“You can’t live in the past, always thinking about the lake house fire,” I tell him. “You’re not a monster, and you don’t deserve to be punished for something that happened years ago. Your cousin survived. You survived.”

“Some days it feels like it just happened yesterday, and everyone still blames me for not watching her.”

“You can’t really believe that.”

His chest rises and falls as he gazes down at me, blinking in tremolo. “Oh, okay. So I guess you’re going to tell me what I can and can’t believe now?” he says, as if he desperately, secretly wants me to but is far too proud to ask.

“If you’re going to believe stupid things, then, yes. That’s my duty as your friend.”

He snorts softly. “Oh, you mean like your stupid love curse?”

“Hey, tell it to my mom. She’s the one who says it’s ruined all the Saint-Martins’ love lives.”

“Has it, though?” he asks as if he’s eager not to talk about himself anymore.

“I’ve never been in love, so don’t have any firsthand experience.” I try to make a lighthearted joke. “Guess I was too busy traveling the world—and I guess you were just plain busy. Maybe not with Bunny, but I know there have been other girls. Come on.”

He frowns. “Are you accusing me of something, here, or … ?”

“No. I don’t—” I huff out a breath. Wow. I sound like a jealous girlfriend, accusing him of cheating. That went in a weird direction, and he’s still upset, and I’m doing this all wrong … and I wish I could take it back.

“I don’t know why I said that,” I finally admit.

But I do. I wish it would have been me and not those other girls.

I can’t say it, though. Not that. I can’t be that teeth-gratingly honest.

It’s quiet. Still. Almost stifling. We’ve been in here too long, breathing all the air in the small space.

“I need to go,” he says softly. “Move.”

“No.”

He’s surprised by that.

He exhales a hard breath through his nostrils. Silent. Studying my face. The longer he stares at me, not saying anything, the faster my heart races. I try to look anywhere but his eyes. The sharp shadow under his jaw. The bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. The line of his collarbone against his T-shirt.

Warm fingers graze mine.

My hand trembles as if it’s a rabbit caught in a snare. I know he can feel it, because I’m looking between us, and I can see the tremor as our fingers twine. I’m a little bit terrified. But I don’t move away.

“Josie,” he whispers near the top of my head.

No choice now.