Here, for a few hours, Eva was transported back to a time when she and Brent would peruse piles of produce in a rainbow of colors, daring each other to try at least one new food every time. They’d spend the morning selecting the plumpest bell peppers and the best-looking bundles of spinach and asparagus, plus whatever else looked enticing, and they’d take it all home for brunch. They had such fun exploring different foods—and many an experiment had ended with breakfast unfinished and forgotten as one flirty kiss led to more.
Eva averted her gaze and hurried past a booth of fresh-cut flowers, zigzagging toward a booth from a local farm that always had the juiciest berries. She greeted the tall man and snagged a carton of especially large strawberries.
“Let me get that.”
She turned, and Marco Cinelli stood next to her, his deep brown eyes filled with compassion. His light-scruff beard tickled her cheek as he leaned down to give her a quick hug.
“Hey, Marc.” He’d responded to her text yesterday in a matter of minutes, saying he would meet her wherever she wanted today. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” Marc paid the vendor for the berries. “It’s been too long. How are things? How’s work going?”
As they wandered the booths, Eva fiddled with the top of the paper bag holding her strawberries. “Considering I nearly got fired from my volunteer position yesterday, just dandy.” Maryanne had expressed concern that several coworkers weren’t happy with Eva’s work. She knew a week of not screwing up didn’t really negate all the times she’d been bad at her job, but the words hurt nonetheless.
“I’m sorry, Eva.” He ran a hand through his short brown hair. “You know you always have a place at the business if you want one.”
“Thanks.” Months ago, when Charlotte had suggested she do something productive to honor Brent’s memory, she’d considered working at No Frills Fitness’s main office, but the thought of trying to replace her husband at the job he’d loved . . . no way. “I’ll stick it out. Brent was all about perseverance, so I will be too.”
They stopped at a vendor to sample a slice of honey beer bread slathered with butter. The crispy crust gave way to a soft, chewy inside filled with flavor—a nice blend of savory and sweet. “Mmm.”
“Holy cow, that’s amazing.”
The vendor, wearing a tight and rather low-cut shirt, eyed Marc. “I can share the recipe if you want.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s a tempting offer, but I don’t have much time to bake these days.”
“Give me your number. I’d be happy to give you another sample sometime.” Her voice dripped with attempted seduction.
Eva turned her face away, biting her lip to keep from guffawing, but not before she caught the surprise in Marc’s eyes. The pretty young thing shouldn’t waste her time. Marc had always been committed to his job first, and he liked nice girls anyway, not ones who salivated over him as if he were a tasty cut of meat. His last girlfriend, Katrina, had been poised, lovely, and warm, but they’d gone their separate ways over a year ago when she’d received a job offer in Paris she couldn’t refuse.
“Oh, well . . .”
Eva slipped her arm through Marc’s and tugged. “Let’s go find that Italian beef you love so much.”
“Right.” He thanked the woman for the sample and let Eva lead him away. “Thanks for the assist.”
“No problem.” It took her a moment to realize she still grasped Marc’s arm. The warmth of his body close to hers comforted her.
Alarmed, she released her hold, and they continued shopping and chatting. After they’d gathered an assortment of cherries and peaches, Gouda cheese, and bread, they left the market and walked in the direction of a small park.
Marc sat under a large London plane tree, a cross between a sycamore and an oriental plane tree. The shade offered a welcome respite from the increasing heat of the day.
Eva lowered herself beside him and leaned against the tree’s white-and-gray trunk. “That was fun.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a few peaches, tossing one to Marc.
He settled into the trunk space beside her, their shoulders skimming each other. “I usually go by myself, so I’m in and out in twenty minutes. I tend to stick to the same few booths. But I noticed a lot more when I was with you.”
Eva’s fingers rotated the peach in her hand, stroking the fuzzy exterior. “That’s how it was when I was with him.” Her voice grew quiet. An intense longing flared inside her.
She took a bite of her peach. The juice filled every crevice of her mouth, the sweet flesh making her feel alive, even if just for a few moments.
Exhaling, she finally brought up the reason she’d asked him to meet. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
He polished off the rest of his peach and set the pit on the ground between them. “Okay, shoot.”
She removed her steel water bottle from her purse. “Yesterday I got a phone call from a woman in England about some race Brent signed up for in New Zealand. She said you and Wes were his teammates. I was a little thrown off at first and didn’t ask many questions.” She took a sip of water. “So it’s what? A marathon? A really expensive one?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s an ultra-marathon, actually. One hundred fifty-five miles across New Zealand. Runners have to complete the race in increments over seven days. You can walk it, but of course Brent wanted to run the whole thing. We signed up a week before . . .”
“Why didn’t he mention it to me?”
Marc’s right thumb massaged circles into his left palm. “He was going to surprise you. Said you guys wanted to do New Zealand together, and he was going to make plans to stay for a few weeks afterward to sightsee.”
That man . . . always full of surprises.
Eva rallied her spirits before she could sink into the emotion threatening to topple her. “It seems like a shame to let the spots go to waste. Why don’t you still run it?”
“We signed up as a team because all the individual spots were taken. It’s a miracle we even snagged a team spot. This marathon fills up years in advance, and it’s only in New Zealand every twenty years. But we decided we’d rather do it as a team anyway. We’d have to rely on each other to make it through, to run faster, to be better.” Marc coughed. “I have no desire to run it on my own.”
Eva leaned closer to him. “I get that.”
“I miss him every day.”
“Me too.”
“I was supposed to be with them that day.” He punched his palm. “If I hadn’t gotten that stomach bug . . .”
Eva reached for his hands to still them. “I know what you’re thinking. But you might have ended up down there without enough oxygen too.”
He stared at her hands on top of his, a far-off look in his eyes. “If I’d been there, I could have gone for help when Wes got his foot stuck in that rotten board. It might have made a difference.”
From what authorities told the family afterward, in addition to exerting all his energy trying to free his brother from the collapsed ruins of the underwater shipwreck, Brent had likely succumbed to nitrogen narcosis, which could lead to dizziness, anxiety, and unconsciousness.