He frowns a little, but maybe it’s at the reminder that I don’t remember him.
“I promise I will remember you,” I say. “I promise I will remember everything.”
“I am sure you will,” he says finally. “You are very capable, Florian. You played excellently for the Blizzards.”
“I am glad.”
“You look happy.”
“Of course I’m happy,” I say. “I have you.”
He looks away, and I smile at the long length of his thick dark lashes as they flutter.
Some days I wondered whether I would ever experience love, whether I would venture into the dating market in my late thirties only to discover that everyone around me has paired off and I am alone, forever.
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Mateo suggests.
“Good idea.” Mateoknows me so well.
Mateo scans the apartment. “You really just have one bedroom.”
“I am one person.”
“Right.” He nods too many times. “I have a roommate. My sister. But, uh, you know that. Used to know that.” He looks vaguely alarmed, which I understand.
“I’m sorry this happened,” I say. “I would have hated to find out that you had amnesia. I think you’re handling it very well, considering.”
He opens the door to the washing machine, then he gasps. “This is your washing machine.”
“Ah.” I eye the machine.
He quickly closes it, then opens another door. “And this, uh, is your bathroom.”
I snort. “Are you giving me a tour of my apartment?”
He shrugs. “You don’t remember it?—”
“I don’t need to know where the washing machine is.”
“Right.” He opens another door. It’s my bedroom. He gives a relieved sigh, which is strange, but I’m still relearning his sense of humor.
I lie down on the bed obediently while he fusses around me, adjusting pillows I don’t recognize, and pulling a blanket I don’t remember choosing up to my chin.
He looks terrified.
I must be in terrible shape.
CHAPTER
TEN
Mateo
Florian is sleeping, and I tiptoe from his bedroom. Our bedroom. Florian thinks I’ll be spending the night with him there.
I sit on the couch, then take out my phone.
MATEO: SOS.
