Max found a place to park, then helped her out of the car. It was dark on the beach, but the city was alive with light behind them. He held onto her arm as she kicked off her shoes and stepped into the sand. Then he laced his fingers through hers and they walked toward the water.

“I never come to the beach,” she said. “I just drive by.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t smell like the city.”

“I have a place on the water in Florida,” he said.

“And a place on a small lake in Wisconsin. And my apartment here in Chicago overlooks the lake. I’m a water guy, I guess. Where do you live?”

“I have a flat in Wicker Park.” This guy was seriously out of her league, Angela thought to herself.

He had at least three homes, maybe even more. She lived in a tiny, one-bedroom flat with leaky pipes and a noisy radiator.

When they reached the water’s edge, Max slipped out of his shoes and socks and rolled up his pant legs, then waded in. “Cold,” he said, wincing. “I can’t believe I used to swim in this.”

“It’s always cold,” Angela said, backing away from his invitation to join him. He ran out and grabbed her, pulling her along until her toes touched the water too.

“No!” she cried, trying to twist out of his grasp.

But he pulled her closer until she was caught in his embrace. He stared down into her eyes, then bent closer and kissed her.

Angela tried to remain calm, hoping to remember every little detail of the kiss. It was sweet and simple and filled with a delicious anticipation. She parted her lips and he took the invitation to tease at her tongue. He’d obviously had a lot of experience kissing women and it had paid off. When he finally drew away, she felt as if her legs were about to buckle beneath her.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that ever since we left the bar,” he murmured, smoothing his hand through her hair. His gaze scanned her features and he smiled. “I don’t know what it is. I feel like we know each other. Is that strange?”