“I know,” he interrupts. “I mean, I didn’t know you’d lost your memory, but it makes sense now.”
He tugs a hand from his pocket and grips the back of his neck, clearing his throat.
“I came and visited you in the hospital once, but my parents wouldn’t let me stay.”
My brain short-circuits.
Forget not remembering, how have my own parents not told me about this part?
Come to think of it, the accident itself and the hellish week in a medically induced coma following it are theonlyparts they never talk about with me.
I guess I should have asked more questions when I had the opportunity last night.
It’s killing me not to have some kind of processing time in this situation. A chance to hear the information without a guy standing right in front of me waiting for me to say something. It’s humiliating when all I can manage in response is an “Oh.”
I always do this—crumble under the weight of everything I can’t remember.
Change the subject, Teddy. Say something, anyth?—
“Are you ready for your first day of work?” Reed interrupts my internal battle, and relief washes over me, however short-lived.
He gestures around the empty room, and I feel myself start to sweat just looking at it.
What was Ithinkingsaying I was ready for something like this? I don’t know the first thing about waitressing, and if this morning with Miles was any indication, I’m bound to be terrible at this job.
“Not even a little bit,” I admit. “I think I might be socially stunted after being stuck in a cabin for the last nine months with the same two people.”
“You seem to be doing just fine to me.” He flashes a grin. “But just in case, I’ll give you theGet to know a strangercrash course.”
He holds his hand out between us, and I consider making a run for the door. A good fifty strides and I could pretend I didn’t even show up today. But that would be a one-way ticket to losing this job before it’s even begun.
You have to do this.
I extend a hand with the reach of a T. rex arm, and Reed leans forward, wrapping his fingers around my palm. His hand is smoother than I imagine most guys’ hands to be. He scans my reaction before jerking it up and down.
“Hi, I’m Reed Morgan. Captain of the thrill seekers, future wildland firefighter, and son of the cranky man who owns this restaurant. I’m in love with golden retrievers, but have never owned one, and wear a single shoe when the situation warrants it. I’d choose a romantic comedy over a horror movie any day and scream at the sight of a bee. I’m obsessed with pickles and hate those sticky things people use to hang picture frames.”
I laugh out loud. “Command strips?”
“YES! Those. Loathe them and the toenail they lost me,” he says, letting go of my hand and cupping his in a prayer toward the beams across the ceiling. Then he reaches for my hand again and holds it between us.
“I would rather wrestle a man o’ war jellyfish than mow a lawn,” he continues, “and some might say, I’m attracted to freakishly short girls.”
He winks at me, and I melt inside.
“Well, that was oddly specific,” I tease as I check his foot on instinct. It must have been the loafer-covered one that got impaled. All five of his toenails on the shoeless foot are still intact.
“I have a lot to live up to,” I say.
He lets go of my hand and waves for me to go next, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“Me?” I point to my face, as if I have to single myself out in an empty room.
“You don’t think I just poured my heart out to you to get nothing in return, do you?”
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t know if I’d call admitting your love for pickles and disdain for Command strips aspouring out your heart.”
The corners of his mouth twitch in amusement.
