If I can’t name the guy after living here for a few years, what does that say about me?
“Thank you,” I murmur.
We reach the elevator bank, and I reach out instinctively. My fingers skim smooth tiles near the corner of the wall, finding the call button. Faint classical music floats overhead; I used to ignore it too. I can picture my old self here, walking fast, earbuds in, juggling a green smoothie and my phone in another hand.
The elevator dings and doors open. We step inside. “Which floor?” Ivy asks.
“Twenty-four.”
After some of the longest seconds of my life, the elevator slows and settles. The swish of the doors marks our arrival. I step outside and take the right turn to my place.
Ivy slips the key into my hand as we walk to my front door. “You do the honors.”
I trail the wall until I find the doorframe, slide the key into the lock, and twist. The door unlocks with a click that echoes in my chest. Pushing it open, I step inside.
My cane taps gently ahead as I walk forward. I reach out with my free hand and run my fingers along the wall. Four steps forward, my shin grazes the hallway bench I had put there only a week before the accident.
Ivy closes the door softly behind us. “You okay, Theodore?”
"I will be.”
Walking toward the open plan kitchen, I let my fingers glide along the cool edge of the marble island. Pausing at the stool I always pull out, I trace the line of the leather backrest with my knuckles.
“I had no idea what I would remember, but it’s all coming back to me.”
I drift toward the living room and my knee brushes the couch. Circling it, I trace the edge of the coffee table with my hand instead of the cane, wanting to feel it under my touch. Sitting down, I pat the cushions and Ivy joins me.
“What’s the view like today?”
“Cloudy. Bare trees covered in snow. The lake in Central Park is still, kind of silvery.”
I nod, trying to see it in my mind, but I can’t. Her voice is enough to fill in the outlines, but some details have disappeared even if I’ve spent days looking out of the same windows. The harder I try to picture it, the more it slips away, like chasing something in a dream. I hate that part—losing pieces of a world I used to know.
We sit shoulder-to-shoulder. My hand drifts down to the stitching in the cushion, and I let the silence settle.
“I thought coming home might feel like stepping into someone else’s life,” I finally say.
“Well, does it?”
“It doesn’t. Not completely. I still belong within these walls, even if I’m not the same man who left them.”
“Of course you do.”
I turn my head slightly toward her, the words thick in my throat. “Ivy…thank you for being here. For not letting me walk back into this place alone. I’m grateful for you.”
She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to thank me, Teddy. I wouldn’t have spent these last hours in New York any other way. Tomorrow I'll fly off to another city, but tonight? Tonight I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Her words should comfort me, but all I can think about is how tomorrow will come too soon. We have hours, not days, left together. It’s maddening, loving the nearness of her while dreading the space between us that’s coming. I hate the idea of temporary goodbyes, even if I know they’re just that—temporary. She’ll be back in my arms in no time, but the thought of letting her go to get to that point already stings.
I don’t want to waste another second on what I can’t control. Pushing aside every negative thought, I lift my free hand tentatively to find the soft line of her cheek. She lets out a soft breath. I lean in and kiss her.
She answers to the touch of our mouths with a whimper. A hand curls around my neck, drawing me closer and deepening the kiss. The need between us flares, until I can’t tell where mylips end and hers begin. Our passion is spreading like wildfire through my chest and down my spine, igniting every nerve ending it touches. It’s an all consuming kind of want that makes the rest of the world fall away until there’s only her.
I rest my hands on her hips and murmur, “I wish I could pick you up and carry you to bed.”
She laughs breathlessly. “I’m sure I can walk there myself if you show me the way. We’re finally all alone and don’t have to worry about getting caught.”
Alone.
