had believed she belonged to the ocean—and Sunshine had always felt invaded, overrun, by the truth of that when she was near the coast, even when she was far above the water, like now.

      One of her most poignant memories was of their last time at the beach. Darkness, rain, and Moonbeam exulting as she raced naked into the waves. ‘This is where I’m me!’ Moon had yelled, and Sunshine, laughing but alarmed as she tried to coax her out of the freezing, dangerous, roiling surf, had called her a crazy Poseidon-worshipping hippie.

      Three days later Moonbeam was dead.

      Sunshine touched her sun and moon charms. She longed so keenly for her sister just then she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The loneliness, the hunger to be so close to someone that you were like two sides of the same coin, was like a knife wound. But not a sharp wound; it was a festering wound that wouldn’t close, wouldn’t heal.

      ‘Sunshine?’

      She took a moment, forcing the depression to the back of her consciousness with a shake of her head as she’d trained herself to do in public. Defences securely in place, she turned, smiling, to face Leo, who was standing at the doors leading into the restaurant.

      ‘Hi, Leo,’ she said.

      Leo pushed the heavy doors further open, inviting her to enter. She started to lean up to kiss him as she crossed the threshold, but he jerked away before she could connect and she stumbled. He grabbed her elbow. Released it the nanosecond she regained her balance.

      Ah, okay! She got it. He didn’t want her to kiss him.

      In fact...thinking back over their few meetings...she would go so far as to say he didn’t want her to touch him in any way, ever.

      And she’d just been daydreaming about putting her arms around him. Way to give the man a heart attack!

      Was it just her, or did he have a problem touching all women? And if it was a problem with women generally, how did the man manage to have sex with a human?

      Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had a blow-up doll.

      Maybe it wasn’t just women.

      Maybe he had a problem touching men and women. Maybe he had a problem touching pets. And blow-up dolls.

      Maybe he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder, hand-washing thing going on.

      Hmm. She’d read something that might help in that case—about systematic desensitisation...or was it exposure therapy...?

      In Leo’s case it would mean touching him often, to get him to see that nothing diabolical would happen to him just because of a bit of skin contact.

      She could do that.

      It would be a public service, almost.

      A favour to a man who was going to be family—well, kind of family.

      What was more, it would be fun.

      ‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Leo. I took you by surprise, didn’t I?’ She bit her lip. ‘I should have learned by now not to launch myself at people when they aren’t ready! I once ended up in an embarrassing half-kiss, half-handshake, nose-bumping, chokehold situation. Has that ever happened to you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Well, just to make sure it never does I’ll give you an indicator before I kiss you in future—say...puckering up my lips like a trout, so you’ll know it’s coming.’ She stopped and thought about that. ‘Actually, I wonder why they call it a trout pout