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Though I couldn’t remember Hayes and Malachi, I felt a deep sort of knowing that I could trust
them with my life.
That at one point in time, we’d all been very close.
I was glad that they’d decided to stay in Kilgore.
But it was still upsetting that I couldn’t remember.
More so, I hated that I couldn’t remember my memories when it came to Frankie, though.
Which I told her in the next moment.
“Then I’ll tell you something every single night, every single detail, until you know everything,”
she promised.
As we closed our eyes that night, preparing for tomorrow, she told me the sweetest memory we
had together yet.
“The night you told me you loved me, we were sitting in your truck,” she whispered. “You were
eating peanut butter ice cream, and I was having a brownie Sunday.” She laughed softly against my
chest. I wanted so badly to take my shirt off and feel her skin against mine. But I stayed still. Unable to make the first move. “I don’t really like to share my food. I don’t know why. I never have.”
I grinned at her apology. Even though it wasn’t needed.
“Anyway, I was sitting there, enjoying my ice cream, and you suddenly offered me a spoonful of
yours.” She smiled; I felt the pull of her cheeks against my sensitive skin. “I looked at you
suspiciously. So, at this point, we’d only been seeing each other for like two weeks. You were nice, and you made me constantly have freakin’ butterflies, and I can’t say that I’m ever thinking good.
You’ve literally made my brain turn into a fried crazy mess. So, you say, ‘Want a bite?’ and I ask,
‘Why?’”
She starts to laugh.
“I was thinking you were literally about to offer me a bite, then take it away or something before I could actually get a bite, I guess. I don’t know. So, I lean forward really slow, and you don’t move the spoon at all.” She snickered. “I guess the entire time I’m leaning forward to take a bite, you’re
looking at me. But all I’m looking at is your ice cream. And when I take the bite, and you lean back, you tell me that you love me. Just like that. Between swallows. You say, “I love you, Francesca.’
Nothing more, nothing less.”
I’m smiling then.
“What did you say?” I asked, feeling raw.
“I said, ‘Are you freakin’ nuts?’” She giggled. “Oh gosh. I thought you were joking or something. I mean, I felt it. I knew I loved you. It was fast, and raw, and emotional and way too early. But whew did I feel it.” She shook her head, then smoothed her hand down my belly, almost absently. And when her hand slipped up underneath my t-shirt to bare skin, she didn’t once flinch at the scars. It moved right up until it was resting at my heart—that was pounding a mile a minute. “When you offered me up another four bites, I decided that you actually meant it. You weren’t demanding. You didn’t expect me to say it back or anything. You just gave me bites of your ice cream. And… I knew that there was no reason for playing coy or denying it. I just said it. Right then and there. You smiled, gave me the rest of your ice cream spoonful by spoonful, and that was it. You and I were a thing from that point
forward.”
I loved that.
A lot.
