There’s a figure standing on the beach. A man. Sharply dressed in a navy suit and a crisp white shirt. My blood runs colder than the water around me. No. It can’t be… But Angelo’s silhouette is impossible to overlook, standing tall and wide against the backdrop of the house. He’s staring straight ahead, feet shoulder-width apart, and his hands are tucked into the pocket of his slacks. I’ve stared at him enough to know it’s definitely him.
