"Miles?" Charlotte was awake instantly, leaning toward me, her hand still clasped in mine. "What's wrong? Is it pain? Your arm?"
I stared at her. The woman from the gym. The diner. The river. The kitchen. All of them, all of her, superimposed over the worried face in front of me, the past and present finally, gloriously aligned.
"Charlotte." Her name came out like a revelation. Like a prayer.
"I'm here." She reached for my forehead. "Talk to me. What…"
I caught her wrist gently, stopping her. My hand was trembling, but not from Parkinson's. This was different. This was seismic.
"I remember."
She froze. Her eyes, wide in the darkness, searched my face. "What?"
"I remember." The words came stronger now, gaining force. "The reunion. Seeing you across the gym."
"Miles—"
"You were wearing that green dress from the photo." I touched her face with my free hand, tracing the curve of her cheek. "And I thought I'd forgotten how to breathe."
A tear slipped down her cheek. I brushed it away with my thumb.
"You remember the reunion?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I remember everything." I laughed, the sound watery and disbelieving. "The diner. You held my hand, and the tremor stopped. I remember thinking I'd never felt anything like that. Like you were the missing piece I'd been searching for."
"Oh God." She pressed her hand over mine, holding it against her face. "Oh God, Miles."
"I remember the casserole." I smiled through my own tears. "You showed up at my door looking like you were about to storm a castle."
A laugh broke through her crying. "I was nervous."
"You were terrifying. In the best possible way." I shifted closer on the couch, needing to be near her. "I remember the river. Our fight. You told me I didn't get to make choices for you."
"You were being an idiot."
"A complete idiot." I cupped her face in both hands, one still in its cast, clumsy but determined. "And you refused to let me push you away. You told me you didn't want safe."
"I wanted you," she whispered.
"I remember." My voice cracked. "I remember the kitchen. Flour everywhere. You had some in your hair, and on your cheek, and I'd never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life."
She was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face, but she was smiling too, that brilliant, radiant smile that had haunted me for fifteen years.
"I remember our first kiss," I said softly. "I remember thinking I'd wasted so much time. That I should have been kissing you every day for fifteen years."
"Miles—"
"I remember the morning of the accident." My thumb traced her cheekbone, memorizing the feel of her. "You were teasing me about being slow. I turned to look at you, and the sun was behind you, and you were laughing, and I thought…" My voice broke. "I thought that was the happiest I'd been in my entire life."
A sob escaped her. She pressed her forehead against mine, her hands coming up to frame my face, and we stayed there for a moment, breathing together, crying together, the weight of everything we'd almost lost pressing down on us.
"You're back," she whispered. "You're really back."
"I'm back." I pulled away just enough to look at her. "I'm here. I remember. All of it."
And then I kissed her.
Not gently. Not carefully. This was a collision, a homecoming.
