Page 13

Jennifer

N ew England pines swayed on either side of a winding driveway.

If the jostling of the vehicle was uncomfortable, Dylan didn’t complain.

He’d been quiet for most of the drive. A week had passed without him remembering anything new, but also, thankfully, without symptoms that would have required him to stay at the hospital.

Like me, was he both hoping a familiar place would change that while also hoping for more time before it did?

Sleeping at the hospital each night should have been uncomfortable, but being with Dylan again overshadowed the awkwardness of it.

His parents visited him every day, carefully avoiding all mention of genetics or the fact that he’d forgotten he was adopted.

It was a good week, as good as one could be under the circumstances.

Alyssa made an appearance one afternoon, and even that went well.

Dylan fondly remembered her, and the two of them chatted like no time had passed.

The way they joked with each other reminded me of the times we’d taken Alyssa on trips with us and they’d teased each other like siblings.

There was only one awkward moment when Alyssa shared that she was now married with children, and Dylan had to reconcile that with his incomplete memories.

Like with all else, he remembered the good times, but not why she’d fallen out of his life.

A simple leap of logic had him guessing it was related to our breakup, but hitting that wall had visibly agitated him, so we quickly moved on to other topics.

Dylan’s country home rose ahead, a three-bedroom haven of stone and timber.

Its iron accents and defined angles made powerful statements, but there were soft surprises that caught my eye: a garden of wild roses curling around a cedar bench, a carved bear by the door clutching a tiny, grinning skier.

This was the side of Dylan I’d always enjoyed, the one that revealed he didn’t take himself as seriously as he outwardly appeared to.

When we traveled, he bought silly trinkets that never failed to make me laugh.

They never cost much. In Venice, he used a permanent marker and his imagination to turn a rhinestone-covered frog figurine into something magical.

The top opened on a hinge. Inside it, he wrote “Wishing Frog,” and told me if I wrote my wishes on tiny pieces of paper and slipped them inside the frog, that frog would do his best to make them come true.

I loved the gift and put it on the shelf of our room on his yacht, but I didn’t place any messages inside it. That would have required me to believe in both Dylan and the frog on a level I wasn’t ready to.

When I’d left Dylan, I’d taken nothing with me. Not my ring. Not the credit card he’d given me as soon as we were engaged. None of his gifts. I’d wanted to sever ties with him as completely as I always thought my mother should have with my father.

Steven parked the car and came around to open the rear door for us. I took his hand, then stepped aside as he made sure Dylan was able to navigate out of the vehicle without straining himself.

Dylan waved him off. “I’ve got it.” And he did. He moved slowly, but on his own, careful not to bend or stretch his torso. A week ago, he’d barely been able to sit up without flinching. Now he straightened to his full height and looked up at the house like he half-expected it to jog his memory.

“I remember this house and that I built it,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I just don’t remember when or why. It’s far enough from my resorts that it must have been a pain to get to.”

“Must have been? You don’t remember being here?”

“I do and I don’t.” His brow furrowed, eyes lingering on the bear. “I’m not sure we should be here.”

My heart squeezed. “Why not?” Was it filled with photos of him with another woman? Had he lived here with her? I’d been with men since breaking up with Dylan so I had no right to be jealous, but it hurt to imagine him loving someone else.

He paused beside me. “I don’t know.”

It was impossible to remain concerned with my own issues when he was struggling with something far worse. “We can stay, or we can go,” I said softly. “I’m just happy to be with you while you’re healing.”

He nodded, then pulled me gently against his chest and hugged me. “And I’m grateful for your patience as I do.”

I would have hugged him so much tighter if not for his broken ribs.

He nodded toward the carved bear. “Was I always this... whimsical?” he asked.

“Only when you thought no one was looking,” I teased.

Steven cleared his throat behind us and started up the steps with our bags. “I’ll take these up to the bedrooms. There’s food in the fridge, and Dylan, your prescriptions are already stocked in the cabinet by the sink.”

“Thanks, Steven,” Dylan said as he stared down into my eyes. It was an intense moment, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for it.

We weren’t strangers to each other’s bodies.

His ring was sparkling on my left hand. But we weren’t engaged—not the kind of engaged that meant we were ready to pick out a wedding date.

No, this time, the ring proclaimed a different promise.

It was on my finger to remind both of us that what we’d had was worth working toward recreating.

Not exactly as it was... but as a better, stronger, more mature version.

“Coming here, seeing a place I remember being at without you, hits hard,” he said finally.

I gave him a light squeeze and tossed his own words back at him. “We’ll work it out. Every bump. Every memory as it returns. If we choose us, we’ll make this work.”

His smile wobbled, then he kissed me gently, reverently, both hands cupping the sides of my face. “There’s no if where I’m concerned. I’m all in.”

I shook beneath his touch, but didn’t look away. “Me too.”

He held me for a moment more, then murmured, “Although I’d love to stay here holding you all day, I believe Steven will soon return to retrieve us.”

“Fuck Steven,” I joked.

“I’d rather fuck you.” Laughter rumbled from Dylan, then he groaned and touched one side of his ribs.

I chided playfully. “That’s what you get for finding your own jokes so funny.”

We shared a smile, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that years had passed since we’d been this comfortable with each other. Our eyes met and held and his voice lowered. “Thank you for being here, Jennifer.”

My face warmed. “We should go inside.”

“Yeah.”

The air inside the home was cool and clean, with faint traces of pine and cedar. A soft hush fell over the space as we walked in, like even the walls were waiting to see who Dylan would become there.

We’d barely made it past the foyer when I noticed a folder on the entryway table. A sticky note on the front read:

Doctor’s discharge summary. Follow exactly.

~Bethany

I picked it up, but before I could open it, Steven came back down the stairs, a flat expression on his face—and a second folder in his hand.

“The nurse asked me to give you this,” he said, offering it to me, “She said it was... supplemental instructions.”

“Supplemental?” Dylan raised an eyebrow. “From the doctor?”

“From Bethany.” He looked anywhere but at me or Dylan, his jaw tight, his ears suspiciously pink.

Dylan tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Steven,” he asked. “Did you read it?”

“Of course I did. The conditions of your care partially fall onto me,” Steven said, too fast.

I hid a smile. “Interesting that she gave it to you. Did she also give you her number?”

“In case of medical emergency,” Steven countered while glaring at us.

“Right. That’s probably the only reason you might want it,” Dylan said, voice low and amused.

Steven made a noise in his throat like he was weighing whether to argue or flee. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Steven,” I called after him, “call her and tell her we made it here okay.”

He paused, hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn. “She’s fourteen years younger than I am, and I’m on a job.”

“If she can handle your grumpy ass, I say go for it,” Dylan said. “And if it helps, Jennifer and I will call you if we need you, but otherwise we wouldn’t mind some alone time.”

Steven didn’t respond. Just walked out the door with the same grim determination he probably used to clear buildings during his military tours. Flapping the folder in my hand, I no longer held back my amusement. “I wonder what Bethany wrote that has him running away?”

“Only one way to know.” Dylan nodded toward the envelope.

I read the typed label: A CHEEKY NURSE’S GUIDE TO GETTING FRISKY WITH brOKEN RIBS AND PARTIAL AMNESIA : Everything you’ll probably want to know but are too shy to ask.

My mouth rounded.

Dylan stepped closer. “What is it?”

I shook my head, flushing. “I can see why Steven is all bothered.”

He leaned closer. “Now I have to see.”

I held the folder just out of reach, a grin tugging at my lips. “Not so fast, sailor. Nurse’s orders—no peeking for nosy amnesiacs.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow and leaned in just enough to steal my breath. His voice dipped to a low, teasing rumble. “Nosy? Jen, I’m wounded—literally. Show some mercy.”

His fingers grazed my wrist, warm and deliberate, sending a shiver up my arm. But then he winced—barely—but enough to remind us both of those grumpy ribs.

I held the folder to my chest, label side hidden against me. “This is reading material for later, once we’ve settled in.”

The light went out of his eyes. “Is it—something I should remember?”

“No. Oh, no. Not at all.” And whoosh, just like that my embarrassment faded. I touched his arm lightly. “It’s just a joke about what we should and shouldn’t engage in this week.”