“Do I?”
“Not like remembering.”
“No.”
“Like something I wanted before I understood that I wanted it.”
My heart ached.
From the other side of the room, Maeve cleared her throat gently.
Noah jerked back.
Color flooded his face.
I had forgotten she was there.
“I apologize,” I said.
“There is no need.”
Maeve began packing away the blood-pressure cuff.
“This is not a conventional home visit, but I’m prepared to classify it as productive.”
Noah gave a weak laugh.
His hand remained in mine.
Maeve stood.
“Both of you need rest.”
She gave me a pointed look.
“No work for Noah today. Minimal work for Reid.”
“I own a boatyard.”
“You employ people.”
“Technically.”
“Use them.”
She checked the medication schedule one final time before crossing to the door.
Then she looked back at us.
“Recognition does not need to arrive as a complete story to be real.”
Noah lowered his gaze to our joined hands.
Maeve left.
Silence settled over the apartment.
I remained beside Noah, suddenly uncertain in a way I had not been before the kiss.
