“Ansel.” I turned at that voice, at that presence. I recognized it now as innately as my own. Two figures stood on the path down the mountain. His hair and his jaw were my own. Her eyes and her skin, as well. “Are you ready, darling?” The woman extended an olive hand to me, and her smile—it was as warm as I’d always dreamed it. As warm as this summer night. “That boy is asking after you again,” the man said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Etienne.”
