April doesn't know what to call the feeling that gives her, the knowledge that Les has seen her in the shape that has scared others, in the form she's spent so long using as a shield, he's seen her like that and not only is he not running, he's speaking of it as if he's still attracted to her like that. She slips her hand into his, content to ignore the envelope and its contents for the time being, and follows him along to the guest house, over the damp sand, leaving foot prints behind them.

She wants to thank him, to say something, but she can't think of the right words. For someone who has made an entire life out of knowing exactly what to say and when to say it, Les has done an awfully good job at rendering her relatively speechless. She knows it's because so much of what she's said before has been lies or half-truths, woven in a way to make people happy. She doesn't want to lie to him.

Once they're inside, she drops the envelope without looking at where it lands and her hands reach for Les, her fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt and smoothing over warm skin. "Touch me," she says. It's not a demand, it's even a bit of a question, but she steps closer to him, making it impossible for him not to.