Page 43 of A Brambleberry Summer

She did her best to ignore how fiercely she wanted to kiss him again. It helped to focus on the gleaming badge he was wearing over the pocket of his sports coat, which reminded her of all the differences between them.

“Anything special I need to know or do?”

“Not really. Since the fire, Logan does have the occasional nightmare. If he has one, you only have to stay close and help talk him through it until he falls back asleep.”

“Oh,pobrecito,” she exclaimed.

His eyes seemed to soften. “Yeah. He’s been through a few things. The nightmares are not as frequent as they were right after the fire. He probably won’t even wake up but I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you again.”

“Do not worry about things here. Go take care of what you have to do. I will be here. And take a cookie with you.”

He grabbed one with a smile that left her feeling slightly light-headed. She told herself it was because she had only eaten a warm cookie for dinner.

After he left, she was again struck by how Wyatt and Logan had settled into the space. A video-game controller sat on the coffee table, along with a trio of plastic dinosaurs and several early-reader chapter books.

The house smelled like Wyatt, that combination of scents she couldn’t pinpoint. She only knew it reminded her of walking through a forest after a rainstorm.

A light was on next to the easy chair in the sunroom. She wandered in and found a mystery novel with a bookmark halfway through on the side table. A small bowl of popcorn sat next to it.

Rosa’s own limited detective skills told her he must have been reading and enjoying a snack when he got the call from work. She liked thinking about him here, enjoying the sound of the ocean in the night through the screens.

While Fiona found a comfortable spot on the rug next to Hank, Rosa continued on her tour. She briefly went to the room she knew Logan used and opened the door a crack to check on him.

The boy was sleeping soundly, sprawled across the bed with a shoebox that looked like it contained treasures tucked nearby.

She fought the urge to go to him, to smooth away the hair falling into his eyes.

The night of the storm, Wyatt had said Logan was a sound sleeper, but she still didn’t want to run the risk of waking him and having him be confused at finding her here and not his father.

She did, however, take a moment to adjust the blanket more solidly over his shoulders.

Oh, he was dear boy. Just looking at him made her smile. He looked a great deal like his father, but his lighter coloring and the shape of his nose must have come from his mother’s side.

Rosa had to wonder about the woman. She had seen a picture of them all together at Carrie and Joe’s house. She had been pretty, blonde, delicate-looking.

Carrie had told her Tori Townsend had been a talented artist and writer, in addition to a school guidance counselor. Though she had been a runner who regularly worked out, she had tragically died of a previously undiagnosed heart condition at a shockingly young age.

Logan must grieve for her terribly, she thought.Both of them must.It made her heart ache, thinking of this sweet boy growing up without his mother.

At least he had a father who doted on him and an aunt, uncle and cousin who showered love and affection on him, as well.

After she had assured herself Logan was sleeping comfortably, she returned to the living area. It felt strange to be here in Wyatt’s space without him. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself.

She finally turned on the audiobook she was listening to through her ear pods and picked up her knitting. While the dogs slept tangled together at her feet, she worked and listened to the audiobook above the sound of the wind in the trees and the ever-present song of the ocean.

The chair was comfortable and her day had been long. Soon she gave in to the inevitable and closed her eyes, thinking she would only doze for a moment.

She had a dream she was running. It was cold, bitterly cold, and she was barefoot. She was so afraid, not only for herself. She had nowhere to go and the winter snow blew past her and through her. So cold. Always so cold. She had been used to sunshine and heat and could never seem to warm up here.

Everything hurt. Her face, her arms, her stomach where she had been kicked and beaten. She needed help but didn’t know where to go.

And then she saw him. A police officer. She thought at first it was Daniel but as he came closer she saw it was Wyatt, looking down at her with concern.

“What happened? Why are you running?”

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