“Clint,” she met his eyes, “we don’t have to rehash this. I’m fine. Really. Some women are just meant to be alone. Susan B. Anthony was too busy with the underground railroad and fighting for women’s right to vote to get married and settle down. Maybe I need to just pour my life into helping others and forget about men.” She released a weary sigh. “Please take me to the kitchen. I saw Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and I haven’t had those in probably ten years.”

Huffing a sigh of his own, he nodded and carried her to the kitchen, setting her on a chair.

Aya was quick to get up and grab Brooke a bowl and spoon, while Talia rattled off every cereal and how it tasted, as if Brooke was illiterate or something. It was cute.

“Those all sound very delicious, but I think I’m going to go with my original choice of the Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. I had them as a kid, and the nostalgia is hitting me hard.”

“What’s nost-al-gia?” Talia asked, passing Brooke the box of Cheerios.

“It’s a fond memory or desire to return to a time or do something that you used to do in the past and enjoyed. Like eating a cereal from your childhood. Or visiting a place you used to travel to with your family when you were small,” Clint said, garnering the undivided attention of all the kids with his educational diatribe.

“So having Cheerios makes you want to return to when you were a kid?” Silas asked.

Brooke pinned her lips together. “Not quite. I just ... liked them then, and hope I like them now.” She shook the cereal into her bowl and thanked Emme for passing the milk.

Something dark flashed behind Brooke’s eyes when Silas asked her if she wanted to return to her childhood. Something reluctant and almost frightening. Like she’d rather jump back out into the Puget Sound and risk hypothermia again than head back in time.

Why was that?

He’d been a coward, sending Jagger up to check on Brooke earlier. He just as easily could have come up himself, but he chickened out and sent his baby brother. He made sure to send Jagger with food he figured Brooke would like. Then he peppered Jagger with questions about how Brooke seemed when his brother returned.

“Uh, bro, obvious much?” Jagger joked. “We all know you’ve got a thing for her. Why didn’t you just go up yourself? Cooper could have handled things here for fifteen minutes.”

Clint avoided Jagger’s probing stare. Of course, Cooper could handle things. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that he and Brooke had sex. Then he went weird afterward. And now he was worried about how it would be to see her again.

“Oh fuck,” Jagger breathed. “That was fast. Your first time since Jacqueline?”

Busying himself with one of the insulated fermenters, he ignored Jagger’s question.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Still ignoring Jagger, he moved over to the box that had just arrived from the delivery truck. It was a replacement piece for his semi-auto keg washer. Grabbing a box cutter from his pocket, he slid the blade through the tape like it was warm butter.

“Dude, who are you punishing? Yourself or Brooke? Because neither of you has done anything wrong,” Jagger said, his voice almost pleaded. “This could be good for you. You’re finally moving on.”

“With someone who is as temporary as the wind,” Clint shot back, finally lifting his head. Emotion scraped his throat. “It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to Talia. And it’s not fair to Brooke. It’s messy. That’s it. It was a moment of weakness that never should have happened.”

Jagger rolled his head, then shook it. “No. You feel guilty. That’s it. Now you’re beating yourself up over the fact that you enjoyed the moment. That you enjoyed someone else besides your wife.”

“Jacqueline and I hadn’t had sex in nearly a year before she died. It’s not that.”

“Fuck ... you never—”

“Yeah, well, some things don’t need to be discussed. Brooke is temporary. I can’t do temporary. I can’t do a fling. She’s just like Jacqueline. She prefers the busy, city life. There’s nothing here for her.”

“Did she say that?” Jagger asked.

“Doesn’t have to. I can see it written on her face. She’s bored here.”

Jagger growled and shook his head some more. “Because she’s hiding from a murderer and recovering from hypothermia, and her feet are cut up to shredded beef. Maybe once she can walk on her own, she might not be so fucking bored. Give the woman—and yourself—a fucking break, for Christ’s sake.”

All Clint did was shake his head, too, as he pulled out the replacement piece for the keg washer and pulled off the plastic casing. He searched around for his toolbox, then grabbed it and went over to the thirteen-thousand-dollar machine to replace the fixture.

“You’re an idiot,” Jagger finally said. “She’s got some secrets. I’ll give her that. But I also think you’re judging her and assuming a lot. She asked a lot of questions about the family.”

Clint lifted his head so fast he nearly broke his neck. “What did you tell her?”

“Fucking relax. Nothing incriminating. Told her about Mom and Dad, because she asked about them.”