“You scared the hell out of me today,” he said.

“Why?” she scoffed. She’d been born and raised on this island. She knew the trails, the woods. She understood the dangers of winter.

“You scare the hell out of me every day, Remi.”

She shook her head. “Let’s not. I don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t want you to let me in just a little. Give me just a glimpse of what goes on in your head. Because you’re just going to shut me out again. You’re just going to reject me and tell me I’m not good enough or not what you want or get pissed off about something I do. So let’s not.”

“Remi.”

“Brick.”

“I don’t know how to be what you want.”

She looked up at the ceiling and took a breath. “You can’t be what I want, and I’m accepting that. This is what you wanted. Distance.”

“It feels…wrong,” he admitted.

“Just because something feels wrong doesn’t mean it’s not right,” she said.

He combed a hand over his beard. “That’s the least Remi-like thing I’ve heard you say.”

“Maybe I’m trying to be less like myself. Maybe it would all be easier for everyone if I were someone else.”

“The world needs a Remington Honeysuckle Ford.”

“The world does, but not a lot of people do,” she pointed out.

“That sounds like bullshit to me,” Brick observed.

Fortunately, the conversation was cut short by the arrival of their food.

She dug in to her turkey breast with mashed potatoes and gravy and a side of lima beans. See Dr. Ferrin? She could be healthier. She could make the effort. She wasn’t incapable of trying. Sure, she was definitely having a bowl of Marshmallow Munchies when she got back to the cottage, but the lima beans still counted.

His phone buzzed on the table. Idly, he flipped it over, and Remi saw his expression sharpen.

“What is it?” she asked.

He looked up at her. Those blue eyes focusing in on her face. “It’s a news alert. Camille Vorhees was just released from the hospital.”

She launched forward, snatching the phone out of his hand.

“Oh my God,” she breathed as she stared at the photo on the screen. There was Camille, looking elegant and exhausted on crutches. She wore an ivory cashmere coat and black trousers. Her blond hair was pulled back in a sleek twist.

Relief coursed through Remi as she zoomed in. Camille’s delicate face looked very pale and very thin. She looked fragile and glamorous and lovely and very much alive.

The screen blurred, and Remi swiped at a stray tear that escaped.

“Why do you have a news alert set for Camille?” she asked.

He looked at her long and hard. “Because she matters to you.”

* * *

A keyed-up Remi locked the door of the cottage and leaned against it. Camille was out of the hospital. In any other situation, it would have been incredible news worth celebrating. But in this one, it meant she was in a whole other kind of danger.