“I’m not giving all of it away. I like fast cars.”
“And freshly ground Arabica coffee and twenty-one-year-aged rum.”
“I also like good food, good sheets, good clothes, and good Wi-Fi,” he rattled off.
She laughed and was rewarded with his heart-melting smile as he looked at her softly.
“But mostly,” he finished, “I loveyou.”
Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Remy's thoughts spun and their chemistry enveloped them, and in their little corner of Maine near the ocean, everything was righter than right with their world.
Epilogue
Jeremiah came downstairs early on Christmas morning hoping to catch Remy alone.
He’d joined her in Dallas for Christmas with her family, which had been great. Her dad kept introducing him to buddies who were F1 fans. Her mom and sister treated him like he was Prince William. Only one thing about their time in Dallas had been less than perfect.
Jeremiah didn’t get Remy to himself as much as he would’ve liked.
That wasn’t generous of him seeing as how her family lived far from Maine and only got to see her a couple times a year. But there it was. The greedy state of his heart on Christmas Day.
He came to a stop, barefoot on the hardwood floor at the arched opening to the living room. Remy was indeed alone. She sat cross-legged at the end of the sofa, staring into the crackling fire.
She had on a black shirt, pushed up over her delicate forearms, and the red-and-black-checkered pajama bottoms he'd once been forced to wear. Her pale hair was down—a beautiful, messy tumble over her shoulders and chest.
The tree lights glittered and Christmas music played quietly. She wasn’t looking at her phone or reading or doing anything except thinking. This wasn’t unusual. She often took vacations into her own mind and imagination.
He took his time, memorizing every detail of the picture she presented. She was endlessly intriguing to him. Filled with facets and layers. Feisty and tender. Practical and spiritual. Self-sufficient yet willing to let him in.
They were very different, but they were also made for each other. It was as if God had known exactly what He was doing when he’d placed Jeremiah in the water outside her cottage in range of her binoculars. Jeremiah had never loved or trusted anyone as much as he loved and trusted her. And he couldn’t believe he was fortunate enough to be loved by her in return.
Every time he remembered the day that Anton had used Remy as a shield he got a cold pit in his stomach. Those images couldn't be unseen, so the best he could do was use those memories as a reminder to be grateful that Anton hadn’t hurt her.
He also couldn't unsee memories of his fights with Alexis or memories of the day he’d learned of her death. One thing had gone away, though. His nightmares about Alexis. He supposed that was because they’d uncovered the truth and were working to get justice for her. Anton had been charged with manslaughter for what he’d done to Alexis. He’d also been charged with attempted murder for trying to poison Jeremiah in order to stop him from investigating Alexis’s death and uncovering Anton’s role in it.
Jeremiah had rewatched the time-lapse video of Maiden's Cliff. It was clear to him that Alexis had gone into one of her furious tirades. Jeremiah had always reacted to those with control. Anton had maintained control for a while. But Alexis had continued to strike out at him and eventually Anton's temper had snapped the way Jeremiah had seen it snap before over the course of their years together. Alexis had pushed Anton over the edge of his tolerance. And in a moment of white-hot anger, he’d pushed her over the edge of the mountain.
Anton had nearly gotten away with it. If Jeremiah had consumed more of the drink or if Remy hadn’t rescued him when she did, he would have.
Jeremiah shifted his weight and the floor let out a creak.
Remy glanced up. When she saw him, happiness illuminated her face. “Watching me again?” she asked with amusement.
“Every chance I get.” He crossed to her, leaned over, and kissed her.
Right when he was losing his ability to think and breathe, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Jeremiah,” against his lips.
He pulled back a few inches. “Merry Christmas, Remy.”
They beamed at each other.
“Can I open my gift now?” she asked.
“Only if I can open mine.” He straightened, nodding to the rectangular, five-foot-tall wrapped box.
“Deal.” She popped to her feet and retrieved her smaller, flatter box. “Me first.” She tore free the paper to reveal a very amateur painting of ocean, the cliff in front of her cottage, her house, and sky. Her lips parted in delighted surprise. “Did you . . . paint this?”
