Split, Croatia
This was, quite possibly, the stupidest thing she'd ever done.
Or the best.
She was in Croatia. Standing on Croatian soil. Breathing Croatian air. It felt like a dream—though the twenty-one straight hours of travel she and Jackson had just endured were probably partially to blame for that. After two restless flights and a long layover, the two of them finally stood outside the airport in Split, a small city on the Croatian coast.
She was still in shock that Jackson had agreed to let her come. When she'd threatened to keep the atlas, she'd half expected him to leap across the car and wrestle it out of her hands anyway. He could have easily overpowered her. Instead, he'd just stared at her—long enough to make her squirm in her seat and make her entire body go hot—before giving a single nod of agreement. She still had no idea what was going on, but she wasn't about to question it. This was her chance to have the adventure she'd always dreamed of, wasn't it?
If she was being honest, though, for every ounce of excitement she felt, there was an equal measure of fear. For a moment back in Jackson's car, she'd felt wild and reckless and brave. She'd wanted to see the world. To do something crazy and unexpected. But she'd also been terrified. In a night, her safe, boring world had imploded. She was still trying to process everything she'd just learned. And the thought of sitting and waiting at a friend's house, not knowing what was going on, was far worse than the alternative.
Or so she thought at the time. Now? Her heart was pounding in a way that she couldn't contribute entirely to excitement.
She clutched her purse a little closer. The bag was just large enough to fit the atlas, and she was afraid to let it out of her grip. Jackson hadn't asked for it yet, though she'd thought he might.
She glanced over at him. He'd called someone when they landed, and now he was scanning the handful of cars and buses that drove by. He was looking away from her, so she took the moment to study him in the dawn light. She was still having trouble getting over the subtle changes in him. His bigger muscles were one thing, of course, but he also carried himself differently now. He'd always had a certain worldliness about him—she'd known, the very first time she'd looked into his eyes, that he'd seen things and done things she'd never understand—but there was a depth to it that hadn't been there before. There was a wariness, an alertness—like he was always ready for trouble. He'd changed so much in these last nine months. It was almost like looking at a stranger.
He was a stranger when you were together, she told herself. She'd tried not to think too hard about his mysterious absences when they were a couple, but never in her wildest dreams would she have guessed the sort of life he was actually leading. She still wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a joke.
As if he could sense her thinking about him, he suddenly looked back at her. She turned away, embarrassed at being caught staring. She didn't want him to think she was checking him out. There were a lot of complicated feelings going on in her chest right now, but that didn't change what had happened between them. She couldn't forgive him for the way he'd left things.
"My teammate Leo is coming to get us," he said. "He'll be taking us down to the boat."
"Boat?" Her eyes flicked back to him.
He nodded. "The guys have one ready to go. I told you that we knew Rinaldi met his fiancée in the Croatian isles. We're just waiting for the atlas to tell us exactly where."
It wasn't a direct request for the atlas, but she shifted uncomfortably just the same. Somehow he'd moved without her realizing it, and now he towered over her. He reached out, and for a split second she thought he was going for the atlas—he was so much bigger and stronger that it would be easy for him to take it away from her—but instead his hand moved toward her shoulder. His fingers paused an inch away from her skin.
"Your strap fell," he said.
Oh. On their layover at Gatwick Airport, she'd taken the opportunity to purchase something other than her ratty sweats to wear, but the options had been limited. She'd finally settled on a tank dress with "LONDON" printed across the chest, but it was at least a size too big.
She reached for the strap, but Jackson had finally decided to move. Her fingers brushed his, and she yanked her hand away while he fixed the strap himself. And then he lingered, letting his rough, calloused thumb rest against the bare skin of her shoulder.
When she tilted her face up, she saw a look she knew all too well. A look that even now made her stomach flip-flop. Jackson had never been afraid to make it clear when he wanted something. And the want in his eyes right now was as intense and as raw as it had been the very first time he'd grabbed her and crushed her against him in need. It was the same look he'd shown her on that very last night, when he'd made love to her as if the world were ending before disappearing into the dawn without a word.
No.
She jerked away from him, stumbling backwards away from that touch. From that look.
"Charlie," he said, and there was something in his voice—a rawness, an edge—that made her shiver.
She backed away another step. "I can't."
"You can't what?" There was a touch of humor in his voice now, though his eyes were still dark with hunger. Suddenly, he frowned. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"
"No," she admitted. "But that doesn't matter." Honestly, she'd only been on a handful of dates since Jackson had left her—and none of them had been good. But he wasn't allowed to walk back into her life after all these months and act like he still wanted her. He had left her.
She could feel him staring at her, though she'd dropped her eyes to her sandals—another airport purchase—and shifted further away. In her mind, she could still see those handwritten words he'd left her: I hope you find that man who can love and support you the way you deserve to be loved and supported. I'm sorry I ever let you believe that man might be me.
He'd walked away. Broken her heart. And given her the biggest bullshit explanation in the history of bullshit explanations. She refused to put herself through that again.
"Charlie," he said, softer this time. He closed the distance between them once more, and her heart nearly stopped.
Be strong, she told herself, though she was finding it hard to move or speak.
But a car suddenly stopped at the curb in front of them, and a man climbed out. Jackson went on the alert immediately, spinning around and placing himself between her and the new arrival.
But almost as quickly as he'd tensed up, his shoulders relaxed.
"Leo," he said with a laugh. "Fuck, man. You scared the shit out of me."
"Well, good morning to you, too." The other man came up and clapped Jackson on the back, grinning. Even considering the very complicated things Charlotte was feeling toward Jackson right now, it was hard not to notice how attractive this stranger was—and it didn't help that he was wearing nothing but a pair of tattered khaki shorts. He'd clearly spent a lot of time in the sun, and his deep tan only emphasized the hard planes of his wide chest. His dark, wavy hair flopped across his eyes.
And then those eyes moved to her.
"So this is her, is it?" he said, still grinning as he looked her up and down. "The little troublemaker?"
Charlotte felt herself blush as Jackson knocked the other man on the side of the head.
"Charlie, this is Leo. He's an idiot." He released his friend. "Leo, this is Charlie—Charlotte."
Suddenly, the new arrival—Leo—had her hand, and as he bowed over her fingers, he also seemed to have acquired a thick Italian accent.
"A pleasure, bella," he said before his lips touched her skin. Her heart fluttered a little as his mouth brushed her knuckles, but she suspected her body might also be reacting to the way Jackson had suddenly stepped closer, right up against her side.
He's jealous, she realized. Or, if not quite that, then at least a little possessive of her. And her suspicions were only confirmed when Jackson grabbed Leo by the back of the neck and yanked him upright again.
"He thinks the accent helps him get chicks," Jackson said to her. "But he's from Chicago."
"But my parents were born in Venezia," Leo said, his dark eyes still gleaming. "And my entire extended family still lives there, so I can claim it if I want to."
Jackson rolled his eyes. "We don't have time for this. We should get to the boat."
"Of course," said Leo with a wink at Charlotte. "May I help you with your things, my dear?"
She didn't have much—just her purse with the atlas and her airport shopping bag with her old clothes stuffed inside—so she shook her head. "I'm fine, but thanks."
"Come on," Jackson said, slipping a hand against her lower back and leading her to the car. She ignored the tremor his touch sent up her spine.
Moments later, they were on their way from the airport into the city itself. Leo was driving, while Jackson had settled into the backseat with her.
"Everything's ready to go when we arrive," Leo said. "Xavier and Alexei were just returning with some supplies when I left."
"Good," said Jackson.
"Any more encounters with Nash's guys?"
"Not since we left Atlanta. Any word on Tav?"
"No."
An uneasy silence fell between the men. Charlotte understood very little of what they were discussing, but that only made her more curious.
"How many of you are there?" she heard herself ask. "On your team, I mean."
"Nine," said Jackson, at the same time Leo said, "Ten." There was another uncomfortable silence, until Leo told her, "There are only six of us coming today. Roth has the rest taking care of some other things." He grinned at her in the rear-view mirror. "Don't worry, there's plenty of room for you."
Jackson shifted beside her. "Just as long as everyone behaves themselves."
"I always behave myself," Leo countered, his smile widening.
Jackson shot a warning look at his teammate, though she doubted Leo saw it. She decided to shift the topic slightly.
"How long have you guys been doing this?" she asked. "The treasure hunting?" It still felt silly to call it that out loud, but Leo didn't even blink.
"Roth's been doing it the longest," he said. "Fifteen years, maybe more. He didn't put together this team until about five years ago, though. Handpicked everyone himself so we'd get a balanced set of skills between us. I've been here since the beginning. Jacky back there is our newest member. He hasn't even been with us a year yet. Became a full member back in September."
Jackson shifted in his seat. "That's enough, Leo. You don't need to bore her with our entire history."
But Charlotte was the opposite of bored. Instead, her mind was working rapidly as the pieces fell into place.
"September..." she murmured, half to herself. The month Jackson had left her. But that didn't make sense. He'd been disappearing on mysterious trips the whole time they were together.
"He had a pretty rigorous probationary period before that," Leo continued as if he'd read her mind. "Half the team wasn't convinced we needed another member. Complained it would just make each of our shares smaller, adding in another person. But our Jacky's one of the best."
"That's enough," said Jackson, clearly ready to end the conversation. But there was a knot in Charlotte's stomach and a lump in her throat that threatened to choke her. Parts of his last letter to her were suddenly making a whole lot more sense. His words rang loud and clear through her mind: I knew the moment I met you that this would be a mistake, that I'd only end up hurting you, but I couldn't help myself.
"You knew," she whispered. "You were already involved in all of this, and you'd decided from the beginning that you'd leave me when they made you a full member of the team."
Jackson slid closer to her and touched her gently on the cheek. "It wasn't like that, Goose. I was only trying to protect you."
"Bullshit!" She slapped his hand away. "And I told you to stop calling me that."
He let out a long breath, but he didn't move away from her. His nearness was suffocating, but she had nowhere to go in this car.
"I thought it would be easier for you," he said after a moment. "It was one thing when I was just training with them—I mean, I felt bad enough then about leaving you so often. But once they let me on as a full-fledged member of the team, I knew things would change. I'd be gone all the time. Doing all sorts of dangerous shit. I didn't want to put you through that. It wouldn't have been fair to you."
She let out a bitter laugh. "If you were concerned about my feelings, you should have asked me." Both her eyes and throat burned now, but she refused to acknowledge either. "If you were concerned about my feelings, you wouldn't have sneaked out in the middle of the night and left me some bullshit note."
He reached for her again. "Charlie—"
She blocked his touch once more. "This isn't... I mean, I'm not..." Emotions washed through her, one after the other: pain, heartache, regret. And then, eventually, a twisted sense of relief. She'd finally gotten a proper explanation for why he'd left. And in the wake of everything else, that understanding left her feeling strangely cold and calm.
"You needed your freedom," she said, and she didn't feel like she was about to cry anymore. He started to speak, but she cut him off. "I understand. Honestly. You wanted to see the world. To do exciting, dangerous things. And truly, this life suits you—at least from what I've seen so far. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, and I was holding you back. Don't argue—you needed the freedom to do this for yourself. I can see that."
He was quiet for a long time after that, but he was still sitting so close that she could smell the sweat on his skin, could see the sunlight bouncing off the thin layer of sandy-brown stubble on his chin. She was afraid to look him in the eyes. A stillness had settled over her, and as long as she maintained her composure, as long as she had that control, she thought she'd be all right. She couldn't blame Jackson for the decision he'd made. He'd just spent the last nine months traveling around the world, living a life of adventure. She'd spent that time working the same dull nine-to-five job she'd had for nearly eight years. Forever afraid to take that leap.
She felt the barest touch of fingers against her hair. "Sometimes people just move in different directions, Charlie."
And sometimes one person moves and the other is too afraid to do anything but stay where she is. After all, the only reason she was here at all right now was because Jackson had shown up at her door. If it weren't for him, she'd probably have spent the last twenty-four hours digging through paperwork and begging her boss not to fire her.
Up in the front seat, Leo coughed, and Charlotte shrank away from Jackson. For a moment, she'd forgotten they weren't alone. Jackson, however, seemed unconcerned by the fact that they had a witness.
"Charlie, I—"
"How far to the boat?" she asked Leo, unwilling to have this conversation right now.
"Uh, about fifteen minutes, I'd guess," said Leo, looking a little amused at the drama playing out in the backseat.
"We'll continue this talk later," Jackson said, low enough that only she could hear. She could tell by his tone that he had no intention of letting her escape this conversation a second time.
Her cheeks burned as she turned to look out the window. Jackson shifted slightly away from her, but the backseat still felt too small, too close—or maybe it was just that, near or far, he affected her completely. He always had, whether she liked it or not.
Charlotte forced herself to focus on the strange new world outside the car, and though she couldn't completely forget the presence of Jackson beside her, she soon found herself enthralled by the city around her. Split was nothing like she'd imagined. Below them, a thousand red-orange roofs gleamed in the rising sun, and beyond that, the Adriatic Sea shone a bright turquoise blue. She'd never seen anything like it. It was half modern city—complete with grimy advertisements on every corner and stray cats scampering down the side streets—and half historical wonder. She kept catching glimpses of a white tower poking out among the roofs down near the water.
"That's Diocletian's Palace down there," came Jackson's voice at her ear. "Built by the Roman emperor of the same name. They let you climb the bell tower. If you have a chance, you should. The view is amazing."
He spoke to her as if she were on a vacation instead of possibly running for her life. But another thing struck her about his comment—he'd been here before. He'd probably been to a lot of places since he'd left her, while she'd never left Atlanta once in that time.
She spent the rest of the ride alternating between wonder and regret. But soon enough, they reached the marina, and she felt her excitement taking the lead as Leo and Jackson led her down one of the many docks. There must have been hundreds of boats here.
"This is us," Leo said, stopping in front of a sailing yacht. "Thirty-seven feet of pure beauty, isn't she?"
Charlotte knew nothing of sailing, but even she had to admit that it was a beautiful boat. It was a bright, brilliant white, and it gleamed beneath the Mediterranean sun. There were two men on the boat's deck messing with some ropes on the far end of the vessel, and they looked over and called out a greeting to Jackson, who waved back.
"Come on," Jackson said to her. "The sooner we leave, the better." He led her toward the edge of the dock, to the end of the warped board they were apparently using as a gangplank. The thing was only about ten inches wide, but she had at least seven feet of water to cross between the dock and the boat. When she placed a foot on the board, it wobbled from side to side.
Jackson's hand pressed gently against the small of her back.
"Don't think about it," he said softly in her ear. "Just run across."
"Run?"
"If you try to do it slowly, it'll shake," he said. "Go quickly, and you'll be fine."
"If you say so."
He laughed. "If you fall, I'll fish you out of the water myself."
Something about the tone of his voice said he'd enjoy that a little too much. Thanks for the vote of confidence, she thought. But she was the one who'd insisted on coming on this adventure. She didn't come this far to balk at boarding a boat, of all things. Courage bolstered, she launched herself forward. The board wobbled beneath her, but within two quick steps, she found herself safely on the deck.
Jackson and Leo crossed behind her. And as she looked around, unsure of where to go, two more men emerged from the cabin below the deck.
"My man!" said the first, bounding right past her and giving Jackson a playful punch in the side. While Leo had appeared to be roughly the same age as Jackson—early thirties or so—this new arrival looked a little younger. He was also the stockiest of the three, and like Leo, he wore only a pair of shorts, showing off the muscles he'd clearly worked quite hard for—and an entire body full of tattoos. He had a pair of designer sunglasses pushed up against his jet black hair and a beer in his hand.
"A little early to be drinking, isn't it, Toshi?" said Jackson, grinning.
The younger man returned his smile. "You have to try this stuff Leo found. This is much better than the cheap shit we have back in the States."
The second man was older and a little more reserved—and he seemed less than amused by the others' conversation. He was tall with ash-colored hair that had started to go gray at the temples, and there was something in his eyes—a worldliness, perhaps—that automatically gave him an air of authority.
"Do we have it?" the older man said, and he didn't need to specify what he meant. His steel-colored eyes locked right on her, and she fought the urge to wither beneath that sharp, direct gaze.
The other two had fallen silent. She felt Jackson step up beside her, felt a reassuring touch of his hand against her back.
"She's got it," Jackson told the older man. "This is Charlotte Carver." He gave her side a soft squeeze. "Charlie, this is Roth."
"Lucas Roth," the older man said, proffering his hand.
Warily, she accepted his greeting, clasping his fingers. His grip was firm, his eyes assessing as they roamed over her and finally came to settle on the purse she clutched closely to her side.
"It's in there," he said. It wasn't a question, but she felt the need to say something in response.
"Yes."
Jackson still had his arm around her, a silent gesture of support for which she was extremely grateful. She knew she should move away, but as she glanced around at the boat full of men—all of whom appeared to be much larger and stronger than her—she was fully aware of how out of her element she was.
Or how lucky I am, she thought, giving this team of Jackson's another look. Maybe she was just delusional from exhaustion, but most of these men were incredibly attractive. Even Roth, for all of his sternness, had something about him that made her curious about the man beneath the frown.
Though it was easy to forget that with the way he was looking at her.
"It's probably safer if I hold onto the atlas," he said, extending his hand.
Her stomach tightened. She'd known she'd have to give up the atlas eventually. There was no point in delaying it. Still, she felt a twinge of sadness as she handed it over, as if she were losing a little bit of herself. Which is dumb, because it wasn't even yours in the first place. It was Vincent Rinaldi's.
Roth's weathered fingers skimmed over the gold embossing on the atlas's cover, but his eyes were still on her.
"Thank you for bringing this to us," he said, without even the barest hint of a smile—or any gratitude—in his face. "I hope your travels have been pleasant so far." His eyes shifted to Jackson, then back to her. "As I know you've had the chance to learn, this is shaping up to be a rather dangerous expedition. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable staying here in Split for the time being. I can make arrangements for you in a nice apartment building right by one of the beaches."
But Jackson's arm tightened around her. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Of course it's a good idea," Roth countered, as if lecturing a child. "This isn't a game. It's not safe for her here." His gaze was back on her again. "We'll make sure you get a share of the haul. You have my word on it."
But Jackson was shaking his head, and she could feel the tension in the muscles of his arm around her.
"She stays with us," Jackson said.
"We need to be able to move freely," the other man said. "That means we can't have anyone slowing us down. You've already seen how dangerous this is going to get."
"All the more reason why we shouldn't just leave her somewhere by herself," Jackson said. And then, "You already agreed to this over the phone."
"Because you said that in all likelihood she'd run home long before she ever set foot on this boat."
That was like a kick right to the gut. But before Charlotte could ask either of them to elaborate, Jackson released her and stepped toward the other man.
"She's involved in this now, whether we like it or not. Blame me if you like, but if Nash is onto us, you know what that means. She's safer with us."
Roth's mouth went rigid. She'd heard the way Jackson and Leo had talked about this man—he was the leader of this little team, and it was clear they respected him deeply. She hadn't realized she'd be in the middle of something.
But the decision, such as it was, appeared to have been made.
"We're leaving in ten minutes," Roth said, looking around at his team. And with that, he turned and climbed back down below, the atlas still clutched in his hand.
Charlotte still felt a little like the wind had been swept out of her sails, even when Roth had completely disappeared below and Jackson turned back to her. She'd known she was stepping into Jackson's territory, but she hadn't really expected it to be so...well, awkward.
But if the others were feeling that awkwardness, they hid it well.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" said the one with the tattoos, twisting around Jackson to place himself right in front of her.
Jackson was already back to his normal self, and he rolled his eyes at his friend before looping his arm around her waist again, as if to protect her from the other man's enthusiasm.
"This is Toshi," he told her. "He's an even bigger player than Leo."
"Hey, hey, hey. Don't be knocking me right out of the gate, man," said Toshi. To her he added, "Jacky here has it out for me. But don't worry—I don't go after my brothers' girls."
Charlotte started to point out that she was most definitely not Jackson's "girl," but before she could get out the words, Jackson had already started introducing her to the other two men on the boat. The big one on the left with the short, chestnut hair was Alexei, and he greeted her with the hint of a Russian accent. The other one was lither and had wavy, sun-bleached hair, and Jackson introduced him as Xavier.
She didn't have time to speak with any of the guys, though. They'd all jumped to action preparing the boat for departure.
"We should take your things downstairs," Jackson told her.
She nodded, eager to do something besides stand around like an idiot. She followed Jackson through the opening and down the ladder-like steps to the area below.
She'd never been on a boat before, so she was pleasantly surprised to see how many conveniences were down beneath the deck—even if quarters were a little cramped. Roth was nowhere to be seen—he must have shut himself behind one of the narrow doors on either side of the stairs—but there was a small kitchenette tucked away to the left, and next to it, a short table jutted from the wall beneath a panel of electronics.
Jackson led her to a door at the far end of the tiny main room.
"This is where we'll be sleeping," he said.
The space beyond could hardly be called a room. It was essentially just a bed with a scant ten inches of "floor" between the mattress and the door.
"This looks...cozy," she said. But then she realized what he'd said. "We're sharing this?" The bed hardly looked big enough for one person, and the thought of sharing it with Jackson made her go hot from head to heel.
"It's the only option," he said with a shrug. "Unless you feel like shacking with one of the others."
"No, I just..." God, her skin felt too warm.
"Charlie," he said, and she suddenly realized how close they were, standing in this narrow doorway. His hand came up, his fingers brushing tentatively against her cheek as his eyes seemed to search hers. She knew she should move away from him, but she was frozen in place.
"We have some things to talk about," he told her. But the way he was looking at her, she wasn't sure he actually wanted to do any talking.
She wasn't ready for this conversation—not now, not ever. But before she had the chance to tell him so, one of the other doors slammed open, and Roth stood there. His steely eyes bored right into them, but if he had any thoughts on how close Jackson was standing to her, the man kept them to himself.
"I need you up on deck," he said to Jackson, just as Leo stuck his head down below.
"We're ready," Leo said.
Jackson nodded. "Right away." He turned to her as Roth climbed the stairs. "You might want to come up. You'll get sick if you stay down here, at least until you're used to the movement of the boat. You can sit at the front of the boat while we sail out. But keep your head low if you don't want to get knocked overboard."
She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he meant by that, but she was relieved when she realized she'd avoided an uncomfortable conversation for the second time in less than an hour. And she was more than happy to go up on deck.
By the time she and Jackson emerged, the guy Jackson had called Toshi had just pulled up the gangplank. The lithe, blond one—Xavier?—was winding up some rope, while the big Russian—Alexei, if she remembered correctly—stood by Roth at one of the vessel's two wheels. Roth glanced her way but didn't say anything.
A moment later, she found herself sitting at the very front of the craft while the engine pushed them slowly but steadily out to sea. Behind them, the city of Split grew smaller and smaller. From here, she could also see the mountains behind the city—she hadn't even noticed those when they were in the car. In spite of her uncertainty, her chest swelled with amazement. She hadn't even been here for half a day, and it felt like every moment she discovered something new.
In the other direction, the Adriatic Sea opened in front of them, wide and blue and glittering in the morning sun. The wind swept her hair across her face, and she pushed the loose waves behind her ears as she leaned forward. They weren't even on the open water yet, and she already felt like she was in some strange, wondrous new world. Everything was sun and wind and sparkling water.
She heard one of the men call out something, but his words were swept away from her. When she glanced back, Jackson was gesturing for her to keep her head down, and she leaned back against the hard, white surface of the boat. Toshi was turning a crank, and before she realized what was happening, their sails were up, one behind the other, and the boat pitched as they caught the wind. She grappled desperately for the rope dangling nearby, terrified for one horrible moment that she was about to pitch headfirst into the sea, but as soon as she steadied herself, she couldn't do anything but laugh.
Now she understood why so many adventures started with ships.
Her last day and a half had been exciting—there was no doubt about that. But this was different. This was...magnificent. She'd never experienced anything like it in her entire life. She felt like she was soaring over the sea, like the whole world was just waiting for her to explore it.
Her hair was whipping around her more violently now, and she caught it and twisted it into a knot as she threw another glance back at the others. The big Russian guy was still at the wheel, and Toshi and Roth were winding up long lengths of rope. Leo and Jackson stood together, talking and looking out across the water, and it startled her how perfect he looked out here. This was his element. This was where he was meant to be, out here taking on the world.
But it wasn't just him—it was all of these men she'd just met. There was an ease in the way they all worked together—a familiarity and a mutual respect. It warmed her to see it, and at the same time, it reminded her once again that she was an outsider among these people, that she'd inserted herself into something where she didn't belong. She was the opposite of these men.
Jackson argued to keep you here, she reminded herself.
As if he heard her thoughts, he turned and looked at her. Her breath caught when their gazes met. Even here, twenty feet away, she could see the way his eyes shone, and she knew that every bit of joy she'd experienced when gazing out across the sea was shared by him, too.