Tentative fingertips touched my beard.
He traced the line beside my mouth, the same place he had touched the night he asked whether we could begin again.
“I wish I could give you everything back,” he whispered.
“You owe me nothing from the past.”
“But you miss him.”
“I miss us.”
His fingers remained against my face.
“And I am grateful for you.”
“Me now?”
“You now.”
He searched my eyes.
“What happens if I never become him again?”
“You won’t.”
The answer startled him.
“Neither will I,” I said. “We are not going backward. Even if every memory returns tomorrow, we’ll still be men who went through this.”
His eye shone.
“What if I don’t know how to love you?”
“Then you don’t force yourself.”
“What if I want to?”
My pulse thundered.
Noah looked frightened by the question.
“Wanting to know me is enough,” I said.
“For you?”
“For today.”
He nodded.
The dizziness had passed, but he stayed close.
“I still need to use the bathroom.”
A laugh broke through the tightness in my throat.
“Of course.”
His mouth curved.
