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He jerked back.
“You must be joking. You survived. You gave me a chance.” His hand shifted from her hip around to rest on her stomach. “And then there’s this.”
“I think you deserve some credit for that too, you know,” she whispered. She held his face in her hands, savoring the fierceness with which he defended her, even from her own understatement.
“And for that fantastic first date I took you on.”
“It was less about the curry and more about the kiss.”
As if to prove a point, he kissed her again. A soft, languid kind of kiss, the slow circle of a whirlpool. When they broke apart, Molly twisted, typing her name, Aster’s, and then one final addition to her list.
“Flora?” Aster asked, curious.
“Just an idea,” Molly said, warmth in her cheeks. “If it’s a girl. Since you’re named after a flower and all.”
Aster’s head fell back with a laugh. “I’m named after a star. Or, well, the word for a star. And you know that.”
Molly shrugged. “Technically there’s an asteroid out there called Flora too. But I was thinking—obviously, since I’ve engaged in research over it—if you wanted a way to honor old traditions while still making something new for yourself, it could be an option.”
Aster was quiet long enough that self-consciousness began creeping up Molly’s neck, prickling with a sense of having overstepped. Just as Molly was preparing an apology for having opened old wounds relating to his family, Aster crumbled.
“God, I love you,” he said, endeavoring to show her how much by way of a marrow-melting kiss. Eventually, slowly, he broke them apart, but just barely.
“Are you disappointed you still don’t have any answers about your memories?” he asked in the air they traded, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m not sure I expect much anymore, really. And the more time that passes, the less it feels like it matters,” she admitted, finding oxygen alarmingly scarce between them. “But, if one day I do get my memories back, I like the idea that I’ll know what it’s like to fall in love with you twice.”
Molly had electricity in her veins, caverns in her head, and an inferno burning away every errant thought that might distract her from the way Aster’s lips felt dragging across her skin.
“And if you don’t remember,” he began, “we have a beautiful life as it is.”
Molly smiled, loving him and the things they’d weathered together. Wanting for her memories but needing nothing.
Before
Aster put his car into park and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
Indecision ate him alive, gnawing away at all his charisma and cleverness and whatever amounts of courage he liked to think he had.
He cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking I’ll grab some coffee while you’re in PT. I’ve got some studying to do and—” He broke off, clearing his throat again. Graham had her lower lip between her teeth, gaze distant as she looked out the passenger side window. “What’s your order?” he asked. “I’ll bring you something for when you’re done.”
The tiniest, saddest smile quirked her mouth. “No apology today?”
It had been two months since the accident, and he’d picked a different thing to apologize for almost every day, overrun with a guilt he couldn’t contain. And each time, his effort was met with awkward silence. Or a stiff nod. Or one baffling instance when she’d apologized for her own behavior at Laburnum, which left him reeling for the rest of the afternoon. Or the worst of it, just yesterday, when Graham looked close to tears. He didn’t want to belabor the point. And he certainly didn’t want to make her cry. He just needed her to know he had regrets about how he’d behaved as a teenager. And he wanted to make it up to her.
He stifled a grimace. “Oh. I—uh—it seemed like all the apologizing might have been doing more harm than good. Thought I’d try something less intense today. Hence, coffee.”
“You know, I used to fantasize about you apologizing to me,” she said, shifting in her seat to better face him.
Aster’s heart slammed against his ribs. A beam of sunlight cut through his windshield, falling directly across Graham’s face. For a moment, he could have sworn her eyes were more amber than brown, so much more complex than he’d once thought.
“Back at Laburnum,” she continued, “I would sometimes picture you coming up to me and groveling for forgiveness because you realized I was so academically superior to you that it had turned you into an entitled little asshole. I’d picture laughing in your face and telling you that an apology isn’t always enough, because it isn’t.” She sighed. “All that animosity. It was . . . so much work.”
Aster only managed a nod.
After several uncomfortable beats, in which he couldn’t decide if unlocking the doors for her would come across as pointed or helpful, she asked, “You know which one worked the best?”
“Which—what? Apology?”
