Only We Know by Victoria Purman Page A

she told him the better.
    Something changed in his eyes. She could see it in the half second he looked at her before dipping his eyes to the wine glass and upending it into his mouth. And now she was curious.
    â€˜What about you, Sam Hunter? What are you doing on the island?’
    â€˜My old man lives here. Oh, fuck!’ He patted his jeans pocket. ‘Excuse me: I’ve got to call him. I’ll be back in a minute.’
    Calla watched Sam’s purposeful strides across the small cabin. He opened the sliding door just enough to squeeze through, keeping out the wind, and it squeaked when he closed it behind him. She finished the dishes then turned to watch Sam while she waited for water to boil for a cup of coffee. The light from inside the cabin spilled out onto the deck and created shadows on his face when he turned his back on the view. He’d pressed his phone to his ear with one hand; the other arm was lifted high and he was rubbing his hair in frustrated strokes. Then he paced, walked from one end of the small deck to the other, three steps in each direction. He repeated the move maybe twenty times. He seemed to be talking, his lips were moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. When he finally pressed the keypad to end the call, she hurriedly turned her attention to wiping the bench.
    The door squeaked closed. Calla turned to see a look of thunder on Sam’s face. ‘Is everything all right with your dad?’
    He shoved the phone in his front pocket, shook his head. ‘Yeah. Don’t worry about it.’
    She got the message. When the kettle boiled, Calla filled her cup. The only sound in the room was the trickle of the water and the low hum of the reverse-cycle air-conditioner heating the room.
    â€˜Cup of coffee?’
    Sam hesitated. ‘No, thanks.’
    And then she had to ask, despite the clear message he’d just given her. She knew too much about how complicated families could be. ‘Is your father angry at you for being late to see him?’
    Sam rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. ‘He’s angry at me for being here.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜So now he’s even more pissed off at me than usual, which is just brilliant.’ Sam met her eyes. His furrowed brow created a little crease on the bridge of his nose. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’
    Calla couldn’t judge the expression on his face. He looked as if he’d let her in on some secret and then instantly regretted it. ‘Sometimes it helps to talk.’
    That pulled him up. ‘It’s just family bullshit.’
    She scoffed. ‘Who doesn’t have family bullshit?’
    Their eyes met and Calla felt uncomfortable at the scrutiny of his intense gaze and the questions in it. She pulled her eyes from his. Her legs felt suddenly like jelly. She took her cup of coffee over to one of the small sofas. Sam followed, lowering himself into the other two-seater, placed at a right angle to hers.
    She sipped her coffee in silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam shift, cross one leg over the other and then uncross it.
    When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet. ‘Who are you looking for, Calla?’
    Calla blinked. She had to rewind their conversation in her head so she could remember what they’d been talking about. Hadn’t they been talking about his father? Families? And the bullshit that went with them?
    Damn it, she thought. Maybe he was right about the concussion.
    â€˜You said you were here on the island looking for someone. You stalking an old boyfriend or something?’
    What the? She wouldn’t go near any of her old boyfriends with a barge pole. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m looking for my brother.’
    â€˜Your brother.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Calla could have sworn she heard a sigh from his lips.
    â€˜Where’s he living?’
    â€˜No idea.’
    â€˜I don’t get