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He kept telling himself that until he found himself in her room again that night. And the next night. And the night after that.

“Why do you look like you’re about to literally come apart at the seams?” Raemy asked one of those nights. She was sprawled out on top of him, her chin on her piled-up hands.

“I just don’t think—” He felt frenetic. Like there was some kind of poison under his skin. He wanted to throw her off him, maybe dive out the nearest window, maybe take off running until he crossed over into California some three hundred miles down the coast.

But he didn’t move.

“I’m going to need a little more than that.” She smiled at him, and the worst part was, he could tell now that she wasn’t using it as a weapon. That smile of hers was just that compelling.

She was just smiling. It wasn’t a front. She wasn’t pretending.

Raemy Miller apparently just went through the world, smiling willy-nilly like that. It was a wonder that more people weren’t walking into walls, threatening their own lives with spontaneous defenestration, or stumbling into traffic like he’d nearly done earlier this very night.

It would have been better if he’d been drunk. Not really, since Noah didn’t get drunk—but that would at least have excused it. Instead, he’d looked at her, she’d smiled at him, and he’d been this close to letting a tourist mow him down out in front of the tattoo shop.

“I think, psychologically, I get it,” he gritted out now. “I’m responsible for your brother’s death. Now we’re getting naked together. I feel like I’ve seen this movie. I’m just hoping it’s not a slasher flick. But honestly, even if it is⁠—”

“A slasher flick?” Raemy laughed. “Meaning, I guess, that I’m the slasher in this scenario? Noah, do you mean to tell me that you, a man who outweighs me by God only knows how much actual muscle and who is, in fact, an ex-Marine⁠—”

“No such thing as an ex-Marine. A Marine is always a Marine.”

“If you can’t handle my attempts to make you one of my kill count, I think you might be done for,” she said, gazing at him. Her smile in place. “But psychologically, I think we’re fine.”

“This is clearly not fine.” He rolled them then, so they were lying side-by-side. Not that this was helpful. It wasn’t like there was any particular position where this woman wasn’t a problem for him. “None of this is fine. Raemy, you have to see⁠—”

“William is dead,” she said. Not harshly. Just matter-of-factly. Almost gently, he thought, as if she had already come to terms with this but thought he hadn’t. “Nothing will change that. If something could change it, don’t you think I would’ve tried that thing already? I’m not the one whose grief is still sharp, Noah.”

“That’s because you’re not the one who’s responsible.”

She smiled, but then she leaned in and kissed him. “I have an idea,” she murmured. “How about we don’t go another few rounds on this? How about we stop worrying about psychological problems that have yet to appear in any meaningful way? What would happen if we just... lived?”

Noah didn’t have an answer for that. Because he didn’t know that he’d ever...just lived.

Raemy leaned in and melted into him. She smoothed her fingers down the sides of his face and then she kissed him, and he thought that he might as well just live a little while longer.

With her, like this, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do when she seemed so determined to pretend they didn’t have the ghost of her brother there between them.

Besides, he knew she wouldn’t stay here forever. This was temporary. Wild Rose Point was nothing but a stop along the road for her, and he was glad about it.

Because if it was temporary—if she was simply passing through and this was an itch they were scratching that wouldn’t leave any lasting marks—then maybe, just maybe, he could let himself enjoy it.

6

The more time went on, the more Raemy loved Wild Rose Point. And she’d been pretty jaw-droppingly in love with the place the first time she’d driven down the main street and had seen the Pacific Ocean gleaming there, playing hide and seek down this or that narrow walkway.

Maybe it wasn’t surprising. After all, she couldn’t really imagine who wouldn’t be delighted by such a charming place. The fact that it was right on the ocean didn’t hurt. Or that the beach was so gorgeous and rugged, with the big rocks rising out of the waves or the sand at low tide.

Sea stacks, a woman in one of the boutiques had corrected her when she’d innocently mentioned the rocks one day. They are actually volcanic basalt.

Sounds like a good name for my band, Raemy had replied. Perhaps a bit too flippantly.

She had not made a friend of that woman, who was clearly on a mission to properly identify the majestic not-rocks that made the beach here—and all along the Oregon coast, Raemy now knew—so breathtaking.

But aside from the boutique that she would never enter again, it was the town itself that she loved. Even on foggy days when she couldn’t see the beach or the sea stacks or the water at all. It was so easy to feel at home.

The locals were friendly, and when it was clear that she was sticking around—as one week turned into three and then more—they opened up more and more. She spent probably too much of her time in the Water Witch, gathering protective stones, talking about amulets, and buying herself her first personal tarot card deck. She liked to sit in her room at the inn and ask the universe questions, because it made her feel connected to things that were larger than herself.

She liked to go to the Tufted Puffin Taphouse for the name alone, but she also liked the deeply millennial hipster beer. For less artisanal beer, there was always the Seaglass Saloon. Raemy haunted the bookshop, and made sure she always had something new to read, because she was indulging herself in this deep seaside breath she was taking.