Brick’s gut clenched as questions revolved through his mind.

It wasn’t any of his business. And he knew what would happen if he let himself get curious. Remi Ford was no longer his concern.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Mira asked. “Did you bring a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day?”

Brick clenched his jaw. “Excuse me,” he said, gripping the handle of his cart. “I’ve got to get going. Welcome home, Remi.”

“Thanks. It was nice to see you, Brick,” she said with a sad little smile.

He gave her a tight nod. With heroic effort, he walked instead of ran to the checkout, leaving her, the rest of the items on his grocery list, and his unanswered questions behind.

2

Well, that hadn’t gone horribly, Remi decided, as she looped her bags over her good arm and stepped back out into the biting morning cold.

After a long, sleepless night, she’d survived an unexpected encounter with Brick. And accidentally hugged him in a way that screamed woman in distress. But she’d at least managed to swear Bill, Mira, and the rest of the store’s occupants to secrecy until she surprised her parents.

Which gave her about an hour before her mom got a call from someone spilling the news.

An hour to figure out her official story and wipe the fatigue from her face.

An hour to try calling the hospital again.

She walked far enough so that she was past the grocery store’s windows before dumping the bags on the sidewalk. Using her teeth to yank off her glove, she redialed.

“Northwestern Memorial Hospital, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi, I’m calling to get an update on a patient’s condition,” Remi said.

“Patient’s name?” The voice on the other end sounded like there were a lot of other things she’d like to be doing besides answering phones, but at least it was a different operator than yesterday.

“Camille Vorhees.”

“Your name?”

Remi hesitated. “I’m…her sister.”

“Name?”

Fuckity fuck fuck. “Alessandra?”

“You’re not on the list.”

“It’s because I’m the black sheep of the family,” she tried.

“You’re not on the list. According to HIPAA—”

“Yeah. Thanks. I got it.” Remi disconnected the call and kicked at the support column holding up the porch roof of the next building. “Damn it,” she muttered.

“Remi.”

She jumped clear out of her skin. That voice. That fucking rough, low, gravelly voice that still haunted her dreams.

“Jesus, Brick!” He was crossing the street, coming toward her like the tide. Inevitable. Unapologetic.

It was annoying that her heart still sang whenever she saw him. But she couldn’t really fault its taste considering Brick Callan was one giant hunk of man. Her appreciation for him had started probably somewhere around the broad shoulders and wide expanse of chest. But it hadn’t taken long for her to realize those serious blue eyes, now with faint crinkles at the corners, had hypnotic, panty-melting superpowers.

The cowboy hat he stubbornly wore despite the much warmer alternatives in headwear added to the rugged appeal. Especially when mixed with his heavy winter coat and the jeans that showed off muscled thighs.