The tired moon grew pale, and early morning slipped in, hazy and shy, touching a line of scratchy conifers with rose, tracing distant mountains. They were still on the high plateau and many miles from the sea, yet Anne was almost certain she could see the faint line of water, way over there, on the blurred horizon.
Renaud left the highway, turned onto a side road, and stopped near a tangle of Turkish cedars. How pale and exhausted he looked after the difficult drive.
“Feel like a walk?”
“Excellent idea,” she said, swinging open the car door.
They began following the dusty track. The air was resinous but carried a hint of salt on its chilly edge. She shivered.
“Cold?”
“Not at all,” she answered, although it wasn’t true. After Gülkale’s insistent, dry heat, this damp, sea-laden air was a shock.
His brow furrowed. “You don’t like showing vulnerability, do you?” Then he slipped his arm around her shoulders, and the faint sting of his words vanished.
“That’s much better,” she said softly. Very much better. Wonderfully so. The warmth of his scent engulfed her, and her nostrils flared with pleasure. Her arm curled around his waist. How right it felt, being here with him. How easy. And reckless, too.
“Anne? Look.” Deftly, Renaud caught her shoulders and swung her around until they were both facing the dark mountains in the east. “I’ve ordered something special, just for you.”
And at that very moment, the gleaming arch of new sun slipped up into the violet and crimson edge of sky.
She laughed, caught by the moment’s sheer perfection. If only this could last forever. If only nothing else existed, either after or before. She leaned back into his arms, felt his steady strength.
“Thanks for making the sun rise for me.”
“Any morning you’d like.”