A relationship with him was probably a bad idea anyway—at least for the time being. She wouldn’t want to hurt Jonah any more than she already had. Besides, what if they started dating and she fell for him—and then got her memory back? The thought of that romantic quandary made her head pound.
Besides, between managing the resort and overseeing the renovation, she had plenty to keep her busy.
Lauren took her last bite, closed the binder, and checked her watch. They were doing s’mores tonight, but she’d already gathered the supplies. She went to her bedroom, Graham on her heels, and tossed the binder into the top of the closet. The weight of it unsettled a shoebox on the shelf, and the box dropped to the floor, falling open.
She didn’t recognize the box, and it didn’t have a pair of shoes inside as she’d assumed. Graham sniffed the contents, tail wagging.
“What do we have here?”
She knelt and sorted through the stuff: movie ticket stubs, a rumpled map of Flume Gorge, a pine cone, some notes, a pale pink rock shaped like a heart, and... cloth dinner napkins? Three of them in maroon, ivory, and seafoam green.
She unfolded a small piece of notebook paper.
Lauren, here’s a coffee just the way you like it (sickeningly sweet and laden with heavy cream). Thought you could use it after the late night. Some of us had to get up early for school.
XO,
Jonah
His printing was small, a little messy, but perfectly legible. She folded it carefully and opened the next.
Found this out by Otter’s Pond and thought of you.
XO,
Jonah
She wondered if the heart-shaped rock had accompanied the note. She opened the next message.
Have a great evening, sweetheart. Don’t give Dave Jones and his unwife another thought.
No idea what that meant. It was so weird to know that something had happened to her—lots of somethings—that she had no recollection of.
More notes turned up nice little sentiments, all of them alluding to things she didn’t remember. In the age of texting it was sweet that he’dgone to the trouble of writing notes. She was starting to see that the Jonah she’d first met was perhaps not the real Jonah. Beneath that long hair and dark scowl lay a sentimental, caring man.
When she’d read them all, she tucked them back into the shoebox with a sigh, feeling a little wistful about a relationship she couldn’t even remember. But Jonah had loved her enough to write them, and she’d cared enough to save them. That said something.
As she set the box back on the shelf, the thought weighed on her, leaving her unsettled. With the way those mementos had left her feeling, she was glad she hadn’t given in to the temptation to read those old texts or scroll through her photos.
She glanced out the window. It was getting dark outside. Time to get the bonfire going. She grabbed the lighter from the kitchen drawer and glanced at Graham. “You can go with me, but no begging for s’mores. Got it?”
Graham gave a happy bark.
“Good boy.” She grabbed the supplies and headed toward the firepit, opposite the pavilion. The night sounds that had seemed so foreign at first had grown on her: the warbling call of insects, the lonely hoot of an owl, the rustling of the wind through the trees.
And soon the sounds of chatter and laughter carried from the far end of the property. The writers group, which filled most of the cabins, gathered for their evening plotting session. It was a friendly, easygoing group that had demanded little of her. She’d done little beyond providing hot chocolate and apple cider for their nightly sessions.
The property lights that came on at dark guided her way. As she approached the cold firepit, she caught sight of the pavilion, lit up with white twinkle lights and hosting the lively group.
A smile curved Lauren’s lips as she listened to their lighthearted chatter. She loved managing a property where people enjoyed themselves.Where she could have a small part in making them feel welcome, making them feel as if they belonged. As if they were part of an extended family. It fulfilled something deep inside her.
A male voice caught her off guard. Jonah. He sat in the midst of the group, quite close to the youngest writer who was about their age, with glossy brown hair that looked as if it didn’t know the meaning of the wordfrizz. The group hooted at whatever Jonah had said, and the woman nudged Jonah with her shoulder.
Lauren’s smile wilted. She squatted by the logs she’d stacked earlier while Graham, ever the extrovert, charged over to the group to solicit attention. When Jonah caught sight of the dog, he immediately scanned the area and found Lauren by the firepit.
She glanced away before they made eye contact and extended the lighter toward the newspapers she’d stuffed beneath the logs earlier. She flicked the lighter, but it failed to produce a flame.
A moment later the crunch of leaves alerted her to Jonah’s approach. “Here, let me help.”
