If the cops didn’t do something soon, I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.
Amnesia’s breathing changed, her adorable snoring ceasing. Glancing down, I watched her stretch against me, lift her chin, and slowly open her eyes.
A flicker of surprise registered, but then it was instantly replaced by warmth. She was glad I was here. Nothing could warm me better on a cool fall day.
I didn’t say anything, instead rubbing her back. She exhaled and snuggled back into my chest, her fingers floating along my side. I wanted her; there was no denying it. No hiding it.
But it wasn’t all I wanted. I wanted all of her.
Slowly, I dragged my fingers through her short strands of hair, twirling it around my finger and then smoothing it out to start all over again. Her leg lifted over mine, pushing between them.
I couldn’t help but wonder what if.
What if that night hadn’t happened all those years ago? Would I still be here today, or would life have taken me down a different path?
It was hard to think of what-ifs when the moment you were living was everything you could ever want.
“I didn’t think I was going to be able to sleep,” Am murmured, her fingertips outlining my figure. “But I did. All night.”
“Me, too.” I agreed.
Her head cocked to the side, her brown eyes curious. “Do you ever have trouble sleeping?”
“Sometimes,” I rasped, playing with her hair again. “But not last night.”
Again, she stretched against me like a cat. I didn’t think she understood the lust that shot through me every time she did.
“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked, my hand dropping to her hip.
“Better,” she replied. “Do I still look lumpy?”
I chuckled. “Lumpy? No.”
She grunted like she didn’t believe me. I felt like grabbing her ass and letting her know it was my favorite lump on her body.
I refrained.
Regretfully.
“Do you have to go into work?” she asked.
“Nope. Called in. Dad’s watching the store today.”
Her brow furrowed. “Because of me?”
I considered fancying up the words but decided against it. “Pretty much.”
She laughed as though the answer pleased her. I knew it would.
“Another date day?” she suggested.
I winced. “This time I’ll try not to poison you.”
“That wasn’t your fault,”
I grumbled because she was right, but I felt guilty about it anyway. Poking her in the ribs, I said, “What kind of Maine girl is allergic to lobster?”
She smiled, but then it faded. “Maybe I’m not really a Maine girl.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly.
“Eddie…” She began, her tone thoughtful and more serious than expected. “I overheard—”
“Breakfast!” Maggie sang from the other side of the doorway, making Amnesia jump.
“Thank you!” she called out after a moment of silence. “I’ll be up in a bit.”
“I know Eddie’s there. Did you two think I was blind and deaf?”
Amnesia covered her mouth with her hand as giggles shook her body. Grinning wide, I slid out from beneath her, strolled over to the door, and pulled it open.
“Morning, Maggie,” I drawled.
“Well, at least you have pants on,” she said, breezing into the room with a tray of monkey bread muffins, juice, and coffee. “I take it you slept in them, too?”
“Yes, ma’am.” This was only mildly embarrassing. A twenty-five-year-old man assuring someone he slept in his jeans and didn’t in fact just have sex in their house.
Not awkward. Not at all.
“I hope it’s okay Eddie stayed last night,” Amnesia said, sitting up in bed. Her hair was mussed, her shirt slightly wrinkled, and her cheeks were still red, partly from the reaction yesterday and partly in embarrassment.
Maggie waved away her words. “Of course. Can’t say it didn’t make me feel better when I glanced out the window last night and saw your truck.”
“Glad to be of service.” I saluted her.
She laughed and turned to Am. “Now, I just wanted to let you know I have to go out for a little while, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Maybe we can catch up then?”
“Of course.” She agreed.
“Good.” She nodded once. “Breakfast is there. Eddie, take care of our girl. I’ll see you in a bit!”
When she was gone, Am and I looked at each other and laughed.
We ate breakfast in bed, and when she came back from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and the hoodie I gave her, I figured I should get dressed, too.
“I need to head home. Shower and change. You wanna come with?” I asked, rubbing a hand through my hair.
“Sure.”
I put on my shoes as she stuffed an EpiPen into her pocket and returned all the dishes to the kitchen. We met at the door and, after locking up, headed to my place.
The sky was overcast today, foggy and cold. It felt more like winter than fall, and I knew soon all the trees would be bare and snow would cover the ground.
At my place, I started a fire for Am and left her in the living room, where all I pretty much had was a couch and TV.
The shower felt good. I spent more time letting it pelt my tight muscles than anything else. Finally, after I was clean and a little less tense, I shut off the spray.
The house was quiet as I dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and combed my unmanageable hair. The silence was almost unnerving; it left me with an odd sense of foreboding.
“Amnesia?” I asked, walking down the hall toward the living room.
She didn’t answer.
“Am,” I said, stepping into the living room. The fire was still crackling, but she wasn’t there. Starting to worry, I went into the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief.
“What are you doing in here?” I murmured, coming up behind her at the window, wrapping my arms around her.
She didn’t relax against me; she felt rigid and aloof.
“Did something happen?” I asked, gazing around. Everything was fine. Another thought plagued me. “Did you have a memory?”
Pivoting from the glass, her eyes landed on mine. I wasn’t prepared for the accusatory spark in them.
“Is this me?” she demanded, holding out an old photograph.
My stomach plummeted. I didn’t even have to glance at the picture to know. “Where did you find that?” I rasped.
“It fell out of the back of a frame on your mantel.”
Dammit. I should have been more careful. “Amnesia—”
“How long ago was this taken?” she asked.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Look at it!” she insisted, shoving the image under my nose.
It was a photograph of me about twelve years before, and standing beneath my arm was someone I used to know. She had blond hair and freckles. And brown eyes.
Both of us were smiling into the camera. Young. Innocent. Full of life. Neither of us knew how drastically things would change just one year later.
“I’ve seen the picture, Am,” I spoke, miserable.
“Is that even my name?” she asked, upset.
“Yes.”
She paced away, practically marching across the kitchen. “How long ago?” she asked again.
Finally, I admitted, “Twelve years.”
She gasped. “Where is she now?”
I glanced up, not replying. She practically growled. I exhaled. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”