In case you are wondering: No, the irony is not lost on me that I got a tattoo on my lower abdomen only months before a knife found its way into Rashid’s, almost taking his life. My tattoo is on my right side, while his scar is on his left. While mine celebrates the lives of my niece and nephews and my love for them, his scar stands for all the lies, corruption and dirty secrets that led to a messed-up situation and the attack. A warning to stay away.

No, I’m fully aware of it, and the way his tongue brought a healing touch to my still tender skin might have given me the idea for the special treatment I gave his scar all those months later in a hotel room on Tulane Avenue. The same hotel room he stayed at when he came to New Orleans to investigate a certain vampire attack. Poetic, don’t you think?

Rashid told me later that after our big fight – after Sam’s lies mixed with my own doubts and insecurities had festered inside me for weeks and after I’d gone completely ballistic on him – he got right into a car to the airport with every intention of flying straight home to London. If he had, that would have probably been it for us. It was only when he stood in line at the counter that he had second thoughts. I still don’t know how he did it. I couldn’t forgive myself in that moment for not even allowing him a chance to explain. How could he even contemplate forgiving me?

He said at first he was mainly mad. Mad at Sam for his lies. Mad at himself for trusting him despite knowing better. Mad at me for believing Sam. He was hurting because he thought for sure we were over. All those weeks, when he was holed up somewhere, on his mission and later recuperating from his stab wound, the one thing that kept him going was the thought of being with me again. Only to find that Sam’s lies had turned me against him. I can’t even begin to imagine what my rejection did to him. When we talked about this day again – much, much later – he didn’t go into too much detail, but I know him. I remember the state he was in when I found him hours later at the Maidstone. I think I can fill in the blanks.

He claims he doesn’t have much recollection of how he got to the airport, and when he did, his anger had mostly dissipated. At least the anger he felt towards me. What was left was guilt for trusting a man – a vampire – he should have never trusted in the first place and gut-wrenching agony thinking that he’d lost me. And then a tiny voice broke through the pain. One that reminded him that my temper can go from zero to sixty (make that six hundred) in a split second, but once the fuse is burnt, I calm down just as quickly. He’s seen it. Been on the receiving end of it. Too many times. It’s not one of my finer qualities. Never was. And the tiny voice told him, “If you leave now, you’ll regret this for the rest of your life.”

I’m glad – we both are – that he listened to that tiny voice and returned to the city. He didn’t have a plan. Just the feeling that he should wait and give me some space. Would he have tried to contact me if I hadn’t first? Maybe. Eventually. Or not. He can’t even answer me that. Only that he had this wild, desperate hope inside of him that he couldn’t let go.

I don’t know if it was a conscious decision to book the room at the Maidstone or if it was because that old motor lodge-style motel held so many memories of me. The man he still, despite everything, loved more than life itself – his words, not mine! If I’d been him, I would have kicked my sorry ass off the levee, let it drift down to the Quarter and had someone else deal with that mess. Admittedly, the memories from his first stay weren’t exactly nice ones either, but it was still the first time he made a connection with me. And that was his lifeline, which he clung to. It’s hard to look back on that day and not feel the guilt for causing him – us, really – so much pain, even though Rashid keeps saying it was Sam who did that, not me.

I know I sound like the world’s biggest hypocrite because the reason why we had this fight was that I accused him of being a liar and cheater – while I was too chickenshit to tell him about Freddie. It’s maybe not the same, but still… In retrospect I often wonder if things could have been different if I’d just told Rashid sooner. But shoulda, woulda, coulda, baby.

Do you ever wonder what happened to Sam? Did he ever find himself ‘accidentally’ chained outside somewhere facing a sunrise? His room set on fire with the doors ‘unfortunately’ locked? No, he didn’t. Apparently that man – vampire – has more lives than an average cat, but he never interfered with our lives again.

As it is, it is still January, half a year before the ‘Sam-cident’. Six months where Rashid and I were happy. Six months before we… well.

After spending the holidays apart, Rashid returned to me, and I told him about accepting Daniel Molloy’s offer to become his transcriber and researcher. Rashid wasn’t too thrilled about the idea at first but then supported it. On his first full day back, he met up with his colleagues from the Talamasca New Orleans division and came home in the evening with a big box of pastries from my favourite vegan bakery, ‘Café No Lait’, an even bigger smile and a large gift-wrapped present. I chided him because it was neither my birthday nor our anniversary nor Christmas, but he said it was a present celebrating my new job. The man really has no shame when he needs to come up with an excuse to spoil me.

Carefully peeling off the gift-wrap, I reveal two books: ‘Interview with the Vampire’ and ‘The Vampire Lestat’ by Daniel Molloy. Rashid looks all too pleased with himself, but he says if I’m about to spend a considerable amount of time with the author of those books – and Louis and Lestat by extension because we’ll be meeting at their townhouse – it’s about damn time I learnt more about my vampire friends. Rashid explains to me that both books are heavily edited by the Talamasca and that neither Louis nor Lestat are exactly reliable narrators, so I should take everything with a good pinch of salt, but they’d give me more of their backstory.

I’m eager to start reading but also want to spend time with Rashid. The solution to that is easier than I imagined it would be when Rashid offers to read them to me. More bedtime stories! The next question is, which one should I start with? Louis or Lestat? I’m torn. I think I’m closer to Louis – having been his personal snack bar might be the reason – but Lestat was my idol for so long…

So after some inner debating, where my lower lip gets a proper chew and my eyes dart between both books like I’m a spectator in a tennis match, I decisively tap the one on the right with a grin at Rashid. He just laughs and shakes his head. Apparently I’m very predictable.

We get comfortable on my bed. We spoon – I’m little spoon – and Rashid holds the book up so we can both read it, but most of the time I close my eyes so I can listen to Rashid’s soothing voice, his breath tickling my earlobe.

I am the vampire Lestat. I’m immortal. More or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire – these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not.

“Cocky bastard…” Rashid grumbles under his breath, and I giggle. I admit there are several reasons why having Rashid as my personal narrator for Daniel Molloy’s books has its advantages. His comments, huffs and snorts are the best. They are really what the official audiobooks are missing if you ask me.

“Do you think you could kill Lestat?” I ask curiously.

Rashid contemplates his answer for a moment. “I don’t know. That’s not the question. I don’t want to kill him. That’s not what the Talamasca does. We watch. We don’t interfere. We’re not vampire slayers.”

I turn around in his embrace to look at him. “I’m glad you’re not.”

“He’d better watch it, though. If he or one of the others hurts as much as a hair on your head, they’ll have me to answer to.” He growls.

“Oooh, Mr Caveman.” I tease him. Rashid glares at me, and I press a quick kiss to his cheek before he can get mad at me. “I’m glad I have you as my bodyguard,” I assure him. It’s the truth. When I’m with Rashid, it’s like I’m surrounded by my own personal shield, and nothing and no-one can harm me. Doesn’t mean I can’t mess with him sometimes.

Rashid glances at me, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “You know what else would help protect you?”

I catch his hand on my face and hold it in mine. “You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?”

After a moment, he admits, “A little.”

I lean forward and touch his lips softly with mine. “I’ll be fine. They had plenty of opportunity to kill me before I had my very own Talamasca bodyguard, and they never took it.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say, because Rashid looks even less convinced. I sit up on my mattress and take a deep breath: “Okay, what can I do to put your mind at ease? Wear a braid of garlic around my neck? I know Lestat will probably not be impressed with a cross…”

Rashid huffs: “You’re not taking this very seriously…”

I actually hoped to diffuse his tension with a silly joke. Guess that didn’t work.

“I mean it… tell me…”

Rashid hesitates briefly before he says, “Remember when I said I could teach you how to shield your thoughts? Daniel, Louis and Lestat will probably – for the most part – stay out of your head. But they will be curious about us…” Rashid frowns and shudders. “They don’t really need any details.”

“I promise I will try my best not to think about our sex life while I’m with them.” I try to keep my face solemn, but the corners of my lips are twitching.

Rashid rolls his eyes. “Thank you so very much. Appreciate it.” He clears his throat. “No, I’m more worried about Armand. He is exceptionally gifted when it comes to manipulating the mind. To be fair, anything I can teach you in only a couple of weeks is not more than a tattered “keep out” sign for him that he could swipe away with one gesture, but it’s better than nothing.“ He phrases the last part almost as a question.

I tilt my head and give him a quizzical look. “Are you even allowed to teach me? When you first mentioned it, you still tried to recruit me.” I can’t tell if he hesitated just now because he thought I couldn’t do it or because he would break Talamasca rules. Mind control sounds like a real superhero power and would be so cool to have! But I’m not a superhero, so how would that even work?

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t teach you anything that’s specific to the Talamasca. Meditation and practices of focused awareness and contemplation go back several thousands of years. Longer than the Talamasca has even existed. Maybe even longer than vampires exist.”

“Mhmmm, my all-knowing scholar.” I take his hand from my cheek and kiss his palm. I’m still teasing. And I’m also deflecting. I don’t want to disappoint Rashid if he tries to teach me and I’m a complete failure.

He smiles. “Not all-knowing. And for the record: I never tried to recruit you. I was tasked to recruit you, and I did accept the mission willingly, but I never wanted to recruit you. There’s a difference.”

I place our entwined hands in my lap and let my thumb rub down into his palm. “Why did you take it?” He opens his mouth to respond, but I stop him. “I know you said it was to get me out of your system. Spectacular fail, by the way. Not that I mind.” I grin up at him. “But was that all? Wouldn’t just staying away from me have done the job?”

It takes him a while to reply, and I give his hands a tiny squeeze. He looks up while his fingers trace up and down my wrists.

“Truth?”

“Yes. Always. Please.”

He exhales, long and deep, before speaking, avoiding my gaze. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t accept.”

I’m speechless. Did he think so little of me? After a while his eyes dart back to mine. “Working for the Talamasca is dangerous. Even with training. Not every vampire is so…” He makes a vague gesture. “…’adjusted’ as yours are. And not everyone is happy about us poking our noses into their business.”

My eyes widen, and he must see the shock in them, because he raises our entwined hands to his lips and kisses them.

“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.” He smiles, but the fear is only building in my gut.

Of course, I’d known all along what Rashid’s job was. Well, no details, but something to do with the supernatural. Always watching and all that. I guess I never really thought about what it actually meant. Louis and Lestat – my vampires, as Rashid called them – have supported me, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without them… but I do know what they’re capable of. Louis almost sucked me dry on our first encounter. While I was too far gone to remember much of the night of my attack two years later, sometimes I can still hear it all – the wet ripping as they tore my assailants limb from limb, the snarls and hisses, and the obscene slurping as they drank, their faces slick with blood. And Rashid says they aren’t even the worst…

Rashid’s lips touch mine lightly, and I softly moan in response. His kisses are addictive, but this one also brings me back to reality. I’m here in my sanctuary with Rashid. Nothing can harm me. Or him. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine.

“I’m fine. I’m a senior agent now. I don’t do much fieldwork anymore. I mostly oversee operations nowadays. Boring office work. But I didn’t want you to get involved. I wanted you safe.”

I’m still not convinced and feel uneasy. Bruno, my clever cat, senses my tension and joins us on the bed, tentatively bumping his head against my knee. He ends up curled up on my lap, and between his warmth and Rashid’s words and tender affections, I calm down. Mostly. It’s the first time I realise that dating James Bond isn’t only really cool, but that being James Bond is also fucking dangerous. Especially if James Bond deals with monsters on a daily basis.

It’s also the moment I consider that maybe Rashid is right. Going in wide-eyed and naive isn’t the best approach. I trust “my” vampires, and I know I don’t have to go full Blade on them, but a few tricks up my sleeve won’t hurt. Even if it’s just hanging an imaginary tattered old sign up in my head that says, ‘Personal Property of a certain Talamasca agent – Stay the fuck out.’

So this is when I begin my lessons with Rashid. We start with breathing. Apparently breathing is important. Who knew?

We sit opposite each other on my bed, legs folded, eyes closed, while Rashid tells me to concentrate on the air flowing in and out of my body. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Continue. When he lifts one hand to stroke a finger down my forehead and the bridge of my nose, I can’t suppress a giggle.

“Are you doing a Vulcan mind meld?”

His hand stalls, and when I crack one of my eyes open a fraction, I can see Rashid glaring at me.

“No.”

Rashid is a serious teacher. No jokes allowed. I take a deep breath and close my eyes again. A moment later, I risk another peek. Rashid and I didn’t bother to put on clothes, and we’re only in our underwear. The sight in front of me is mouthwateringly glorious. This is hardly the first time I’ve seen Rashid’s body so perfectly on display. But it still takes my breath away. My fingers itch to touch him, run my hands over his shoulders and arms, across his chest and down his stomach to his…

Rashid huffs loudly and throws his hands up in frustration. In one swift motion, he rolls off my bed and takes a fresh pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt out of his bag.

“You’re too distracted; this isn’t working.”

Before I can even open my mouth, another pair of pants and a T-shirt hit my face. This time they’re mine.

“Ow!” I mock-complain but pull the shirt over my head anyway. “Why do I have to get dressed when I’m the one distracted?”

Rashid looks at me sheepishly while I do my best to wiggle into my pants. “Well, maybe you weren’t the only one enjoying the sight a little too much.”

His answer makes me grin, and I halt my movement, pants pulled up halfway up my thighs, ass lifted off the bed. I’ve (mostly) gotten over my insecurities that he might not find me attractive – there’s enough evidence that he does – but hearing him say it, the idea that my presence does to him just about the same as he does to me? I can’t say I hate it. And the way he looks at me right now, half guilty for disrupting my lesson and half turned on by my attempts to get dressed? No, I don’t hate that either. It’s also such a different way than how my clients used to look at me. Yes, there is hunger and lust in Rashid’s eyes for me, but that’s not all there is. I can see the love and affection in his eyes too. I’m not just another hole for him to sink his dick in. He wants me, but he wants all of me. The entire package. And another difference? I want him, too. That’s only happened once in my life before.

My grin widens as a wicked idea forms in my head. I suck at my thumb, leaving it wet and glistening, and run it down my stomach and into the waistband of my boxer briefs, pulling them down an inch. Rashid’s eyes follow the movement.

“Are you sure you want these pants on… or off?” My tone is playful with just the right amount of seductiveness, and I can see the conflict in Rashid’s eyes. I inch the waistband a little lower. He lets out a groan, and his weight is on me a moment later. I happily open my mouth for his tongue to slip in and play with mine, but my moment of triumph is short-lived as I feel his hands determinedly pull up my pants.

“On.” He whispers in my ear. “Now stop being such a tease.” He places a sweet kiss on my nose. “You won’t disappoint me. You can do this. I know you can.”

I swear he’s a fucking mind reader. Either that or I’m about as opaque as a pane of glass.

One of his hands cups my face, running a thumb over my cheekbone. “Let me keep you safe. Please.”

Tch, this man… I swear, I can’t even tell him no. Not when he says ‘please’ like that and looks at me with his beautiful dark amber eyes. I turn my head to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I’ll behave now.” I know this is more about steadying his nerves, and as much as I want to squirm and run away because I’m not good enough, I love that he supports my foolish idea, so this is the least I can do for him.

Apparently, mind control doesn’t require a radioactive spider bite or a faceful of toxic waste. Basically everyone can do it. Some are just better at it than others – Rashid is very, very, very good at it – and there are different methods you can use. You just have to find the one that works best for you. Sometimes it’s as ‘mundane’ (Rashid’s words) as counting backwards in prime numbers. Not recommended for someone who quit high school early in his junior year.

Rashid uses something that he calls a quiet chamber. It’s not only there to keep intruders out of his thoughts but also to compartmentalise his emotions. I ask if this is what he does when he puts on his ‘mask’. He looks puzzled at first, and I realise he wears it so easily he’s forgotten it’s there. It’s become his default setting – which makes it all the more remarkable that I managed to see beneath it.

His mental retreat is a white, bare room with a single window. When he opens it (in his mind), he imagines the sounds and scents of home, of Yorkshire. The waves crashing against the shore, the cry of seagulls overhead. The smell of salt and heather, a peat fire. Only one day those were suddenly mixed with the chirping of cicadas, the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and the shade of a magnolia tree. I have a vague suspicion those things might be connected to silly old me. Or just New Orleans.

And this is how we spent most of our time in those days in January and early February. Rashid manages to extend his stay by ten days. There’s a replacement for the pregnant team member, but the new recruit needs training, so the Talamasca team in New Orleans are happy for Rashid’s support. Ten more days with me.

I’m not ashamed to admit that we spend most of the time we have together in bed. Whether he is reading Daniel’s books to me, teaching me mind control, or just cuddling, my bed is our place to be in various stages of undress. When I half-jokingly remark whether this is standard Talamasca protocol for teaching new recruits, Rashid only chuckles and later drops a name. ‘Felicia’ is a quick learner, and I hear the subtext loud and clear. The new recruit is female, and there’s nothing I have to worry about.

We visit my family once, and Soso throws herself at Rashid the moment she sees us walking down the street towards the magnolia tree in front of our house. She animatedly tells him everything about her day at school and her friends and how she kicked the shin of the mean bully Reggie at school when he tried to steal Marvin’s lunch. Maybe someone’s watching too much of the Rainbow Rangers, but her favourite gay uncles are proud of her. Even though I’ve apparently been downgraded to number two.

Just when I ponder whether I should be jealous or happy, Soso holds out her arms to me and demands cuddles. “I love you, Lell!” she whispers as I breathe in her strawberry bubblegum scent. Soso lets me carry her all the rest of the way before she starts talking up a storm again about her new teacher, Mr Brooks, and his tiny pet dragon, Pipharion the Ember-Tongued – also known as Mr Pip, the lizard. Rashid listens patiently, getting excited at the right moments (Mr Pip) and appropriately outraged at others (Reggie). I love how easily he fits into my family and before I can feel lonely, Josie ruffles my hair and dumps baby Ezra into my arms. Plenty of family to share.

We also go for runs. Rashid confessed to me at one point that he used to be on his school’s athletics team. Because of course he was. And he totally let me win that first time so he could ask me out on another date. Sneaky bastard. Rashid needs those runs to clear his head, and I’m happy to go with him. We often get a coffee after or in-between, sit on ‘our’ bench near the Mississippi and just talk.

We spend an afternoon at Rosalie’s, where we’re served a big plate of vegan beignets and dairy-free coffee. I’m not sure who ratted me out, but Rosalie got the ‘He’s vegan’ memo and is happy to humour me. She also greets me and Rashid with big bear hugs and sloppy kisses to our cheeks. When Rashid’s back is turned, she gives me an ‘I told you so’ wink. She’s just so smug that we picked her diner for our very first ‘recruit meeting’ slash date.

This is another thing about doing long-distance. When your partner’s in town, everyone else wants a piece of him, too. As long as I get enough alone time with him, it’s fine, but I’m still glad Rafa is so busy with Mardi Gras parties. He invites us to one of the parades he helped organise, and we get to watch him in full professional mode. The ‘Krewe of Barkus’ is one of the wackiest parades I know, full of wildly costumed pets and their humans. It’s a pity it takes place during the day, because I can totally see Lestat helming the event with Barney in a vampire costume.

We only have three and a half weeks together this time, and we’re still figuring things out, about each other and where we want this relationship to go, where it can go. We’re happy to be in each other’s company. We’re in love. That’s all that matters. Right?

I’m at Marsalis Harmony Park at one of our favourite spots, a cluster of oaks that stand near the rear boundary of the park. The lampposts are spaced far apart, their light not touching our little sanctuary. We’re tucked beneath the wide canopy of the largest tree, its veils of Spanish moss draping us in shadow. I can feel him move behind my back, adjusting his position, his cheek pressed against the bare skin of my shoulder blades. His arms tighten around my middle, and I look down, as always fascinated by the contrast of his pale skin against my dark one.

“Come, Josephine, in my flying machine, going up, she goes. Up, she goes.”

I can feel his breath cooling the sweat on my back as he murmurs the song lyrics against my skin, and I giggle. He has that effect on me. He’s just so silly sometimes. I lean back to bury my head in his shoulder, and I can feel his lips leaving kiss after kiss across my back while his hands trace a line up my arm. A shiver runs down my spine. I should be worried about someone seeing us here, but I don’t care. The tree, the moss, his arms – they all protect me. It’s also getting late, and I should go home, but I don’t want to. I’m rather here with him.

He combs his fingers through my hair, gently massaging my skull. I sigh. His hands on me always feel so good. Wherever they go, whatever they do.

“Lell…” His voice is low, easy and honey-warm, the soft Midwestern lilt curling around my name, and I can hear the smile in it. I turn in his arms, dark curls falling across his forehead, eyes catching the dim light – brown at the centre, fading to green at the edges. In his gaze, I find a quiet place I didn’t know existed. He tilts my chin up, brushing his lips against mine. When his tongue sweeps across my mouth, I open for him. He tastes like the pecan ice cream we just shared – sweet, nutty, and utterly irresistible. Around us, cicadas hum like a distant, electric choir, mingling with the faint scent of magnolia and summer heat. The world shrinks to the pulse in my ears, the brush of his hand, and the taste of him lingering. Nothing exists outside this moment – just us, wrapped in the golden glow of the evening.

I wake with a start. For a moment panic sweeps through me. I can’t remember where I am. Or who I’m with. I try to scramble away from the still figure next to me, but then my brain reconnects the dots. I’m at home. In my flat. The burning furnace in my bed isn’t a stranger. Not a client. It’s Rashid. Still lost in sleep despite my sudden movement. I sit up at the edge of the mattress and hug my knees, staring into the darkness. I had a dream. A very vivid one.

Dreams aren’t anything unusual. Everyone dreams. Even animals do. My kitten Bruno is the cutest when he does. When he’s taking a nap on the sun-warmed tiles of my terrace, flailing limbs and clutching his paws as if he’s just in the middle of chasing after a little bird. When he pulls back his lips to expose his tiny fangs and snarls. In his mind he’s probably a big scary predator, but in reality he’s my timid little kitten who sometimes gets spooked by his own shadow.

My dreams are usually not the nice variety. Most of the time I can’t even remember them, and it’s probably for the better. I wake up drenched in sweat, my pulse racing, and a feeling of dread churning my stomach. This one was different. Peaceful and tender. It felt so real that it transported me to a different time, a different place, a different person. It left me completely disoriented when I woke up. And there is something else. Something that makes me feel uneasy. The question of why? Why did he come to me in my dream? Why now?

My eyes drift to the sleeping form in my bed. It’s dark, the middle of the night, but there’s a faint trickle of light coming in through the large windows overlooking my terrace. Even at a new moon like tonight, New Orleans never goes fully dark. Rashid is on his stomach, his face turned towards me, lips slightly parted, and I can just make out his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. His side of the duvet only loosely conceals part of his waist and the warmth of his skin beneath it. I rest my cheek on my knees, admiring the view. The fairy lights I hung up for our picnic last summer still sway outside, their reflections dancing across Rashid’s skin, tracing the curve of his shoulders, the long line of his spine, and the gentle hollow above his hips.

I smile, remembering the night that followed the picnic and our first kiss. The first night we spent together – for strictly medical reasons, of course, in case I had a concussion. Since then we have spent many nights together. Fifty to be precise – but who’s counting? – and I still find myself wondering when this dream will end. Soon I will wake up and find that my nightmares are my reality and being with Rashid is the dream.

I tentatively reach out for Rashid’s hand where it lies outstretched on the mattress. He’s still dead to the world, but his fingers curl around mine reflexively, and he lets out a sound somewhere between an exhale and a huff. I grin because it reminds me of Bruno chasing a mouse in his sleep. I guess I’m the mouse in this scenario. I hope I’m fat and juicy, worth catching. I carefully lift Rashid’s arm and slip underneath it, snuggling against his side, my head resting against his shoulder, our fingers still entwined. His body feels warm and solid against me. It feels real. Maybe it is real. Maybe the ‘fucking rentboy’ turned into Cinderella and found his prince? Fairy tales do come true sometimes, don’t they?

Rashid’s breath ghosts over my skin, and I close my eyes. The face from my dreams returns, his eyes kind and his lips lifted in a smile. I used to love this smile, especially when it was directed at me. Sometimes slightly mischievous when he grabbed my hand to pull me behind the bleachers to kiss me. The happy smile that greeted me every morning at school, the one that lit up his whole face and my entire world. The one that seemed to be reserved just for me. Is it strange that my former boyfriend is making a comeback in my dreams while my current one is softly snoring into my ear? Or is his smile a way of telling me it’s okay to move on, to love someone else and allow myself to be loved in return? Is this Remy’s way of saying he gives us his blessing?