“Oh… okay.”
“I mean… you can. If you want to.” He stops on a dime and hauls me around. “I’m not saying you can’t go in there.”
“I…” I study the door. “What?”
“I’m not forbidding you from going in there, is all. Telling you that youshouldn’t,might sound like I’m saying youcan’t. And it doesn’t escape me that coming here means you’re trusting me to do the right thing by you. So I’m clarifying that youcango in there if you want. It’s dusty and gross, and it’ll mess with your sinuses, but I won’t be mad if you take a peek or whatever. I’m not hiding anything crazy in there.”
“Okay.” His nerves make me smile. His warming cheeks are entirely, ridiculously charming, so I smile and nod, and I say nothing of his intriguing Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde impersonation. Except there’s no bad guy in this scenario. Just a doctorly friend who blushes and smiles and carries entirely too much happiness everywhere he goes, and then there’s Mr. Hyde, the man whose personality can turn commanding on a dime. The one who allows me no room to argue if I’m arguing against my own good sense. “If I feel the need at any point to go into the third room, I’ll do so.Withoutworrying about you getting mad.”
“Good.” He wraps my hand with his and continues along the hall. “I’ll show you the backyard real quick, and the deck I’ve been busting my ass over. But it’s cold as balls out there today, and I don’t wanna spend a single second longer in the snow than I have to.” He brings us through the wide opening at the end of the hall and into a glistening kitchen, an entertainer’s space with a massive stone countertop, double sink, double stovetop, and no fridge at all… which leads me to assume it’s built into the cupboards at the back. “I like to cook, and Iloveto eat.” He leads me all theway to a glass wall of sliding doors, flips the lock, and opens the door to reveal a half-finished deck, where the dark innards are exposed and, if a woman is not careful, becomes a hole she might fall into. “Don’t judge my deck,” he grumbles. “It’s huge, and that shit takes time. I’m averybusy,veryimportant man, and I simply haven’t gotten back to it.”
“Very busy,” I snicker. “Very important. Your deck looks great.”
“Thanks. It’s my current passion. Except… ya know, I’ve neglected it.”
“I’m sure you’ll return to it when the time is right.” I angle toward a portion of the deck that’s finished, the screws are in, and the structure looks secure. Hopeful, I meet Ollie’s stare and thrill when he gives me a ‘go ahead’ flick of his wrist.
Crossing the threshold and onto unstained timber, I wander as far as I’m able and stop where there will eventually be a railing, then I spy another building off to the right of his yard. It’s dilapidated and partially collapsed, with crumbling stone walls and rotted wooden framing. What was once an amazing greenhouse only the truly passionate would construct is now just… a broken-down building.
“You didn’t fix that up while you were doing the rest of the house?” I sit on the very edge of the deck and drop the five or so feet to the frozen grass below, shivering under the onslaught of the icy wind and huddling into my jacket.
I don’t even peek back to see if Ollie is following. I simply walk toward the greenhouse and dig my hands into my pockets. “It’s amazing.”
He scoffs, walking just three feet behind me. Of course he is. He’s a protector. “It’s where the termites come for vacation. They visit and eat until they’re fat, then they go and tell their termite friends. It needs to be knocked down.”
A deep, mysterious ache lashes across my heart, surprising me. “I think it should be restored.” I lick my frozen, dry lips and turn. “There’s history in this building, Ollie. Someone loved it very much.”
“There are termites,” he chuckles, rubbing his hands together and bouncing in place to combat the cold. “I can’t knock it down till I spray the termites. Otherwise, they’ll move into my house. And nobody wants that kinda mess.”
“Especially not after all the work you put into the deck.”
He barks out a loud, stomach-tingling laugh that has puffs of white air dancing in the space between us. “Smartass. Come on.” He grabs my sleeve and starts back toward the house. “My shed’s over that way. Hidden behind those trees.” He gestures with his chin. “But it’s too damn cold today, so I’ll show you another time.” He stops by the deck and releases me, only to link his fingers together and bend. And wait… and wait… and wait…
“What?”
“Put your foot in so I can boost you up.”
“Oh!” A silly giggle rolls along my chest and tosses me off balance the moment I take one foot off the ground. But I place it in his hands and thrill in the way he so easily lifts me high, how he holds on long enough for me to climb to my feet and find my balance. Then I spin and offer my strength.
Which is foolish, really, to think I could lift him.
He places his hands on the deck, his shoulders and arms swelling with muscle he keeps hidden under a starchy white coat the rest of the time. He doesn’t grunt. Doesn’t groan. He doesn’t even huff. He hoists himself up easily and pops onto the deck with a smooth swing of his legs.
“Time to go inside before our noses freeze and fall off.” He leads me through the sliding glass door and closes it right behind us. “Why don’t you take your suitcase to your room and unpack while I start a fire and get this place a little warmer?” He drags me through the kitchen and back into the living room, then, releasing me, he detours to an ottoman in front of his couch, opening the lid and revealing blankets and cushions, chip crumbs he probably didn’t intend for me to see, and finally, an abused box of Uno cards.
My brows jump high on my forehead. “You wanna play?”
“I wanna help you find yourself. Card games assist cognitive function, which improves memory. If the last two weeks have taught us anything, it’s that your recovery won’t come easy. We’ve gotta work for it. Jiggle something loose. Hence…” He gestures with the box.
“Uno.” My stomach drops and swirls, my brows coming down to shadow my eyes. I spy the suitcase in my peripherals, my bag of books, my entire world—not even enough to take up more than a quarter of the backseat of his truck. “Okay.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and feel that familiar sense of unease in my belly. I feel like an intruder. Like the poor man was coerced into something hereallydoesn’t want to be a part of.
He talks a good talk and says all the right things, but it would be stupid of me to think he’s not in a rush to bring my memories back. To remind me of who I am. To get me out of here.
The sooner I know who I am, the sooner I can go.
“What, Rose?” Reading me,oh so well, he releases the ottoman lid and comes around the couch. “You’re hurting your own feelings again. Spit it out.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind.” I exhale a shuddering, aching breath and jerk my thumb toward my suitcase. “Worst-case scenario, we get back in the truck and you drive me to The Wallflower. It’s an hour each way, and that’s totally not what you wanted to do with your day,but if you do, or if you call me a cab, I’ll go and you’ll get your home back?—”
