The RV screeched, tires biting into the asphalt as Theo threw it into a hard, desperate turn. Gifford House was a rapidly shrinking dot in the rearview mirror, its quaint facade now a stage for chaos and the distant wail of sirens.
Adrenaline, thick and acrid, still clogged Theo's throat, making his breath come in ragged gasps. Every muscle in his body was screaming, but his mind, usually so meticulously controlled, was a whirlwind of disbelieving awe.
He drove, pushing the lumbering vehicle faster than he knew was safe, navigating the winding roads with a desperate urgency. His eyes darted from the road to the rearview mirror, then to Remy. She was remarkably, bafflingly calm. She sat in the passenger seat, already plucking at an invisible thread on her jeans, her expression one of mild disappointment.
"You know," she murmured, her voice entirely conversational, as if they hadn't just been in a brutal, pie-splattered brawl. "I really had my heart set on that boysenberry. I wonder if they'll still have any left after… all that." She gestured vaguely back at the disappearing pie shop.
Theo's jaw clenched. He risked a quick, incredulous glance at her. His thoughts were a frantic scramble: Who is this woman? What is she? He remembered his "I'm going to marry this woman someday" thought, and now it felt less like a romantic revelation and more like a terrifying, exhilarating pronouncement. She was a hurricane in human form, and he'd just gotten caught in her eye.
He focused on the road, then, after several minutes of white-knuckled driving, the words escaped him, low and filled with the sheer force of his disbelief. "Where did you learn to do that, Remy?" His voice was raspy, stripped of its usual clipped authority, replaced by naked astonishment. "What… what was that?"
Remy turned to him, her blue eyes bright, devoid of guile. "Oh, that? MMA. Mixed martial Arts. You know, for fun. It's a hobby." She shrugged, as if explaining how to tie her shoelaces. "I trained for a few years, mostly for stress relief, really. And because…" she hesitated, then continued without fanfare, "…I was a foster kid. Always moving. You learn to find ways to ground yourself when you're always trying to figure out where you'll sleep next. MMA was that for me. It was consistent, you know? And it turns out, it's really good for making angry men go bye-bye." She gave a small, wry smile.
Theo felt his breath hitch. Foster kid. The casualness with which she delivered such a stark, personal detail hit him harder than any punch. He'd spent weeks trying to decipher her, convinced she was hiding some grand secret, some complex backstory. And here she was, laying it out plain, without pretense or drama. His shock now wasn't about her dishonesty, but about the sheer, mind-bending contrast. This quirky woman who talked to her car and obsessed over pie was also a product of a life of constant upheaval, and a trained, lethal fighter. The pieces of Remy, the ones he thought were contradictory, suddenly clicked into a terrifying, beautiful, and utterly captivating whole. His "I'm going to marry her" thought solidified, deepened by a profound respect and a fierce, surprising tenderness. She was so much more than he had ever assumed.
A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the RV's internal atmosphere occurred. Their conversation was no longer about Theo grilling Remy for answers she wouldn't give. It was about him processing the incredible depth of her character, her resilience, her transparent complexity. He felt the protective instinct in him sharpen, but now it was less about shielding the fragile and more about guarding something fiercely precious.
Remy, perhaps sensing the subtle change in his energy, leaned back in her seat. "So," she said, a hint of her usual playful sarcasm returning, "now that we've established I'm not entirely useless in a brawl, do you have a plan beyond 'drive really fast and hope they don't have bigger guns'?"
Theo let out a short, surprised laugh, a rough, unpracticed sound. "Always a plan, Remy." He pulled out his burner phone, his fingers flying over the keypad, a rapid string of Italian filtering through the RV. He needed immediate intel. He needed to know if those men were a one-off, or if the deeper threat was still active.
The call was quick. His contact confirmed it: "Theo. They're neutralized. The ones from the pie shop. Our people handled it. They won't be bothering you again."
Relief, sharp and clean, cut through Theo's adrenaline haze. "Good," he grunted, ending the call. The immediate danger from that specific ambush was over. For the moment, they were truly safe. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a fraction.
He glanced at Remy, who was now humming softly, scrolling through something on her own phone. The immediate threat, the reason for his frantic driving, had dissipated. The air in the RV, though still heavy with the lingering scent of combat and adrenaline, suddenly felt… lighter. He had time now. Time to process. Time to re-evaluate everything. Time to look at the woman beside him, truly look at her, and begin to understand what this new reality meant for them both. The journey had just changed. Profoundly.