He pushed her back, holding on to her upper arms. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, keeping his voice low.

“Well, if it isn’t little Remi Ford!” Bill declared as he skidded to a stop, Mira on his heels.

“What are you doing home in February?” Mira asked.

Remi slipped out of his grasp and plucked the ear buds from her ears. The smile she sent them wasn’t up to her usual wattage, but he was the only one who noticed. “What can I say? I missed the winters here,” she said brightly.

That raspy voice was so familiar even after all this time it almost hurt.

Bill hooted. “Now, that’s a dirty lie!”

Mira rushed in to give the prodigal a hug. “Are you surprising your parents?” she asked. “I know they missed you at Christmas this year.”

Remi avoided looking directly at Brick when she answered. “I felt bad about missing the holidays with them and thought I’d make up for it now with a nice, long visit.”

She was lying. He was sure of it. Whatever had put those shadows under her eyes wasn’t guilt over a missed holiday.

“You’re such a good daughter. How’s big city living?” Mira pressed. The woman would drain Remi of every detail if she let her. Then it would be served up to other islanders over school pick-ups and to-go orders.

“It’s…good,” Remi said.

Brick’s eyes narrowed on the hesitation.

“Quick! What’s my aura color?” Bill asked.

Remi’s cheeks pinked up. “You’re looking a nice bright green today just like always,” she told him.

There were a lot of things that made Remi different from the average girl. Synesthesia was one of them.

The story went that little Remi Ford caused a fuss in kindergarten when she demanded a pink crayon to write her Es because everyone knew Es were pink. It took a few years, but her parents finally got an answer from a specialist. Their daughter’s brain created extra connections, tying colors to things like letters, words, people.

But the thing he found most fascinating was the fact that she could see music. Back in the day, before things got complicated, he used to quiz her about the colors she saw for songs.

“Are you still at the museum?” Mira asked.

“Actually, I’m painting full time now,” she said.

That was news. He was surprised her parents hadn’t mentioned it.

Brick glanced into her cart and spotted three boxes of Marshmallow Munchies cereal, coffee, sugary creamer, and a package of honey buns. Not a protein or a vegetable in sight. The woman was stress eating.

“Houses or paintings?” Bill teased.

“Mostly just paintings,” Remi said with a wink. “But I’d paint a house for you, Bill.”

The man turned a shade of scarlet Brick had never seen. Such was the power of Remi’s charm.

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, an old nervous habit, and that’s when he caught a glimpse of pale orange plaster between her thumb and index finger. Her right arm was in a cast.