He raised his hands further, his serious blue eyes locked on hers. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
She snorted softly. How stupid did he think she was? “You’re in my house, and I don’t know you.”
“Don’t you?” His voice was low, but she could still hear the hint of disappointment and confusion. Something about that look of bewildered disorientation, swiftly replaced with a practiced stoicism, settled her.
Nissy chose that moment to step into the kitchen, nose in the air, the tip of her tail flicking gently. She looked up at the man, considered him, and then brushed against his leg, nuzzling her cheek against his jean-covered shin.
Ellie started moving without stopping to think. She needed to get Nissy. She had to protect her. Save her. But then, too quickly to be anything but automatic reflex, the stranger lowered his hands and reached down to gently stroke Nissy’s head, massaging the sensitive spot behind her ears. “Aren’t you gorgeous?” he asked.
His words—low and rumbling, but friendly—caught Ellie and brought her to a stop. Somehow back in the kitchen. Far closer to the intruder than she’d ever planned.
The man looked up and straightened quickly, as if embarrassed to be showing any kind of emotion. Nissy gave him a cool look at having been abandoned and tapped gently over to Ellie instead.
Somehow having her cat beside her, and having seen that brief unguarded tenderness, reassured her far more than anything he’d said. “Should I know you?” she asked softly.
“I’d hoped…” He leaned heavily against the doorframe. “I thought you could tell me—” he shook his head, voice fading.
“Tell you what?”
For the first time since she’d locked eyes with him in the mirror, a clear emotion stood stark on his face: sadness. “Who I am.”
Ellie took another unconscious step forward, drawn by the bleak look in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
His face was pale beneath his beard as his lips twitched into the tiniest, most self-deprecating smile she’d ever seen. “I don’t remember anything.”
“You don’t rememberanything?”
“No. I don’t know where we are. Or how I got here. Or even”—his chest rose and fell on a rough breath—“who I am.”
Ellie put her hand out to rest on the kitchen table, needing its stability, hardly noticing that she had come fully into the room. Her attention was held by the rigid tension in the muscles of his neck and the deep lines scoring his forehead. And her growing awareness that he must be under some immense weight, some terrible pressure, that made him hold himself so stiffly.
“Maybe we should call someone,” she offered. “Emergency services. A doctor. Someone who knows what to do.”
“Yeah. Okay. That makes sense.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them moving. But then he swayed, ever so slightly, and leaned even more heavily against the doorframe, one hand coming up to brace himself.
He looked as if he’d been through a battle. As if he was only staying on his feet by sheer stubbornness. It was a look she’d seen on her own face, and she wanted to wipe it away. She wanted to smooth her fingers down that look of painfully stoic acceptance and see those full lips twitch into a smile once more—a real one.
But that was madness. “Do you want to sit?” she asked instead, gesturing toward the chair nearest to him, on the opposite side of the table.
“Thank you.” He crossed the kitchen slowly and settled his hands on the backrest of the chair, but he didn’t pull it out.
His lips looked dry and cracked, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you want a glass of water while I call?”
He nodded. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll just—” she turned to grab two glasses, darting glances at him over her shoulder.
He never moved.
She looked away, just for a second, to fill the glass. “Who do you think we should call first?” she asked, turning back.
But he was gone.
Nissy sat at her feet. The fridge ticked quietly in the corner. But nothing else had moved. The room was empty.
Ellie dropped the glass to the table, ignoring the water as it sloshed over the rim, and strode around to his chair. She dragged her fingers over the smooth grain of the wood. Was it warm? Was she imagining it? Was she going completely insane?
