"You'll be here. Three months, remember?"
She turned to face him, and the words came out before she could overthink them. "If I'm still here next weekend, would you go with me?"
The question surprised her as it left her mouth. She hadn't planned to ask. Hadn't even realized she wanted to until the words were already in the air between them.
But she didn't want to sit on the grass alone. And she didn't want to go with anyone else.
Brian's expression did that thing it sometimes did, the hard edges smoothing into something softer and more open. "Yeah," he said. "Bring a blanket."
She smiled, and for once, it stayed.
They walked back through the pines as the afternoon light turned golden, the shadows lengthening across the path. The sound of the fair faded behind them, replaced by birdsong and the rustle of wind through needles.
Brian asked her about the pendant, and she told him about the vendor, the wildflowers, and the idea of carrying little pieces of Copper Moon with her. He listened the way he always did, with his full attention, as if what she said mattered.
"My mom used to press flowers," he said. "When I was a kid. She had these big books full of them, all labeled with where she found them and when. I thought it was boring at the time. Now I wish I'd paid more attention."
"Does she still do it?"
"She passed away. Ten years ago." His voice was matter-of-fact, but she heard the weight beneath it. "Cancer. It was quick, at least. She didn't suffer long."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago." He stepped over a root that crossed the path and offered her his hand to help her do the same. His palm was warm and calloused, and he let go as soon as she was steady. "What about you? Parents still around?"
"My mom is. She lives in Ohio, where I grew up. We talk on the phone, but I haven't visited in..." She had to think about it, and the answer shamed her. "Two years. Maybe longer. There was always a reason not to go. A shift I couldn't miss. A surgery I couldn't hand off."
"And your dad?"
She touched the sleeve of her flannel, the one she still wore despite the warmth of the day. "He died when I was twenty-two. Heart attack. I was in my third year of med school. Sometimes I think that's why I pushed so hard to become a surgeon. Like if I saved enough people, it would make up for not being able to save him."
She hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to open that particular door. But something about Brian made it easy to tell the truth, even the truths she usually kept locked away.
He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "That's a heavy thing to carry."
"It is." She managed a small smile. "I'm working on putting it down."
"That's the hardest part. The putting down."
She looked at him, at the lines around his eyes and the set of his jaw, and knew he was speaking from experience. Whatever had driven him away from the ambulance, whatever weight he'd been carrying when he came to Copper Moon, he understood.
They reached the cottage as the sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting the water in shades of copper and gold. The color that gave this place its name. Tessa stood on the deck and watched the light change, the pendant warm at her throat, Brian a steady presence beside her.
"Thank you," she said. "For coming to find me. For walking me back."
"I was already in town," he said.
She decided not to call him on it. "Still. Thank you."
He nodded once, then headed inside to start dinner. She stayed on the deck a while longer, watching the copper fade to rose to purple, listening to the evening sounds rise around her.
She thought about the man at the fair. The phone calls she hadn't answered. The prickle at the back of her neck that might have been paranoia or might have been instinct.
She thought about Brian's hand in hers as she stepped over the root. The way he'd positioned himself between her and the crowd without being asked. The way he'd said yeah to the concert like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Three months in Copper Moon. Three months to heal, to rest, to figure out who she was without the hospital defining her.
She hadn't expected to find someone who made her feel safe in the process.
