"Constantly. In the kitchen. On the couch. Walking through doorways." I smiled against his skin. "You touch me like you're afraid I'll disappear if you stop."
His breath caught. "Maybe I am."
I forgot he could do that; he made my heart stutter effortlessly.
"Charlotte." His voice was rough. "I need to apologize."
"For what?"
"For fifteen years ago. For walking away. For not fighting for you." He met my eyes, and I saw tears gathering in his. "I don't remember finding you again, but I remember losing you. I remember how empty everything felt after. I remember…" His voice broke. "I remember knowing I'd made the worst mistake of my life and being too proud to fix it."
"Miles—"
"Let me finish. Please." He took a shaky breath. "The doctors told me what happened. The accident. The surgery. They said my heart stopped on the table." His grip on my hand tightened. "And all I could think was, what if I'd died without ever finding you again? What if the last thing I'd ever said to you was goodbye through the phone when I was eighteen and stupid and scared?"
A tear slipped down his cheek. Then another.
I couldn't stay in the chair anymore. I stood, carefully maneuvered around his cast, and sat on the edge of his bed. My hand found his face, my thumb brushing away the tears.
"But you didn't die," I whispered. "You're here. I'm here. And whatever you can't remember, we'll rebuild it. Together."
"How?" His voice was desperate, broken. "How do you rebuild something you can't even remember building?"
"The same way we built it the first time." I leaned my forehead against his, that familiar gesture that felt like coming home. "One conversation at a time. One terrible joke at a time. One burnt piece of toast at a time."
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "I really burn a lot of toast, don't I?"
"So much toast. The fire department knows you by name, they always call when you cook, you know?"
His good arm came around me, pulling me closer. I went carefully, mindful of his injuries, but I went, curling into his side, my head finding the spot on his shoulder that had always fit perfectly.
"This feels familiar," he murmured into my hair.
"It should. We've done this too."
"On the couch?"
"On the couch. In the kitchen. Once in the parking lot of a truly terrible restaurant." I smiled against his neck. "You have a thing about holding me. I have a thing about letting you."
He was quiet for a long moment, his hand stroking slowly up and down my arm. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion.
"I may not remember falling in love with you, Charlotte. But I rememberbeingin love with you. Fifteen years ago. Every day since." His arm tightened around me. "Maybe that's enough to start with."
"It's more than enough." I lifted my head to look at him. "I have a plan."
"Already?"
"I was very busy thinking." I sat up, suddenly energized. "The doctors said familiar places can trigger memories. So that's what we're going to do. I'm going to take you to every place that matters. The diner where we had coffee. The river where you tried to push me away and I told you to shut up?—"
"I tried to push you away?"
"Very dramatically. It didn't work." I grinned. "I'm very stubborn."
"That I remember." But he was smiling now, really smiling, and the sight of it made my heart flip. "What else?"
"The bleachers at the high school. The kitchen where we had a flour fight. The path by the river where—" I stopped, the memory of the accident still too painful to think about.
"Where I got hit by a car," he finished quietly.
