“Remy? Do you say yes?”
“What am I saying yes to?”
“Weekends with me.”
“Hmm?”
Gotcha, he thought.
During the middle of the day, when Remy worked on her sculpture, Jeremiah spent his time on three things.
One, figuring out how to get ingredients for their dinners. Islehaven had no grocery store. Either you planned in advance and brought food with you when you arrived. Or you placed orders with a grocery store in Rockland and they loaded your order onto a plane. Or you bought items directly from Islehaven residents. Lobster, halibut, tuna, redfish, and more could sometimes be had off the dock. Bakery items could sometimes be had out of the house of a woman named Hilda.
Two, he continued to investigate Alexis’s death. He’d just finished a master spreadsheet based on the worksheets that had come in from the conversations Jude, his mother, and Anton had completed. They’d all reported that the people they’d spoken with had been forthcoming, except for one. Fiona had said a friend of Alexis’s named Skye had been reluctant to share anything with her. Jude recommended Jeremiah follow up with Skye at a later date, when back stateside and when more of his memory had returned.
Three, he worked on Remy’s truck without her knowing. She was oblivious to the noises he was making thanks to the music she played, which suited him fine. He wanted her to have more reliable transportation. But he didn’t want the lecture she’d give him if she knew he was repairing her truck without her approval.
On Saturday, Jeremiah steered the two of them to a neighboring island. They anchored in a bay rimmed with pines and hiked to the island’s peak. When they reached it, Remy threw out her arms and turned in a circle. She was dressed in a parka, insulated leggings, and duck boots. The cold had turned her cheeks pink. She seemed to love her view, but it wasn’t half as good as his. Back on the boat, they ate lobster salad sandwiches on crunchy rolls while the boat rocked them gently in the current.
The next day, Remy booked them massage appointments. They went to the home of someone named Samantha, who was also the local mailwoman and hairstylist. She’d set up a portable massage table in her kitchen that smelled like peanut butter. The table creaked loudly when Jeremiah lay stomach-down on it.
“Not to worry,” Samantha said uncertainly. “It’ll hold.”
He had a hard time relaxing because he kept expecting the thing to crash to the ground. Also, her cats kept walking by on the counters, eyeballing him. Also, Samantha wasn’t very strong, so the massage didn’t feel great. Then again, if she pushed downward with any additional force, he really might crash.
As he and Remy walked from Samantha’s house to Remy’s truck, he looked across at her and pronounced, “Best massage I can ever remember having.”
Remy had learned her lesson. Jeremiah would arrive on time for dinner and if she allowed herself to get so carried away in her work that she lost track of time, she’d pay for that mistake when he suddenly appeared—shocking her senses with his gorgeousness. One needed to prepare oneself for the onslaught of Jeremiah.
On Monday, Halloween, she outsmarted him by setting her dinner alarm ten minutes earlier than usual, then hurrying to the nearest mirror to check her appearance. She hadn’t given a thought to her looks in years. But yikes. She was glad she’d checked.
She removed wood chips from her clothing and a stain from her chin. Returning to the studio, she positioned herself so that she was facing the room’s doorway.
Once again, he was punctual. He showed up looking like the wind had raked loving fingers through his gold-brown hair. He’d taken to wearing the warm clothing necessary for autumn on Islehaven, yet it was clothing from a Camden closet. Upscale. Tonight, a flannel such a dark blue it was almost black, a waffle-knit shirt underneath, jeans that fit so well they should have been outlawed.
“Quitting time?” he asked.
“Quitting time,” she agreed.
A smile hovered in his eyes as he watched her approach.
Jeremiah had a way of making her notice tiny details. The quality of the overhead light as it fell against his cheekbones. The gemlike shade of his eyes.
“Hello,” she said when she was just inches away.
“Hello.”
And there it was—desire thickening the atmosphere between them. It had become a constant presence. Heavy and languid at times. At other times sharp.
“I missed you,” he said.
They’d only been apart since this morning’s walk.
“A lot,” he added.
She released a shaky exhale.
He scrutinized her. “What’re you thinking?”
