The humor left his face.
“Last night?”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“I needed it.”
“I know.”
“I did not enjoy needing it.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Unfortunately.”
I touched his jaw.
“I want us to count these things.”
“What things?”
“The moments we do something differently. Better.”
“Not compared to before.”
“No.”
I searched for the shape of the thought.
“I have spent so much energy trying to recover the man in the photographs.”
Reid went still.
“I thought every missing memory was part of me locked away. That if enough doors opened, eventually I would be whole.”
“You are whole now.”
“I’m beginning to believe you.”
His eyes shone.
“There may always be missing rooms.”
I put my hand over his heart.
“But I’m still living in the house.”
Reid covered my hand with his.
“That metaphor is dangerously close to literary.”
“I hit my head.”
“Fair.”
I smiled.
