She studies the map. Does she find it odd that we need a map to our house? We haven't told her we're not from here yet. It's easy enough to explain away… the sex club is a new location in the dark, why not use a map?
Cupping her chin, I pull her in for a kiss. "Are you okay with everything so far?"
"Never been better." She snuggles into my side.
Wrapping my arm around her, I say, "Get some rest."
She nods off, and when we get to the house, I sweep her into my arms again, carrying her inside.
She giggles groggily, head lolling against my shoulder. "Carrying me over the threshold? Does this make us official?"
"I'd say what we did at the club made us official. Please tell me your amnesia didn't wipe that from your memory."
She traces my jawline. "I can make new memories just fine. It's everything before three months ago that's problematic."
I carry her into the living room and set her on her feet.
She kicks her tennis shoes off and spins slowly, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the minimalist decor marred only by the Christmas tree that's covered in white lights. "Can I look around?"
She doesn't wait for an answer. Her sock-clad feet pad across the polished wood floors. "Love these ceilings. How tall's that tree? Ten feet?"
"Twelve, and there's another in the second living area."
"You two show up at the auction in t-shirts—not that I'm complaining, but I didn't expect this… You must have hired an interior designer."
I exchange a glance with Dylan who nods. I explain, "This isn't our place."
Her brows knit then awareness eases her features. "Came for the auction?"
Dylan has a response ready. "Came for work. Found out about the auction today."
He could have stuck closer to the truth. Now we have to come up with a work event.
"Work? Why not say that up front?" She wanders into the kitchen.
He shrugs, hands in pockets. "I can't think straight when I'm near you."
She pivots, leaning against the kitchen island. A black iron frame supports hanging copper pots overhead. "What do you do? For work? You work together?"
Dylan closes the distance, bracing his palms on the counter, caging her. His bulk dwarfs the space. "You don't really want to talk about work when we could…"
He hoists her onto the counter, his hands coming to rest on her thighs.
She tilts her head up, her chin brushing his shirt. "Actually, let's talk about food. What do you have?"
"Not much, what do you recommend for takeout? What's open?"
"There's a twenty-four-hour burger place, pizza, or Chinese."
"Which is your favorite?" I ask.
"Chinese."
In seconds, she has us reading menus and states her preference. "General Tso's chicken and Crab Rangoon for me."
My chest tightens. Same as always. Nikki's order, etched in memory. But she's Molly now. We finish out the order and select delivery.
"As much as I want more… I could use some rest. How about a movie?"
