he moon was ghostly in the sky as clouds and fog rolled in. It had been a long night on the beach. The firework show had been loads of fun and they’d all oohed and aahed along with the children. Fortunately, the turtles were smart enough to wait until the crowds had left before emerging from their nest. The clouds had dimmed the moonlight and smoke from the firework shells lingered in the sky. They’d hardly been able to see the hatchlings as they scrambled down the beach into the sea.

Yet emerge they did. Cara had knelt close to the nest and counted nearly eighty vigorous baby turtles as they tumbled out. It was nearly midnight, and though her limbs were tired, her mind was alive with exhilaration.

“Caretta?”

Cara turned her head to peer through the darkness toward the tall shadowy form approaching along the shoreline. As Brett drew nearer she could just make out the chiseled angles of his jaw and chin in the shadows.

“Is that the last of them?” she asked.

He came to stand beside her at the water’s edge. “I think so.”

She looked again at the sea. Even in the mist the edges of the surf were tinged white with light. “They were so cute.” She laughed lightly. “I suppose cute is hardly the word a naturalist would use to describe a baby turtle.”

“Neither is baby, but they both seem to apply.”

She liked the way he was never patronizing. “I was thinking of the night Mama and I saw a turtle lay her eggs in the sand. The moon was full and bright that night. We could see everything as though it were dusk. She was enormous and these little hatchlings were so small. It’s amazing to think that they’ll someday grow so large.”

“If they survive. Only one in a thousand will.”

“That few? It seems so sad.”

“It’s nature’s way.”

“I suppose.” Cara wrapped her arms around herself. “Sometimes nature seems rather cruel.”

They both knew she was thinking again of her mother’s illness and there was little either of them could or wanted to say on that matter. They stared out at the sea for a few moments. The tide was coming in and the water was stretching up to lap their toes, deliciously warm.

“Care for a walk?” he asked.

Cara looked up the beach toward the nest. Julia, Miranda and the children were already gone. Squinting, she could see the shadowy forms of her mother and Flo just leaving the nest. The night was soft, moist and inviting and she didn’t care to go home. And yet…she was hesitant. Brett was an enigma to her. When she’d first felt the zing of attraction she’d expected them to fall into the usual pattern of casual sex and a quick farewell. He hadn’t allowed that to happen, however. Just when she thought she’d figured him out he did something to surprise her. And that made him all the more intriguing. Not to mention he was the only man she’d ever met who could provide a meal with a bit of string and a hook.

“Okay,” she replied.

He took her hand and they began walking along the surf line. She gradually matched her own long-legged pace to his in an easy rhythm. In the distance, the stretch of white lights along the pier looked like low stars in the velvety blackness.

It all seemed terribly romantic. Very much like a postcard of two lovers strolling along the beach, except, of course, they weren’t lovers. Pity, she thought, as the silence became erotic. She grew intensely aware of the feel of his hand over hers, as though every neuron in her body was focused on those few inches of skin. Each time their hips bumped it sent shivers down her spine. Each ruffle of the breeze seemed a caress.

“Do you walk out here often? At night, I mean?” she asked, then felt silly for the question. “But of course you do. You live here.”

“Actually, it’s because I live here that I don’t. I guess I take the ocean for granted. Look up there,” he said, pointing to a row of houses up the beach. Even at this late hour, a number of them had lights still shining indoors. “See the gray flickering lights? They’re all inside watching TV. I’m not the only one who takes it for granted.”

“My condo faces Lake Michigan and I have to admit, I rarely stand at the window to look out at the lake anymore, either. But I know it’s there. I sense its presence. Every once in awhile I look up and really see it. It takes me by surprise how beautiful it is. Like a gift. I appreciate it then. It may only be a moment, but in that moment my life is better. I suppose it’s the same for those people, too.”

“Do you miss Chicago?”

She had to think about this answer. She hadn’t really thought about Chicago in a while. Not since her conversation with Adele. It was as though she’d closed some mental door to that part of her life and opened the door to her life here on the island.

“I can’t say that I do,” she replied honestly. “I suppose I’ll come to miss the city. The excitement, the variety. The pace.” She chuckled lightly. “I’ve really slowed down. I’m still busy but I’m not in such a hurry.”

“No need to be. Life is better enjoyed at a slow pace.”

“I’m not surprised you think so,” she said as a gentle jibe.

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“Your general attitude. Your choice of jobs. The way you approach sex.”

He stopped abruptly. “What?”

She could have bitten her tongue. She tugged on his arm to keep walking but he wouldn’t budge. Dropping his hand she looked at her feet while kicking sand. He was waiting for an answer.

“Well, things between us haven’t exactly been speeding along, have they?”

“I thought they’d been going pretty good.” He sounded a bit hurt.

“They have,” she hastened to assure him. “We’re getting to be good friends. Really good f-r-i-e-n-d-s,” she said.

Silence.

“I was hoping by now we’d be something a little more,” she said.

“You were?”

That definitely was not a wounded tone. She took heart.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“Well,” she drawled. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while and though I’ve been having a wonderful time, really, I was hoping it would lead to something a bit more…fun.”

“Were you? Interesting.”

He paused to look down at his foot. She saw the top of his head, his wiry hair so thick she doubted she could get her hands through it. When he raised his eyes again, his gaze pinned her. “And you thought I wasn’t hoping for the same thing?”

She dropped all pretense at humor and spoke honestly. Almost shyly. “I wasn’t sure. I’ve wondered if you find me attractive. Or whether I’ve come on too strong. I know I can be blunt and I was worried I might have turned you off.”

“Why would you think that?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Well, you never…I mean—” Damn this was so hard. She could feel her cheeks burning. What an idiot she was. She’d had multiple lovers over the years and would have called herself jaded. But here she was, blushing like a ridiculous schoolgirl.

“For the past several weeks you’ve been kissing me but nothing more,” she said straight out, wanting the horrid exchange to be over.

He stood in the darkness, just inches away, so close she could see his lips curve into a slow, pleased grin. “Cara,” he said, reaching up to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. He let his fingertips skim her jawline, then rest at her chin. “I’m courting you.”

She could only look at him in a daze. Courting? Had she heard correctly? Did men still court women? Anywhere today? The concept was utterly beguiling. She was bowled over. Charmed. Damn, she was grinning from ear to ear.

“You are?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No! It’s just…I didn’t understand.” Then, because she felt the need to disguise her awkwardness, she said as a gentle tease, “Is that another rule of yours? A Lowcountry gentleman courts his lady?”

“Depends on the lady.”

Her grin widened. She liked that answer enormously.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Want to go camping?”

She looked at him warily. “Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe. Not to some hammock. I don’t want to sleep with alligators and snakes.”

He barked out a laugh. “I’ve someplace better in mind. Say you’ll come.”

She was nervous, but the way he said it, with his head cocked and his eyes gleaming, was so charmingly boyish she couldn’t resist.

“Where are we headed?” Cara asked Brett the following morning as he nosed the boat out of the dock. He’d packed the small boat with even more gear than before.

“Capers Island,” he answered.

Cara released a smile. Capers Island. It was where they’d gone the first time they’d met. She’d been enchanted by the island ever since and had hoped he’d take her back there someday.

The current was brisk as they headed out and the weather warm and clear. Cara felt the sun sting her exposed shoulders and cheeks as she sat at the bow. They sped across the familiar waterway toward the small barrier island tucked away along the Carolina coastline.

Capers Island was deserted. Its pristine line of beach lay before them undisturbed except for shorebirds that flocked together in the distance. Brett carried the gear up a large, flat dune that rose like a plateau over Boneyard Beach. Together they pitched the tent on a high spot that was protected from harsh winds by pines yet still caught the offshore breezes.

Neither of them was in a talkative mood, so they spent the day in a companionable peace, just lying in the sun, recharging their batteries. When the mood struck, they swam in the silky waters of the sea, then lay in the sand and let the sunshine do its work. She felt the sun melting her bones and her brain, making it impossible to think about anything for too long or too hard.

“Everything is so simple here,” she said to Brett, turning over and resting her chin on her arms. “There are no big decisions to be made, no one needing me for anything or asking to have a problem solved. No money to be earned. Just complete and total bliss. Could we stay here and never return, like those two kids in that movie? You know, the one where they grow up gorgeous together and make great shell jewelry and become lovers?”

“Never saw it. Sounds like a chick flick.”

She leaned over to pinch his arm. “Such a stereotype. That’s like me saying men only watch movies with spy toys or lots of blood and guts.”

“Yeah. So?”

“You’re hopeless.”

“How about Tarzan?”

“Good movie.”

“Saw that one. And that’s a movie about a guy who survived alone in the jungle,” he said smugly.

“Yeah, but he didn’t live until Jane showed up.”

Brett laughed loudly and climbed to his feet. Then he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Come Jane. Tarzan hungry.”

Her high-pitched laughter scattered the birds at the shoreline.

He brought her to a small creek that cut a gash into the island like a knife. She stood nearby and watched as he grabbed hold of a net with his hands and teeth. After getting a good purchase, he hurled the net into the air with a graceful, full body movement. The net opened up like a flower, spread out over the glistening water and descended with a whispered splash. It was pure poetry in motion. And as he repeated the toss, she witnessed the natural athleticism that had won him as many awards, accolades and scholarships over the years as shrimp he harnessed in the nets.

He was rather like Tarzan, she thought. His build, his affinity for nature, his stoicism. But was she at all like Jane? She thought not. She liked to think she could be clever and brave like Jane. And she was learning to do a few things in the wild. After all, she was camping, wasn’t she?

But to stay with one man in the wilderness forever and ever? Cara didn’t think she could. She was a city girl. She couldn’t give up forever the civilized world of e-mails, lattes, movies and restaurants after work.

Nonetheless, she had fun playing out her role as she lowered a mangy-looking chicken neck by a string into the creek the way Brett had taught her. After several tosses and drags, she netted a few crabs that emerged dripping from the water hanging tenaciously to the chicken neck by their claws. It was hardly the poetry of Brett’s net casting but it was very satisfying nonetheless to bring home her contribution to the feast.

When the sun began to lower, they scattered across the beach like ghost crabs to gather driftwood for a campfire. Once the fire was raging, they boiled shrimp and crab and drank chilled wine from the cooler. And when their meal was done, and the full moon rose at last to take her place among the stars, Brett took Cara’s hand and raised her to her feet.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“Dancing.”

“You’re kidding. I’m not very good,” she worried aloud, backing off. “I’ve got two left feet.”

“Come on.”

“Brett, I haven’t danced the shag since high school!”

“It’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget.”

“Okay, I confess, I never really learned.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

He bent to turn on the tape player he’d brought along. There was a loud click, then the island’s silence was interrupted by the instantly recognizable sound of beach music: “I Love Beach Music,” “Sixty Minute Man,” “My Girl,” “What Kind of Fool Do You Think I Am?” and “Sweet Carolina Girls.”

“I never danced with you in high school,” he said. “I thought I’d make up for it tonight.”

She laughed lightly. “I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know you at sixteen. You might not have liked me very much back then.”

“You’re very endearing when you’re serious,” she teased.

He brought his hand up to move a stray tendril from her brow. “I am being serious. I’m glad I waited to meet you now, Caretta.”

He looked into her eyes for a long time and she felt a moment’s panic that he could see through her ruse of joking and know that with him she felt uncharacteristically vulnerable and unsure. Like she was indeed back in high school and on a date with this incredible guy she’d been dreaming about and searching for all her life, only she’d been looking in all the wrong places.

He took her hand again and guided her in the intricate footsteps of the shag. He was amazingly fluid for a man his size and he guided her along the sand, humming the tune as he moved his feet.

“Now turn. The other way! That’s right,” he said, lavishing praise. “Who says you’re not a good dancer?”

She giggled and gradually got the hang of it. Beach music was an odd blend of rhythm and blues, band and pop music that made her feet move and her hips sway. Between the heavy backbeat and his lavish praise, she lost her self-consciousness and fell into the rhythm of the music. As they danced, they laughed and remembered details of dances they’d both gone to in high school, but never together. They took turns calling out the names of the great groups they could still recall: the Tams, the Embers, the Clovers, the Zodiacs and the Catalinas. Then they said the names of old friends, favorite stomping grounds, rumors they’d heard, laughing still more at threading together the six degrees of separation. She could hear her mother’s words echo in her brain, “Where are you from?” As they held hands and danced and told stories, they were knitting their separate but similar histories together—left to right, knit and pearl—to create this perfect night under the moon and stars.

And when at last he stopped dancing and looked into her eyes with a message of longing and need, he didn’t have to ask. He only had to lead the way to the billowing white tent perched high on the sand dune, nestled between the pines.

The hatchlings are drawn to the brightest light. In nature, this is the white light of the moon or stars over the ocean. Artificial lighting can confuse the hatchlings and lead them to death in tangles of beach grass or on busy streets.