I turn off toward the woods and stop only a short distance on the trail. Then I sit on the ground and hug my knees. Philip joins me at my side.

"Alison," he whispers but says nothing more.

I look over at him and the moonlight glints in his eyes.

I say, "So you don't know. You don't know what you are, if something attacked you, or even if you died?"

He shrugs tilting his head to the side.

"I've had my theories," he says.

"Like what?"

He hesitates.

"I could be a ghost," he says. "Alma thinks I just need to finish my penance, avoid sin, and I'll be out of Purgatory eventually."

"Who's Alma?"

He smiles.

"The ghost who lives with me," he says with a hint of intentional irony. "But she's more or less what you'd expect a ghost to be. But me?" He shrugs.

I look at him. "How are you different?"

He takes my hand and presses my palm to his chest. My heart beats wildly not only at the feel of warm hard muscle under my hand but at his pulse. His eyes turn black and waves of stinging pain hit me as images flash through my mind: of him compelling the manager at DQ to give me a free meal, of him feeling out my emotions and thoughts, of him restraining my anxiety, of him disappearing in the rain after I was out of eyesight.

When I begin to shiver, the images stop. My hand is still resting upon Philip's chests, my heart pounding heavily within me.

I take a few heavy breaths before I ask, "You don't drink blood, do you? Because if you do, I think I know what you are."

His sudden laughter is jarringly beautiful, and he lets go of my hand and scoots closer.

"No," he says. "But I do age."

"How does that work?" I ask.

"In cycles," he says. "When I start a new one, I remember nothing. I'm just a kid with strange powers in a world I don't recognize. At night, the memories start returning, but I never remember anything past the age I'm currently living." Then he chuckles, his breath warming the outer edge of my ear. "That's sort of how we met."

I turn and look at him.

"What do you mean?"

His smile widens briefly.

"It was a new life cycle," he says. "But it was different than before. I wasn't home, wasn't greeted by ghosts, or having anything explained. And then you found me and took care of me. You weren't the least bit frightened."

I scoff, "That's hard to believe."

We're silent for a moment, and he shakes his head.

"You're braver than you know," he says. "But . . . I'd like to help you with your phobias . . . if you'd let me."

I inhale deeply. "You already do."

And he leans forward till our foreheads touch. The crickets chirp around us. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a voice that's still telling me to run away, to run from him, and yet I stay.

"I'm sorry I scare you now," he says softly.

"I'm not as scared as I should be," I say. "But maybe—maybe that's your doing."

He strokes my cheek.

"I've let go," he says in a hush. "This is all you."

And we linger there with our foreheads touching for several seconds until he kisses me there. When I don't resist, he kisses my forehead again and then slowly moves down my face. Even he is shivering as he sends brilliant tingles where-ever his lips touch. And he's hesitant. He seems to consider each one, toying with the possibility of stopping.

My heart beats wildly both with desire and fear. I should stop this now, and yet I can't find the will.

And then our noses touch, and he lingers there quietly as we both shiver. I know he wants to kiss me and not a quick peck like before. A real kiss. The thought of it frightens me, and yet my lips tingle with a growing anticipation the longer he waits.

Just as I'm starting to doubt he'll do it, he says, "May I?"

Butterflies flutter around inside me, and I let out a tiny, "Mm-Hmm."

And then slowly, gently, like he's afraid I might break, his lips brush against mine. Instinctively, I close my eyes, and his lips caress mine more firmly. My insides scream, Yes! Yes! And suddenly I no longer feel shy about it. Our lips move as they're meant to.

The longer I kiss him, the more I don't want to stop, the more I don't care about anything else. The world around us seems to disappear. There is only me and Philip and this moment.

When he pulls away, I whine a protest and force my lips back into their rightful place, almost toppling him over. His laughter comes from deep within his throat, and then something happens, something I've noticed before but have always dismissed.

Alison, we need to stop.

I pull away and stare at his face. You're talking in my mind, aren't you?

He smiles.

"Yes," he says both out loud and in my head.

I shake my head. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Philip escorts me back to the campsite, not holding my hand, not standing too close. He seems to understand I'm not quite ready to advertise we are . . . that he is . . . Is he my boyfriend? Or was that kiss just—

He laughs. "I wouldn't have kissed you if I weren't serious, Alison."

I look at him and blush.

"I know how you feel about me," he says. "And I know how sensitive your heart is. I wouldn't toy with it like that."

I look down at the ground. Though my heart wants to wrap itself in the security of his words, the fact that he can know my feelings so deeply frightens me.

"Hey." He takes my hand and squeezes it. We stop. "I didn't say that to make you more uncomfortable. I just wanted to reassure you."

I nod. "I know." Then, I let go of his hand. "Let's just get back to the campsite and try not to rush things. A serious relationship develops over time. It doesn't jump blindly into emotions."

We resume walking, and he continues to smile. "You act like we're strangers."

"For me," I say. "We nearly are strangers. That's why this scares me."

"It scares me too," he says, and I meet his eyes again. "I've never done this . . . Not in this life anyway. Not since my first life. All I know is that I don't want to lose y—this." His smile widens like he's trying to be cute. "So, if you'll be my girlfriend, I'll be your—"

"Boyfriend. Got it." I swallow and stare forward. "But let's try to take things slow."

He smirks. "I'll try."

We arrive back at the campsite. Mia sits alone in a camp chair, staring blankly into the fire. Her eyes glance up at us. She frowns, sighs, and turns her gaze back to the fire.

"She'll be okay," Philip whispers to me and then heads over to the others at the picnic table. Only Brianna and Sophie remain. Brianna looks up, followed by Sophie. "Told ya I'd bring her back."

"Oh, thank God," Brianna exclaims and sets her hand of cards face down on the picnic table. She gets up from her seat and heads over to me. "Alison, I'm so sorry. What I did was—"

Tell her you're sorry too, Philip's voice jumps in my mind. It'll smooth things over.

"So rude and presumptuous," my cousin continues. "I have no idea—"

Don't buy it, Philip insists. She's still mad. Say, 'I'm sorry too.' 'I'm sorry too.'

I spit out, "I'm sorry too, Bri."

Relief spreads across Brianna's face.

Philip continues to fill me in. She's mad at you, because . . . Ugh! Well, isn't she the controlling type?

"Really?" Brianna says.

She feels you wasted her time asking for help. Focus on communication. Tell her you're sorry you—

But Philip's explanation is taking too long, so I repeat his words nearly verbatim. "I'm sorry I didn't communicate better. I mean, I get it. I wasn't taking initiative, so you took the lead. I should have told you I'd been in contact with Philip, and that we were hoping to meet up." The next words are my own. "To be honest, I was afraid if you knew, you wouldn't come."

Brianna looks at Philip.

She thinks we reconnected on . . . What's social media?

You don't know what—

But Brianna is already talking. "Of course, I would have come."

Liar! Philip says.

"You're my cousin. We're practically sisters."

That why you're feeling so guilty, Brianna?

My cousin blushes, but still says, "We got to look out for each other."

Can she hear you? I ask.

Not exactly. She's confusing my thoughts for her own.

Wow. You could really screw with someone's mind, couldn't you?

But Philip doesn't answer. Instead, he takes my hand. "So, Alison and I were talking about how we could support her in confronting her water phobia. And my thought is that we head out to Rock 8 tomorrow."

Brianna blinks. So do I. Then my cousin says, "Cliff jumping?" I shoot my gaze at Philip, but he doesn't look back. "Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"

Philip shrugs. "There's a ledge we can climb down," he said. "She doesn't have to jump from the boulder."

My insides protest.

Brianna gives voice to my fears. "But that water's still deep, and there's no lifeguard."

"There's no lifeguards anywhere, Brianna," Philip says. "And you think I have no experience rescuing people from the water? I'm an experienced swimmer and know how to handle myself. She'll be safe with me."

I'm going to die. I'm so going to die!

Shh . . . You'll be fine, Alison. I told you I wanted to help.

Brianna glances down at our locked hands then looks back at Philip. "Who are you?"

Philip almost smiles. "I'm Alison's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

I blush. "It just—It just happened." I'm going to die. I'm going to faint right here and die.

Philip speaks, "I was the one who suggested Alison return to the lake and reconcile with her past. But we were out of contact for a few weeks. I had no way of knowing when or what she'd decide to do. She came here of her own volition. She had no way of knowing whether I'd be around."

Brianna looks back at me, "And you trust him to take you out to Rock 8?"

I can feel the blood draining from my face. "I—I probably won't go in."

But in my mind, Philip says, Oh, I'll get you in the water.

"I mean, maybe I'll dip my feet in, but . . ."

A wave of his pain of power travels up my arm. My head clears. My heart relaxes a little. I take in a calmer breath and stand up straighter.

"But that's what you want?" Brianna says.

I nod. Why am I nodding!

"Well, I guess I'm okay with it," my cousin says. "If everyone else is."

Sophie offers her approval. Mia grunts a "Yeah, fine."

I force an uncomfortable smile and then lean into Philip's ear. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course."

"If you could excuse us," I say to my cousin and then drag my new boyfriend into the tent.

For a moment he hesitates at the entrance.

"You can zip it up," I say. "I want privacy."

Philip whispers something to the girls outside and zips closed the tent. "This won't exactly be—"

But when he stands back up, I pound him in the chest and begin to sob. "What are you doing? We didn't talk about this. I didn't know—"

Philip wraps his arms around me, cocooning my firsts between us, and holds me close. Quietly, I weep.

Eventually, he says into my ear. "I'm doing this to help you, and to win more of Brianna's trust."

"Why do you need her trust?"

He strokes my back, and his power radiates all around me. This time it's not really painful. It's warm and secure, and my sobbing stops. Curiosity takes hold as I feel his emotions for me. There's desire and sorrow, regret, and a protective sort of—but they vanish as if he'd realized he'd he'd exposed himself and now covers it out of embarrassment.

"Because it's easier to have someone's trust than force it," he says. "I told you, your cousins complicate things. Don't think I'll be satisfied with just one weekend with you. If you're ever to come back, we need to ensure your cousins don't interfere."

I blink away my tears, the reality dawning on me. "Because if my aunt found out, she definitely would."

"We need to keep things simple," he says again.

"Yes," I say, and I linger in his arms for a while, my eyes closed, my ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"I should go," he says. "You're tired." He loosens his grip.

"Don't," I say, but he still steps away. I look at him. "Please stay."

He simply looks at me a moment, seemingly toying with his thoughts. "I want to, only I . . ." He looks at the entrance of the tent. "Your cousins will be heading to bed themselves soon."

I stop a little forward. "I don't think they'd mind."

And he smirks. He barely meets my eye. "We agreed to keep this simple." He meets my eye. "And didn't you say you wanted to take things slow?"

"But we're not," I say. "I don't know that we can."

He reaches to the zipper at the entrance of the tent. "Well, I'd like to try." He unzips the tent and as he steps out says, "Goodnight, Alison."

I give a light grin. "Goodnight, Philip."