She blinked in surprise, then nodded. He’d always been intuitive. “I believe so. Her survival depends on proving to him that she’s loyal.”

“And in order to do that, she has to ruin you.”

“She has to try.” It was an important distinction.

“He keeps underestimating you,” Brick said as his fingers slid into her hair with something like reverence.

“His mistake,” she said softly, melting into his touch.

“At some point, he’s going to realize that. And he’s going to stop underestimating and start trying to eliminate the threat.”

His soothing touch helped insulate her from his words.

“I know.”

“Then I need you to know, he’ll have to get through me first.”

“I don’t want that, Brick. I’m not going to ask people to put themselves in danger.”

“You didn’t ask. You just need to accept it. You’re standing for Camille. I’m standing for you. This Vorhees asshole doesn’t know it, but he’s breathing his last few free breaths.”

She looked at him, into eyes the same depthless blue as the ocean. “Do you really think we can put him away?”

He cupped her face so gently she felt like she was made of glass. “Yes. I need you to trust me.”

She trusted Brick Callan with her life. But could she trust him with her heart?

Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

“I like finding you here,” he said finally.

“That better not be some crack about a woman’s place being in the kitchen,” she said, eyes narrowing.

He distracted her by tracing his fingers down her neck to her clavicle. “This room always made me think of you.”

“Me? Why?” she asked, feeling a little breathless.

“This is where you got my grandfather to eat mac and cheese and play tic-tac-toe,” he said softly.

The memory made her smile. “You remember that? It feels like forever ago.”

“I remember,” he said, very, very seriously. “That was the same day you ruined Spence’s favorite shorts. On purpose.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How do you know it was on purpose?”

“I may have been outside that door a little longer than I let on,” he confessed, tilting his head in the direction of the porch.

“You were eavesdropping? What could your grandfather and I have been talking about that young Brick Callan would have found interesting?” she teased.

“You were telling him to give me a chance. That I wasn’t my father.”

Remi glanced down. “Oh. That conversation.”

“You used that Remington magic to make him see me in a different light. I never forgot it.”

She tried to cross her arms, but there wasn’t enough room between their bodies, so she settled for stuffing her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Pop was as stubborn as they come. Blaming you for something you had no control over when really it was his daughter he was disappointed in.”

She thought of the postcard again. A backhanded gesture, a belated recognition, yet he still hung it in a place of honor. It made her heart hurt. He deserved more than that. He deserved someone who not only remembered his special moments but actively celebrated them.