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I looked at the box and frowned. “You change the store colors?”
“No, I’m testing colors out for takeout and catering options. What do you think?”
I examined the sea green box and shrugged. “It’s nice. I’m more curious about what’s inside.”
“Then satisfy your curiosity, Dr. Jackson.” She waved towards the box with a small smile.
I flipped open the lid and gasped. Inside were a dozen, maybe more, pistachio cookies half dipped in white chocolate frosting. “These are…,” my surprise left me at a loss for words.
“Your favorite? I remembered.” The words came with a small, proud smile. “Taste them. You know you want to.”
I smiled and plucked the biggest cookie I find from the box and slid it between my lips. The bite was crispy and soft, sugary, and oh so buttery. “Damn. Even better than I remembered.”
“Yeah?”
“Hell yeah.” I licked my lips and let my eyes fall on my wife. Who can resist a beautiful woman bringing you treats? Not me. “Did you come all the way up here just to bring me cookies?”
“Yes and no. I had the idea to bring some menus and samples up to Melanie and Suzie, and so I decided to see if the memory about your favorite cookies was right before I came up. Here’s the new menu.” She held up the glossy tri-fold paper and handed it to me. “What do you think?”
I gave the menu a cursory look and shrugged. “It’s a menu, Megan.”
A look flashed in her eyes that I didn’t recognize before it was gone again, as if it had never happened. “Right. So all that shit you said about our work both being important was just that, bullshit, right? Got it.” She snatched the menu out of my hands and took a step back. “Enjoy your cookies.”
“You came here for business, not for me.”
“I figured you were busy with patients and I brought the cookies to let you know that another memory had returned. And that I was thinking of you, which I guess was stupid on my part.”
Her feelings were hurt, which was the last thing I wanted, but I wasn’t fit for company right now. “Megan.”
“No,” she held up a hand. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have come up, but you could have just said you were having a bad day.”
“I’m not,” I growled. “I’m fine and my day is just fine. You can go if you want. I have plenty to do since I’m still on half shifts.”
Her frown deepened, blond brows pulled into an angry stare. “If you want to go back to work full-time Casey, you should. I don’t need a babysitter, and if I did, I’m sure I could find someone more willing.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that was impossible. Even if I wanted to go back to work while she still struggled with her memory, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Before I could get one word out, Megan was talking again.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Reynolds in the morning and I’ll have him tell you that I am perfectly capable of being on my own for the day. Half a day,” she corrected, “since I’m also on half shifts.”
I frowned and shook my head. “There’s no way in hell I’m returning to full day shifts until you are fully healed.”
“Don’t do me any favors, Casey. Here is clearly where you want be, so don’t let me stop you.”
Again, I had my foot in my mouth and no plan to extricate it. “Megan, I’m here for you. Always.”
She shook her head, disbelief evident in everything about her demeanor. “And what if I’m not fully healed, Casey? What if you’re stuck with a potty mouth wife who has giant gaps in her memory? Will you be content to babysit me until one of us is dead?” Hands fisted at her hips, Megan dared me to lie, the challenge already in her eyes.
“No. Obviously not.” I didn’t even want to think of that as a possibility, even though it was.
She sucked in a breath and nodded as if she were absorbing my words, syllable by syllable. “Okay. I’ll speak to the doctor tomorrow about going back to work full-time so you can too.” She turned on her heels, stride growing angrier by the step.
“Megan, wait.”
She stopped and dropped her head before turning to me with an exhausted expression. “You don’t owe me anything, Casey. We barely know each other.”
“That’s not true, dammit. Things have been tough lately and it was bound to happen in general, never mind with a head injury. I’m sorry, I’m handling this all wrong.”
“I don’t want or need to be handled, Casey. I’m a grown ass woman, and I run a business. I’m your wife, not some child that needs to be minded.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” She shot back, brows lifted in a challenging question.
