Page 31 of Italy and Forever

‘You probably don’t want to talk about it,’ she rushed on, giving him a way out before he rebuffed her himself.

‘It’s probably better to explain,’ was his low reply, which didn’t alleviate any of her guilt for being so nosy. ‘I can see your face. It’s not a problem with my eyes. It’s my brain. I can see all of your features: eyes, nose… mouth. Ears.’ His gaze roamed her face as he spoke.

Ah yes, her protruding ears, the bane of her teenage existence. How many times had people made the supposedly well-meaning suggestion that she could get them corrected? But Rhys said nothing further about her ears.

‘It’s the combination that doesn’t stay in my head and I can’t seem to file the images in the part of my brain where I store… you.’

His words registered more deeply than he’d surely intended, as she imagined the part of his brain where he had a little file labelled ‘Ginny’. ‘I’m not even sure who most people are beyond their faces.’

‘There’s a lot. Sometimes I don’t think I’m missing out on much, but other times…’ He clearly didn’t want to finish that sentence and she let it go.

‘Yesterday at the lake,’ she began, rushing on before those words made her blush, ‘you recognised me – from quite a distance.’

He lifted his shoulders in assent. ‘You often wear your hair the same way, with this… thing at the back, some strands here.’

His hand came close enough that she froze, wondering if he was going to smooth her hair between his fingertips, but of course he didn’t. She was just too good at imagining tenderness. He settled his hand on her back again, but this time the touch felt closer, warmer.

‘You remember my hair,’ she clarified softy.

‘I remember most people’s hair. Women are easier than men.’

Another little moment shut down. She took the message. He was casually explaining his condition, not confessing that he found her attractive.

‘It must be difficult meeting new people.’

‘I was never great at that even before,’ he said with half a smile. ‘Now I have an excuse. But I don’t recognise people I know well either.’

His smile faded and Ginny fancied she felt more behind that comment. ‘Before what? What happened?’

His hesitation was so short she might have missed it, if she hadn’t been moving seamlessly with him to the music. ‘I fell from a rock face during a photography assignment. The anchor point hadn’t been fixed properly. I damaged part of my brain.’

Ginny sucked in an alarmed breath.

‘It was a long time ago and I’m all right now.’

She remembered the puckered pink scar on his shoulder. She hated to picture how he would have got that. ‘But what about people from before? Do you remember them? Your parents?’

‘I do have memories of faces from before the accident, but I’m not always sure who they are. My mother…’ His fond smile struck Ginny deeply. ‘She smells like Elizabeth Arden. That hasn’t changed in thirty-five years.’

There was a ghost of a small boy in his expression, sweetly incongruous with the rugged man with the solemn eyes.

‘So you recognise people by hairstyle and… smells.’ She wondered for a moment if he’d catalogued the subtle scent of her rose moisturiser.

‘Hairstyles much more often than scents,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I don’t normally come close enough to people to be able to remember their scent.’

He was close to her right now – so close she could feel the irregular rise and fall of his chest. ‘That makes sense. Plus, who’d want to smell your friends?’

Another eyebrow lift in agreement.

‘But you’re… easy,’ he said stiltedly.

‘I’m what?’

‘I mean easy to identify,’ he rushed on, looking up and dragging her around in a clumsy clockwise turn while her feet seemed to be refusing to participate.

‘Oh,’ she replied. Was it special that she was easy to identify?

‘Your piercing,’ he explained. ‘It’s… helpful.’