“Follow me.” His voice was soft, commanding and she had no choice but to follow him across the frost-concealed, pinecone-covered forest floor. Her senses became amplified—the bark dangling from a tree, a spiderweb defined by water droplets, the pure smell of torn wood, the dents in the earth from her own weight, the cracking of twigs under Nick’s feet. So this was what it meant to live in the moment, absorbing nothing but what was before her—giving in to the inexorable, to destiny.

They emerged from the brush and Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The house rose in front of them and the cold air surrounded it in an invitational welcome. She sensed a flood of something she couldn’t label, something that rose—no—washed over her, something from a long, long time ago. Something having to do with yearning and desire and . . . purpose. That was it: purpose.

She stepped onto the front porch, then turned and held out her hand. “Key?”

He laughed and walked toward the door, slipped the backpack and bloated bundle from his shoulders. He yanked a key from his back pocket, shoved it into a rusted keyhole, shook it, maneuvered the key in then out until the door popped open, chips of paint fluttering down like angel wings. Nick bowed and swept his arm toward the open door.

“You seem very pleased with yourself,” she said.

“I am.” He held out his hand. “I made you smile. I am more than pleased with myself.”

“Yes, you have made me smile.”

She stepped into the foyer. Nick flicked on a large flashlight and its scattered beam mixed with the dusty interior. The house smelled of must and age-—it almost seemed to live and breathe.

Amy grabbed the flashlight and pointed it to the floor. She took a deep breath and grabbed Nick’s arm. “The floor is Purbeck stone.”

“Okay.”

“It’s from an evolutionary era, quarried from the Isle of Purbeck in England.” She waved the flashlight over the floor, then up the curved staircase to the second floor.

She groaned. “How am I going to see the entire house with a flashlight? The windows are all boarded up.”

“I have megaflashlights . . . trust me.”

Trust me. The words echoed off something inside her, but she couldn’t search now for what it was. He wrapped his arms around her, and this time when he kissed her, he did it with the urgency she remembered. Her hands slid to the back of his head; his hands wrapped in her hair, stroked the side of her neck. Her legs gave way beneath her and only he held her up. He kissed her until only the house and Nick existed in her world.

He placed both hands on her cheeks and leaned away from her. He looked down at her and his eyes were full, wet. “My God, Amy. I do love you.”