He smelled like soap and deodorant.
But there was an underlying smell, like the outdoors, that had me all but melting into his arms.
“Let’s get you inside,” he suggested. “I’m sure the sun is killing your head right now.”
It wasn’t.
I was okay.
But I knew the man had to be hurting, so I went with him into the house, taking everything in along the way.
I noticed a pair of women’s shoes by the door—mine.
A soccer ball was right inside that door, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for it with my toe.
“I don’t think so.” He chuckled as he deftly took it away from me and kicked it across the room. “No jarring whatsoever.”
I pouted, which he thought was cute, because he said so.
“You may be cute,” he murmured. “But we’re not going to do anything to jar that head any. It was a really bad concussion, Net.”
He had a point.
Also, if I wanted to get better, I had to follow the rules.
“I hate not having my memory.”
“You and me both, baby.” He paused. “Nettie.”
“You can call me what you usually do,” I pointed out. “Maybe it’ll help jar my memory.”
He nodded once, his jaw clenched.
He took me through a kitchen, and I paused at all the boxes on the counter.
“What’s all this?”
“Stuff you ordered before…”
“Before I had my head bashed in by some unknown man or woman in a snowplow?” I filled in for him.
“Yeah,” he rasped.
“What’s in those boxes?” I wondered.
There were three huge boxes from Amazon on the counter, as well as several smaller ones on top of those.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he admitted. “I have zero control over your relationship with Amazon.”
My lips twitched. “I guess we can find out later…once you give me a tour.”
He walked me through the house, and I stopped in the entryway to the living room. “Wow.”
The fireplace was massive.
As was the TV above the fireplace.
“Why’s it so big?”
