Instinct had him wrapping his arms around her even though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. She slid her hands under his coat and melted into him. Her scent was still agitating. It always reminded him of a meadow…right after a lightning strike. Without thinking, he rested his chin on the top of her head, his beard scraping over the soft knit of her hat. Something dug into his side, but before he could figure it out, she distracted him by letting out a long, slow breath, and some tension left her. This was not the Remi he knew. That girl would have teased him with a loud, smacking kiss on the mouth just to piss him off before whirling away again to wreak havoc.
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.
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.
The beard was new and glorious. The intensity was the same and annoying. The deep blue aura pulsed around him. Steady. Dependable. Strong.
Twelve years ago, he’d torn her heart in two. Seven years after that, he’d shattered it into pieces. She’d yet to forgive either of them for it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still appreciate him being the poster child for testosterone.