As Naomi steered us along the tree-lined country road that led from the house on the shore back to Newport, I glanced over at her hands. They were petite, like her, with short, unpolished nails. There were small purple scars on the backs of her hands and an angry red cut across one thumb.

I can tell a lot about someone from their hands. Reading people is part of my job, part of what keeps me and my team alive. But Naomi has always been the hardest person in the world for me to read.

“You don’t have a future as a hand model,” I said.

“What?” Her eyes flickered to me; those eyes were golden-brown, long-lashed, and irritated, as usual. “A hand model?”

I reached out and stroked her injured thumb with my thumb. Her eyes flickered my way again, more confused than anything now.

“What happened?”

She didn’t pull away from my touch, and I felt like I’d won a small victory as I returned my hands to my own lap. Why the hell was she so angry at me? I hadn’t even seen her since we were seventeen.

“Cats,” she said shortly.

“Cats?”

“Yes, cats, I’m a crazy cat lady before my time. You want to turn on the radio? Find us some tunes?”

I shook my head. “I want to hear about these cats.”

“I run the Rhode Island Kitten Rescue,” she said reluctantly. “Which makes it sound like more than me and my sister.”

I nodded, encouraging her to go on.

She groaned. “Anyway, kitten season is coming up. Little kittens born to feral cats, all of which need to be spayed and neutered and placed in homes. Like I said. Crazy cat lady."

"And they repay you by tearing up your hands?"

"Well," she said, "It wasn't much of a living, doing dish detergent commercials. So it's all right."

"It sounds like you're a nice person. Caring about cats. Not crazy."

"You like cats?" There was a surprised note in her voice.

"I'm more of a dog person..."

"I thought so."

"...but I can't commit to a dog anyway. I travel all the time for work."

She swung the Suburban into a parking space at the edge of the Abby's Clam Shack parking lot. "Right. Of course you can't commit. I want to hear all about what it's like being a Navy SEAL."

"It's not that interesting."

She shot me a disbelieving look. It made me grin.

"You're right. It's incredibly interesting."

"You," she said, but she smiled slightly too, shaking her head. For a second, I glimpsed the old Naomi. The first few times we talked as teenagers, once things changed between us, she would look anywhere but at my face. She would bite down on her lower lip, holding back a shy smile. And it made me ache like crazy to kiss her.

We crunched across the gravel parking lot side-by-side. It was late lunchtime, and Abby's was full. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean a block away, carrying the tang of salt water. All the picnic tables below the flapping blue awning were occupied.

"We can always get takeout," Naomi said.

"I think you have to eat Abby's fresh out of the frying grease," I said, which made her pale. I had thought we were just bantering in the house. Now I wondered if I dragged her out for lunch when she not only didn't want to be with me, she didn't want to eat at all. "You want to go someplace else?"

She waved me off. "I'm here for you, buddy. We can wait for a table."

We ordered at the counter. I would have teased Naomi for ordering chicken tenders at the best seafood joint in town, but before I could, the woman at the counter asked, "Oh! Rob Delaney, is that you?"

I nodded. With her swinging blond hair and brown eyes, she was pretty, but she didn't ring any bells. She passed over the number tag to place on our table, holding it out to me so that our fingers brushed when I took it.

"Our favorite hometown hero!" she exclaimed. "Look, I'll get a table set up for you. Give me one minute."

"It's really okay," I said, but she was already bustling off. Two teenagers who had queued up behind us sighed.

"Hometown hero, huh?" Naomi asked.

"It's not what I would call myself," I said.

Naomi leaned in close, pulling her braid of dark hair over her shoulder. "Her name's Amy, by the way. We all went to high school together."

She had obviously leaned in to whisper, but this close together, I breathed in the creamy vanilla scent of shampoo from her glossy dark hair. It made me want to stroke the escaped strands of hair back from her forehead and kiss the bridge of her adorable nose.

Instead, I asked, "Was it that obvious I don't remember her?"

"I don't think anything's that obvious to Amy." Her voice was dry as she leaned away again.

Amy led us to a table up against the navy-blue-painted fence around the deck. From here, when I squinted between the buildings, I could catch a glimpse of the sun glinting off the ocean. Sometimes people interpret ocean view pretty broadly in Rhode Island.

"I'll be right back with your drinks," she promised me, patting my shoulder before she sashayed back through the crowd of tables. She hadn't actually spoken to Naomi.

"If I had known we were going out in public," Naomi said, tugging on her braid absently, "I would have put on some makeup. Especially with such a very important person. Aren't you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

Her tone was teasing and light, but I didn't buy it. I gave her a serious, appraising look over. She rolled her eyes, glancing away and twisting back in her seat as if to find that sliver view of the ocean. But she’d given me permission to study the face I’d missed, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.

In profile, her small nose tilted up dramatically at the end, like a tiny little ski slope. Her pink lips were wide and perfectly formed, with a distinct bow at the top. When we were teenagers, I'd thought far too often about kissing that bow, about getting Naomi to drop the smirk. The smirk, apparently, was permanent. Ten years had gone by, and Naomi was even pricklier than she'd been in high school.

Her eyes, though. Wide hazel eyes, touched with green, flecked with gold. Her lashes were long and even darker than her hair. Naomi might have been wearing a baggy blue t-shirt, jeans and a pair of battered running shoes, but she looked irresistible.

Not that I could let her know that.

But I could get away with telling her, "Oh, shut up. You're gorgeous and you know it."

She shook her head, looking pleased at the same time as she rejected the compliment. "I think Amy's probably more your style."

I glanced at Amy, who wound her way back through the crowd with a tray. She wore tight jeans and an even tighter white tank top embroidered with the Abby's logo.

"I think maybe you could take style tips from her," I said, to give Naomi something to prickle about. Naomi shook her head as Amy unloaded the sodas and a basket of fries.

"Here you go," Amy said, flashing a wide grin at me. "Everything else will be right out, all right? Let me know if you need anything. You can even text me while I'm at the counter in case I don't see you wave, here's my number."

When Amy had gone again, she left me with a Post-it note and Naomi with barely concealed laughter.

"That was subtle," Naomi said.

"It's a burden of mine." I started to fold the pink note before I realized Naomi was watching. How could Naomi not look in the mirror and see the same beautiful, distinctive features that made me feel slightly crazy? I crumpled the note and shrugged, dropping it alongside our straw wrappers. "I'm not really into blonds."

Her lips quirked up slightly. She pulled a face as if she wasn't willing to let me see that I had made her happy. But still. I felt a surge of lightness.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with myself here in Newport," I said. "Seeing family seemed like a good use of my time out of commission, but my brothers can't just drop everything. Neither will my cousins."

"Well, there's your father and your grandmother, at least."

"Yeah," I said, not that I was eager to see anyone but my brothers. Some of the stereotypes about rich families being crazy are true. "Mitch, anyway. My grandmother's settled in Long Island."

"I'm not sure how settled." Naomi’s expression changed, and then she said slowly, "You know she's coming out here for a visit, right?"

"Say again?"

"I had an email from your father to prepare the junior suite for her."

"Oh, fantastic," I said. "We can catch up."

Naomi looked at me quizzically, but I wasn't about to chat with her about the troubled dynamic in my family. There had been enough about that in the news, once upon a time. I pushed the French fries toward her.

She took a golden wedge and popped it into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes in delight as she chewed. "That's so good. I guess I was starving too."

"They make the best fries here."

"I bet they double-fry them. Frying them, freezing and then frying again makes for the crispiest fries."

"That sounds labor-intensive."

"It's worth it if you really love the potato."

Once the conversational topic of French fries was exhausted, I cast around for something to say. The silence between us felt awkward. It was so different from the comfortable silence when we used to ride the swim team bus together to meets and back. After swimming, she fell asleep against my shoulder every time. Her hair would smell like chlorine and soak a wet spot onto my t-shirt. I would sit perfectly still so I wouldn't wake her, my long legs growing stiff because I couldn’t shift without her stirring.

"Do you still swim?" I asked.

She swiped another French fry. "No. No time. I guess it's part of the job for you?"

I nodded. "I was hoping to spend some time in the surf out here. Get a waterproof cover for the cast."

"When I broke my leg, I had to wrap it in a plastic bag and balance in the tub with my leg outside the shower curtain. It must be nice."

"If you're worried about me showering," I said, "You're welcome to come help."

She leaned back in her chair, those hazel eyes light and mocking. "Even you can't afford that kind of help. Not when it comes to me."

"Mm." When she smirked at me like that, I wanted to kiss that look off her face. God, even when she was being obnoxious, she was gorgeous.

I wasn't going to let that comment pass without retaliation. I glanced across the bright tablecloth for the crumpled sticky note and swept it into my pocket, keenly aware of her watching.

But I knew I would never call Amy. There was only one girl in Newport I wanted.