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“Did you used to say stuff to me like that a lot?”
“Whenever I got the chance.” Lucas turns again, then places the handmade pasta into the boiling water. Then he begins cooking bacon. It crackles and sizzles in the pan, the aroma sending my taste buds into overdrive. Finally, he adds the pesto. My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles as I sit there watching everything he does. He’s like a precision machine, everything is done in order and perfectly in sync with his body.
“Will you kiss me?” His hand pauses on the pot before he glances back over his shoulder at me. “I heard that could trigger memories. Will you kiss me?”
“No,” he replies instantly, then goes back to cooking.
“Why? Don’t you want me? I know we broke up, but I don’t know the reasons behind it. So, I am going to ask again, don’t you want me?”
He replies with a husky laugh and shakes his head.
My forehead creases as I wait for his response.
“I want you, but if you got your memory back tomorrow after I’d kissed you, you may very well kill me in my sleep.” After he drops that bombshell, he casually takes everything off the heat and plates it up. “You never kiss. It’s your rule.”
“I remember bits of the argument with Farris. He yelled at me because I wouldn’t kiss him. I guess I wanted to see if that extends to you as well.”
“It did. It extended to everyone.” He pushes the plate to me. “Eat.” I pick up the fork and take a bite, then moan as the taste hits my tongue. And when I look up, he’s smiling. “That right there is why I cook for you.”
“Here I was thinking it was done out of some sort of guilt trip.”
The smile drops away from his face, and he says no more.
After dinner, we head to bed, and I fall asleep before he does.
The week goes on. Lucas is gone during the day and comes back at night, cooks for me, and sleeps next to me.
We hardly talk, and when we do, it’s about cooking.
So I have stopped asking questions, hoping that they will just come to me—the memories of my past life. But with each and every day, I feel like something is changing between Lucas and me. I can’t remember who he was before, but when he cooks for me and looks after me, I have a feeling we were something different.
Different from what I had with Farris.
“Why do you have a gun?” I’ve seen him wear a gun a few times, but I’ve never questioned it. Tonight, he’s in the kitchen, cooking yet again, and I can see the gun in his holster.
Two weeks have gone by, and I feel good now, almost back to normal. All my cuts and bruises are mostly healed, and I don’t need help with anything now, which is good.
“For protection.”
“Don’t you own a bar?” I ask, confused.
“Among other things.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something?”
“Just you,” he answers.
“This is true. But I think I’m ready to try to step back into the world again. I was a flight attendant before. Maybe I’m not quite ready for that, but maybe I should find something else to occupy my mind?”
“We’ve been invited out for dinner tonight,” he says, ignoring what I’ve just said, or maybe he simply doesn’t have an opinion on what I do with myself.
“Where?”
“My boss’s house, and technically your ex-boss who you used to nanny for.”
“That will be nice.” I nod to him at the stove and tilt my head to the side. “But you’re cooking?”
“I’ll bring it. Keir never says no to my cooking.”
