Page 141 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I never wanted to set foot inside that place again.

When Liam didn’t immediately answer, I stopped walking and planted a firm hand on his arm, halting him in the middle of the hallway.

“Tell me we are not going there, Liam. I am not leaving this building unless you swear on your vintage sneaker collection that we are not going there.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He groaned and pulled out his phone. “Fine! You giant baby. I’ll find some other overpriced, clinically sterile establishment that meets your exacting standards. Now stop whining. You’re hurting my ears.”

I didn’t move until he’d pulled up the page for another restaurant.

Then I commandeered his phone.

I scrolled meticulously through the reviews and photo gallery, zooming in on every plated dish to check for any sign of reckless ingredient fraternization.

Satisfied, I handed it back.

We stepped into the elevator.

Another thought struck me. I glanced at him.

“Should I get a new chair? One that isn’t good for your back?”

Liam turned to me, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face.

“You know what? That’s not a bad idea. I’m sure Rohan can source us a list of suitably intimidating, throne-like options that scream ‘authority’ and ‘bad back be damned.’ I should get one for my office, too.”

I was already pulling out my phone.

“I’m texting him now.”

The elevator hummed as it descended.

Chapter 23

Iturned the corner onto the sun-dappled street, and my eyes instantly found her.

My lips curved into a smile before I could even think. Her gaze swept across the stream of traffic, scanning the opposite sidewalk before finally catching mine. The moment she saw me, her face lit up. The slight frown of impatience melted away, replaced by a smile that was just for me—wide, real, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

I’d had a client meeting two blocks from her office. Booking lunch right after was instinct. The second the meeting ended, my mind had only one destination.

I waited for the crosswalk light, the longest sixty seconds of my life, my eyes never leaving hers. The second it changed, I was moving, weaving through pedestrians until I reached her side.

The moment I reached her, her hand slipped naturally through the crook of my arm, her fingers curling around my sleeve as she tucked herself against me. We fell into step together, a perfect, unthinking rhythm.

She let out a long sigh, leaning her head briefly against my shoulder. “So I’ve been looking at rings online, and it’s officially the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done. It’s either, ‘Oh my God, that one’s perfect, and that one, and that one,’ or, ‘Absolutely not. Hideous.’”

Her shoulders slumped. “You know what? Forget platinum and diamonds. Let’s just get one of those giant candy rings and be done with it. It’s colorful, it’s edible, it’s perfect. What do you think?”

She looked up at me, her eyes bright with laughter and a love so open it still stole my breath.

My hand was inside my coat, my fingers curled around the velvet box. I’d been carrying it everywhere for weeks. It lived in my pocket, a secret weight against my heart, waiting for a moment that felt as real as she was. The day she’d proposed—bluntly, beautifully—I’d almost given it to her then. But that was her moment. I didn’t want to overshadow it.

“We can do that,” I said, my voice a little thicker than I’d intended. “Or…”

I gently pulled us to a stop, turning us toward each other on the busy sidewalk. She looked up at me, a question in her eyes.

My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. I reached into my coat, the world narrowing to the space between our faces. I drew out the box, small, black, and impossibly significant.

I opened it.