"Come," he said, the word coming out softer than he intended. "They're good people. And Sabrina's shrimp and grits are worth the drive."
She looked at him, something shifting in her green eyes. Then she nodded. "Okay. I'd like that."
After breakfast, Hank and Colby headed to the shop, and Brian walked Tessa down Main Street. The morning had warmed, and the town was coming alive around them. Shop doors propped open, locals calling greetings to each other, the harbor glittering at the end of the street like a promise.
"Your friends are nice," Tessa said. "A little intense, but nice."
"Colby doesn't know any other speed. And Hank's the most solid person I've ever met. When he says you're family, he means it."
"I got that sense." She paused at a window display, looking at a collection of handmade jewelry. "How long have you known them?"
"Hank, about fifteen years. We worked together in Missouri, back when I was still on the ambulance. Colby came along later, but it feels like he's always been there." Brian shoved his hands in his pockets, watching a seagull swoop down to steal something from a trash can. "They're the closest thing I've got to brothers."
"That's rare. Having people like that."
"It is." He glanced at her. "You have anyone like that? Back in Chicago?"
She was quiet for a moment, her attention still on the jewelry. "I had colleagues. People I worked with every day, people I trusted in the OR. But outside of that..." She shook her head. "The job didn't leave much room for anything else. I kept meaning to build a life outside the hospital, but there was always another shift, another emergency, another reason to put it off."
"And then you burned out."
"And then I burned out." She turned from the window, meeting his eyes. "I woke up one morning and couldn't make myself get out of bed. Not because I was tired, though I was. Because I couldn't remember why any of it mattered. The patients, the surgeries, the lives I was saving. It all felt like noise."
He knew that feeling. Had lived inside it for months before Hank and Colby had dragged him to Copper Moon. The numbness that crept in when you'd given everything and had nothing left.
"That's why you came here," he said. "To remember why it matters."
"Maybe. Or to figure out if it ever did." She started walking again, and he fell into step beside her. "I keep waiting to miss it. The adrenaline, the purpose, the feeling of being needed. But so far, all I feel is relief."
"There's nothing wrong with relief."
"Tell that to the voice in my head that says I'm abandoning people who need me."
He stopped walking, and she stopped too, turning to face him. They were in front of the bookstore, Ruth's shop, with its cluttered window display and promise of quiet inside.
"That voice is lying," he said. "You can't save anyone if you're running on empty. Taking time to refill isn't abandonment. It's survival."
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes bright with something she was trying not to show. "Is that what you tell yourself? About leaving the ambulance?"
The question cut closer than he expected. "I'm still working on believing it."
"Then we're both works in progress."
"Seems that way."
They stood there for a moment, the bustle of Main Street flowing around them like water around stones. Then she smiled, small but real, and something in his chest loosened.
"Thank you," she said. "For saying that."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm still figuring out if I mean it."
She laughed, that bright sound he was starting to look forward to. "Fair enough."
They walked back to the truck in companionable silence. As Brian pulled out of the parking spot and headed toward White Gull Lane, he caught himself glancing at her profile, the way the sunlight caught the gold in her hair, the soft curve of her mouth.
Three days ago, she'd been a stranger invading his peace.
Now she felt like something else entirely.