We’re soon taking the elevator down to the ground floor, then going to the pharmacy. Florian leads the way thankfully, and I try to look like I’ve totally noticed this building before, even though I live in Somerville and nowhere near Seaport and its fancy new glass buildings.
Florian takes my hand as we exit the building.
Oh. We’re doing that again.
His large hand is clasped around me. No gloves can compare to the feel of his fingers.
My breath quickens again, and I must look distressed, because he nudges my shoulder with his. Because the thing I need to not spontaneously combust is obviously more Florian touching me.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know you are eager to begin that side of the relationship again. I feel healthy. I am sure my memory will come back soon.”
“That’s, uh?—”
“Reassuring?”
“Yes. I do want you to remember again, Florian.”
Florian smirks, then he opens the pharmacy door for me and ushers me inside, his hand on my back.
The aisles are pharmacy-bright with signs everywhere. I blink into the bold primary colors and fluorescent light.
A few people look in our direction. I hope they do not recognize Florian.
Florian is unconcerned with that possibility. He looks around. “Which aisle, mi amor?”
“I’m not sure. We, uh, went to another pharmacy. The first time. Closer to the arena.”
“Oh, that wasn’t discreet of us.”
“I-I suppose not.”
“We loved each other a whole lot,” Florian says, his voice solemn, the kind you hear politicians make on occasion. “Once we met, we knew.”
I nod my head, but something stings my eyes.
Because I remember what really happened.
Maybe Florian sensed even then that I would destroy him. That I would make him out himself, however unintentionally.
Shit.
Florian takes my hand again and marches me through the pharmacy. A man in a sky-blue polo is stocking vitamins.
“Sir.” Florian clears his throat. “Where can we find the sex equipment?”
The pharmacy worker halts his stocking. He stares at us.
“Equipment?”
“Yes.”
“Right.” The pharmacy worker steps away. “I’ll show you. It’s, uh, in the back aisle.” He leans toward Florian. “We like to be discreet about those items.”
“Ah.” Florian glances at me. “That is why we could not find it, mi amor.”
The pharmacy worker’s gaze drops to our linked hands.
I tense, but Florian squeezes my hand.
