I stared at him, this man who didn't remember falling in love with me, who was defending me anyway with the ferocity of someone who'd loved me for years.
"Your turn," I whispered. "Tell me about the fifteen years."
He was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then: "Do you know what a ghost feels like?"
"No."
"Neither did I. Until I became one." He picked up a fallen leaf and twirled it between his fingers. "I did everything right, Charlotte. Law school. Partnership. The condo with the view. The wife who looked good at firm events." His mouth twisted. "I checked every box my parents ever drew for me. And I felt absolutely nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Like watching my own life through a dirty window." He let the leaf fall. "After you, after I walked away, I never let anyone else in. Not really. There were people. Dates that felt like interviews. A relationship that ended about thirty seconds after I got the diagnosis."
"She left because of Parkinson's?"
"She said she didn't sign up for it." His voice was flat, but I could hear the old wound beneath. "And she was right. She signed up for a successful lawyer, not a man whose body was going to betray him."
"She was an idiot."
A surprised laugh escaped him. "I appreciate the loyalty."
"It's not loyalty. It's a fact." I shifted closer on the blanket, close enough that our knees touched. "Anyone who would leave you because of something you can't control doesn't deserve you."
"Is that so?"
"That is absolutely so."
His eyes were warm, searching my face with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "Charlotte, I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"Hearing about your marriage—" He shook his head. "It makes me want to rewrite history. If I had married you back then. If I had been brave enough to choose us instead of my father's blueprint." His voice dropped. "I would have been with you forever. Through the hard times. The beautiful times. All of it. I would never have made you feel like you were anything less than the miraculous, beautiful person you are."
I couldn't breathe; if I did, I would’ve cried.
"Even with this—" He tapped his temple with his casted arm. "Even with the blank spaces. I know this, Charlotte. You are my lifeline. You have always been my lifeline, even when I was too scared and stupid to choose you."
"Miles—"
"I don't remember falling in love with you again." His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "But I remember being in love with you. Fifteen years ago. Every day since." His eyes held mine. "I hope that's enough to start with."
"It's more than enough," I whispered.
The air between us changed. I was suddenly aware of everything—the warmth of his hand on my face, the depth in his hazel eyes, the way his gaze dropped to my lips and stayed there.
He leaned in slowly. Giving me time. Giving me every chance to pull away.
I didn't pull away.
His lips met mine, soft, questioning, impossibly tender. He tasted like apples and cider and something else, familiar and new all at once. I melted into it, into him, my hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my palm.
The kiss deepened. His good arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, carefully, mindful of his injuries but desperate to be near him.
This wasn't the frantic, flour-dusted kiss from the kitchen he couldn't remember. This was something else entirely, a beginning built on the ruins of a past only one of us recalled.
When we finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, both of us breathing hard, the world felt remade.
"That was—" he started.
