“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. She wrote letters to him?”

“So it seems. I didn’t read them,” he said.

“Then I won’t either. I’ll send them to Hank, and he can decide.” She looked up at him, still reeling with surprise. “Thank you, Finn. But you didn’t need to bring them in person.”

“True. I’m not here because of the letters. I’m here for you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been traveling all night to get to you.”

“What?” she said again, gaping like an idiot. “Why?”

“Because you left, and we’re not finished.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her heart felt as if it might beat out of her chest.

“I love you. That’s what’s not finished. Don’t write us off, Camille. We’re not such a long shot. Besides, you once told me you specialize in long shots.”

“I was talking about old film.”

“I’m talking about us. And we’re not a long shot. We’re going to love each other forever.”

She looked down, because she had to make sure her heart was still inside. “You can’t just come in here and say . . . You . . . you said we were going to be together just for the summer.”

“I lied in order to get you in bed.”

“Hey—”

“The main reason I lied is that I didn’t want to scare you off. I’m actually a lousy liar, but I would do anything, stoop to any level, to get you to keep me around.” He took her by the shoulders and gazed down at her. He had beard stubble, and lines of fatigue bracketed his eyes, but there was such energy in his expression, such confidence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“To say what I should have said before you left. Listen. I’m sorry for what happened to you five years ago. I’m sorry your husband died and your heart broke. What happened, what he did, was tragic and heroic, and I get that you don’t believe someone will ever love you like that again. Maybe you’re right. I won’t love you like he did. I’ll love you the only way I know—my way. Your husband died for you—the ultimate sacrifice. I hope I’m the kind of man who would do the same. You make me want to be that kind of man, the kind who would die for you.”

“Finn, my God . . .”

He pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her words. “But I’d much rather live for you. With you.”

She laid the palm of her hand over his heart. Warm, alive, strong. Suddenly she wanted to tell him everything, but she scarcely knew where to begin. “I’m still afraid to fly.”

“What?”

“Bear with me. Finn, I wasn’t expecting this. I need a moment. But I want you to know I’m scared to fly. But I’m not letting it stop me anymore. When I went to Vermont to find Hank Watkins, I didn’t hesitate. I just did it, even though I was scared.” She moved her hand to his lips, the way he had to hers. “And I’m probably afraid to love you, Finn, but you know what’s even scarier? I thought I’d missed my chance.”