One long.
Find me.
I’m here.
Dr. Whitcomb opened the notebook on her desk.
“Any new memories?”
Color rose in Noah’s cheeks.
“Yes.”
“Were they pleasant?”
“Mostly.”
The blush deepened.
I turned toward the window, sparing him the pressure of being watched.
Dr. Whitcomb did not offer the same mercy.
“Would you like to describe them?”
Noah rubbed his thumb over my knuckle.
“I remembered a weekend Reid and I spent away.”
“What part of it?”
“The cottage. The weather. Some things we said.”
His hand tightened around mine.
“And intimacy.”
Dr. Whitcomb’s expression remained neutral.
“How did that memory affect you?”
“It felt different.”
“In what way?”
Noah searched for language.
“Complete, but not because I remembered everything. I didn’t. There are pieces missing. I don’t know how we arrived or what we ate or when we left.”
He touched the center of his chest with his free hand.
“But it belonged to me. I wasn’t looking at two strangers in a photograph and being told one of them was me. I could feel what I felt then.”
“What did you feel?”
“Wanted.”
His voice softened.
