At her bemused expression, he suddenly felt like he was thirteen and trying to talk to a pretty girl for the first time. But he couldn’t tell her that he was trying to divert her attention from her worries. He’d never succeed if she knew his goal.

“Sure,” she said. “It’s great.”

Clearly, she was the one used to asking questions, rather than answering them. Trying to draw her out, he asked, “How’d you get started?’

Looking even more confused, she said, “Seriously, you want to know?”

He shrugged, tried to act like it was perfectly natural for him to be asking her these questions. Truthfully, now that he’d started down this road, he wanted to know her reasons for picking TV.

“A lot can change in ten years,” he replied.

Everything except how much he wanted her … and how f**king pointless those feelings were given the way things had turned out the first time around.

“I really want to know.”

Specifically, was she dating—or sleeping with—anyone, even though it was none of his damn business.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I got a job working behind the scenes on another show that Ellen was producing and eventually they offered me my own show.”

She made it sound so simple, but he guessed she’d worked her butt off to get where she was. People didn’t come by the kind of rocks she had in her ears and those soft fancy sweaters she’d been wearing in the hospital without putting in the sweat equity.

Besides, he’d always known how smart she was. She’d been the only one who hadn’t seemed totally convinced, probably because her crap mother hadn’t done a single thing to encourage her daughter in eighteen years.

He wasn’t going to let her act like her accomplishments were no big deal. They were.

“Seems like it’s a good fit for you,” he said. “You know, talking to people, asking them questions. You were always curious about things.”

“You’re right. My show is a good fit. I really do love it.” She shifted on the sand. “Actually, April is part of the reason I chose TV. I felt like I needed a really high-profile job for the state to entrust me with her care.”

She paused, made a circle in the sand with her finger, and he sensed she was about to say something more.

“And I guess after feeling like I didn’t have a voice for so long, living with my mother in the trailer park, I wanted to feel like I was somebody, if that makes any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” he found himself saying. “I feel the same way about my job. Knowing I’m making a difference in people’s lives. It’s a good thing.”

She bit her lip and he wondered why she suddenly looked so unsure of herself.

“You do such amazing things every day, Sam. What I do isn’t nearly as important.”

Hating to hear her belittle herself, he said, “You don’t need to put out fires to make a difference.”

But hadn’t he done the same thing she was doing now, immediately assuming that she had to be looking down on him and his salary?

How much of the blue-collar, white-collar dichotomy was in his own head? Was it simply that he was threatened by her going and changing on him?

After trying to tell himself that her new glossy look was nothing but a fake mask, he could finally admit that the changes she’d made weren’t necessarily bad.

Besides, how could he fault her for pulling herself out of the trailer park and making something of herself?

“What about you?” she said, shifting on the sand to get a better look at him.

Oh shit, he’d accidentally opened up a can of worms by asking her about her job. Hoping to head her off at the pass, he said, “My life’s pretty much the same as it always was.”

Except for the blip after she left and he nearly lost everything.

Undeterred by his terse answer, she said, “Do you still live in the same part of town?”

Hell no, he couldn’t stand to drive through the same neighborhoods where they’d often go walking late at night when there was a full moon.

“I’m closer to the beach.”

Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she was one hundred percent focused on him. “What about the guitar? Are you still playing?”

Only a handful of people knew he played. How could he have forgotten that Dianna was one of them? Or that the only songs he’d ever written had been three-chord love songs dedicated to her?

He shrugged. “I haven’t played in a long time.”

He had no intention of admitting that he hadn’t touched his guitar since the day she left. How could he, when every note he played reminded him of her?

Clearly getting frustrated with his reticence, she asked, “You must be one of the more established guys on the Tahoe Pines crew, right?”

“I am. As you can imagine,” he said, dropping his guard for a moment, “I’m not opposed to kicking the rookies’ asses around the block when they need it.”

She grinned at him. “Who else do I know on the current crew?”

“Only me and Logan.”

Shit, how could she have forgotten his brother?

“And Connor, of course.”

Talking about his brother felt like venturing back into a minefield, so he quickly said, “In the off-season I’ve been helping lead some adventure tours for a friend’s company.”

“Ah, so that’s why you know how to do all of this.” She gestured to their gear and the river. “Any chance you’d consider doing a segment on your friend’s company for my show sometime? It’s just the sort of thing my viewers love.”

Oh shit, he couldn’t let himself think about the future. About seeing her again.

Or, worse, not seeing her again.

“It’s getting late. We should get back on the river.”

Hurt flashed on her face before she wiped it away.

“I’ll clean our plates,” she said, grabbing everything and heading toward the water.

The thin fabric of her pants outlined the swell of her hips, her taut thigh muscles. When she knelt down on the sand to wash out the tin cups they’d eaten out of, even though he knew he shouldn’t be watching her, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

From the first moment he’d met her, he’d desired her. Intensely. If anything, the years between that first meeting and the present had only made his yearning grow stronger.