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His eyes glide to my heated cheeks, and I can almost see the faint amusement in them.

My face burns. I straighten, even though I know Oliver sees right through me. “Your honesty unnerves me sometimes.”

He shrugs and brings his mug to his lips. “If you ask me something, I’ll answer it. It’s hard for me to hide anything.”

“I know,” I whisper, and the way he looks at me when I say that shouldn’t fill me with pride, but it does.

Not a total stranger, then. There are still some parts of him that I remember.

“What about you?” he asks. “Am I close to how you pictured me?”

How could my imagination have even come close to the man sitting next to me? It’s always been easy for me to get swept away by someone attractive, get physical, and never see that person again. I can’t say it hasn’t worked well for me so far.

But I need more than sex to feel a connection, a spark, that our souls resonate on the same wavelength. Oliver and I had that from the start. That’s what drew me in five years ago. And now, if I paused to think about it, if I dared to look deep within my soul, something tells me I’d still be able to tug on that string tethering us to each other.

But I’m not blunt like him, and there are things I’m not ready to share with him just yet. Or even to admit to myself.

“Something like that,” I say softly.

If he’s disappointed with my response, he doesn’t let it show.

Oliver curls his other hand around the mug and rests his arms on his knees. “So where does the intrepid Charlee Fletcher travel to these days?”

I tuck a smile in my scarf at the sound of my full name on his lips. “I’m lucky to have been around the world many times in the past few years. I’ve discovered isolated places, seen more beauty than I could ever imagine seeing at my age—and more than most of my colleagues combined.” At that, Oliver raises his brows. “I pretty much jump on every assignment. If I’m not already out on a project.”

He chuckles. “Always on the run, huh?”

It’s more of a comment than a question really, but it still startles me that he can read me so well.

“So many things to see and so little time.”

Oliver hums as if he too knows the feeling well. “What was your favorite place?”

I ponder his question before answering. “I don’t know about favorite because there’s always something unique wherever I go, but I was in Australia last year during the fires, and I accomplished my most impactful work there. I’ll remember it till the day I die.”

A shadow crosses his face. Or maybe it’s my imagination and nothing more than the flames crackling in front of us. “Must have been pretty dangerous.”

I shrug, pulling the scarf around me tighter. Even if the fire is still burning brightly, the night is growing colder and colder by the minute. “It was, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have been there. My articles were read around the world, and the photos that accompanied them were shown on the news. My work got people to pay attention. I participated in rescue missions with teams that were sent to help wildlife escape the flames and find shelter. I will never forget what I saw.”

His eyes drift to meet mine. “Sounds like such a Charlee thing to do.”

I hold his stare, my heart thundering in my chest. I swallow. How is my throat so dry? “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always been so . . . unafraid. About everything. Bold. You dare anyone to stand in your way when you have your heart set on something.”

I want to tell him that he couldn’t be more wrong, that I’m scared all the time. I’m just not afraid of the same things most people are terrified of. I would gladly dive off a cliff into shark-infested water, but I can’t drop my bags and stay more than a few weeks in the same place. I suppose, over time, I got good enough at pretending. But I don’t want him to know this is all for show. I like that he thinks of me like that. That thought settles heavily in my chest. Since when have I ever cared about what people think of me?

I don’t, I remind myself. But Oliver isn’t most people.

“Thank you for that,” I whisper before I clear my throat. “How are your grandparents doing? Still holding down the fort at Jerry’s?”

He stares into the fire, but I still see the dimness in his eyes when he says, “They passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh, Oliver . . . I’m sorry.”

I take one of his hands away from the mug and try to ignore the warmth that spreads when I squeeze it. Oliver takes an uneven breath, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He moves his hand, lacing his fingers with mine. I don’t say anything.

“It’s okay. It’s been a while now. I miss them like crazy, but most of the time, I’m okay.”