Page 159 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

The sound surprised me. Bright and genuine, escaping before I could contain it.

I glanced at Naija, walking quietly beside me.

“Hey,” I said, my voice softer. “Thank you for planning this. This was…” I searched for the right word, something that captured the unexpected lightness in my chest. “Actually good. I had fun.”

Naija looked at me.

Then her gaze drifted past me to where Cassian was still arguing with Liam, his card now being held hostage above both their heads.

Her mouth tightened, a small, telling press of her lips.

She looked back at me.

“I have to be honest.” Her voice was low, meant only for me. “I didn’t plan this.”

My step faltered.

She held my eyes, letting the truth land.

“Cassian did.”

Chapter 27

The launch was tomorrow.

Everything was ready. Every timeline had been met, every press angle covered, every contingency planned for. The Garcia name would appear alongside another brand for the first time ever.

It had to be perfect.

It would be perfect.

For once, I had a moment to myself—a rare, quiet pocket in the middle of all the chaos. And naturally, my mind drifted to Cassian.

I needed to thank him.

For the paintball.

It had been exactly what I needed, even if I hadn’t known I needed it. A release valve. A chance to laugh, to compete, to feel something other than the constant pressure sitting on my shoulders.

And before that… the sickness.

He’d stayed.

All night.

He’d held me while I burned with fever, changed the cool cloths on my forehead, forced medicine down my throat, and made that awful drink.

He hadn’t had to do any of it.

We were divorced. Legally, formally, completely severed. There was no obligation anymore.

He’d said he wanted to.

That somehow made even less sense.

Why would he want to?

And then there was the soup. That still lodged in my chest like a splinter I couldn’t stop touching. He’d really learned how to make it. For me. So I wouldn’t have to go out the morning after.