“Gold,” he says, reaching up and twining a piece of my hair around his finger. His touch is gentle, voice soft. “Sands and…sun. Light. Camels.” The last is said with a smirk, and I huff a somewhat disbelieving laugh. “Is that all?” “Here,” he says, touching the corner of my eye, his focus absolute. “Ocean. Sky and sea. Smith Falls. Great…Blue Hole.”
