She went still. Wait. Wait. She knew that slashing scar above his eyebrow. She knew that dimple on the right side of his mouth. She knew that wry, slow smile, it had always made her day. “Oh my God. No.”

He just kept looking at her.

She took closer stock. Shaggy sun-kissed brown hair, still apparently untamable in thick waves framing his face. Light stubble over his lean jaw—lean jaw. That’s what was so different, besides the years that had turned him from boy to man.

He’d lost his softness, every single bit of it, coming out with a rangy, leanly muscled build that spoke of long days in physical labor. He looked liked he’d lived each of the twelve years that had passed, every single one of them, well and hard. There were fine laugh lines fanning out from his eyes, and laugh lines around his mouth too. The thought made her heart leap. He’d smiled, laughed, and often. Oh I’m so glad, she thought, and felt the grin split her face. “Joe Walker.”

“So you do remember.”

“Of course I do.” She laughed, because just looking at him made her feel young and carefree, but the smile faded away when he didn’t do the same. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“In the flesh.” Twisting around, he reached for a dark blue T-shirt hanging over the back of the passenger seat.

“Don’t you want to treat the scratches first?” she asked.

“Later.”

“But—” She thought of the herbal cream she always carried for blisters, cuts, and any other nasty surprises she encountered on a regular basis out on a trek, and reached for the little purse hanging off her shoulder. “I have—”

“I’m good.” He pulled the shirt over his head, the muscles in his biceps flexing, his hard, ridged belly revealing a nice six-pack as he sat up straighter to pull the material down to cover his torso. A firefighter patch now covered his pec, making him look official. Grown up. And then it hit her. He looked right at home here. He’d lost the haunted, hollow look that had plagued him all his childhood, and had found something for himself, a place he belonged.

So had she. Far away from here. Unfortunately, her basis for that distance had been a single tragic event, not a strong enough foundation, she’d discovered. She’d lived free as a bird, yes, and had loved it, but a very small part of her knew she’d missed something by walking away from everyone and anyone who’d ever cared about her.

She just didn’t know what exactly.

And yet standing here, looking at the warehouse, seeing Joe, it was like a high-speed internet connection to the single most traumatic event of her life, and without warning, her vision wavered. Oh, damn. The third and final warning.

“Summer?”