It doesn’t.But the feeling it stirs does.“So what’s today?”I ask lightly trying to figure out what comes next.“An outing?A date?”
He jerks the wheel slightly.“Jesus, Kelly.No, it’s not.”A pause, then he stammers, “I mean, unless you, that’s not?—”
I bite back a smile.“You’re flustered.”In all the time we haven’t spent together in the hospital and in his home, he has never once not had a response.He’s rattled and I find myself proud to have caused it.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Stop.”
“I can’t,” I reply laughing, amused and breathless.“It’s funny.”
His glare is weak.“You have a head injury.You shouldn’t tease.”
“Is teasing something I did a lot?”
His jaw loosens.“All the damn time.”
I grin.And something warm flickers in his eyes.
He parks downtown, in front of a row of small shops.The bakery sign catches my eye —Frosted and Filled.An odd sensation rushes through me.
“I work there,” I whisper.
Ledger follows my gaze.“You do.”
The door is propped open, music drifting out.Fresh bread.Sugar.Butter.Strong emotions slam into me.Homesickness for a home I can’t remember.Pride in work I don’t recognize.A sense of belonging I can’t name.
“Do you want to go in?”he asks softly.
I step toward the entrance before I fully decide to.Ledger falls into stride next to me, always slightly between me and anything else.
Inside, everything feels wrong and right at the same time.
The register.
The chalkboard menu.
The display cases full of pastries I know I made before.Somehow, somewhere in the lost parts of my memory they exist.
Customers glance my way, some smiling, some greeting me by name.But the faces blur, names vanishing before they come.
I swallow hard and grip the counter for balance.
“Kelly?”
Ally’s voice breaks through the noise.She rushes from the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, eyes wide.
“You okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure.
Ledger steps closer.“She’s overwhelmed.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper the lie.
Ally frowns.“Want to sit in the back?”
