Page 41 of Midnight and Mine

I tuck a wavy strand of hair behind her ear. “I hope you still feel the same way, but I understand that you don’t have your memories, and it doesn’t feel the same for you as it does for me.”

She maneuvers her leg out wide behind me and scoots closer to me. She takes my hand in hers. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

I let out a strained laugh because this is my wife. Nobody tells her what to do or when.

“I wouldn’t dare. I love you the way you are and if you never remember me or the past two decades we’ve spent together, I’ll spend a lifetime making you fall in love with me now.” Our eyes collide, and I lay her hands on my legs, and mine scamper up her arms to her face. I cup her jaw and ask, “May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she says breathily.

Slow and measured, I take her lips into mine. Savoring every taste of the Coke bubbles on her tongue as we explore the connection between us. It feels like a first date, and how many couples get a chance for a do-over? To kiss your wife for the first time like a woman instead of a scared, inexperienced teenager.

I open my eyes momentarily to soak in her reaction. Her hands slide up my chest as she pulls me closer. Relieved that the truth is out, the air feels charged with unspoken possibilities and a million what-ifs. But I’ll take all the what ifs for a chance to love her and for her to love me again.

When the kiss ends, we stay mouth to mouth.

“Wow. Now I know those faceless dreams I’ve been having are memories. We are really good together, aren’t we?”

“We are. We trust each other implicitly, and that… well, it makes for…”

“Incredible sex?”

I smile against her lips and chuckle. She has shied away from saying what’s on her mind. “Definitely. But baby, what we have is so much more, and we need to take it slow.”

“I don’t think I do slow. Do I? I feel anxious when nothing is happening. Is that how I am in real life?”

“You’re not good at going slow, no. But you’ve learned that you have too sometimes. Everything you’re feeling is you… and you have to trust in you.”

She dips her head and runs her hand over her belly bump. I want to touch her, but I use every bit of restraint I have to keep my hands to myself. She seems uncomfortable, so I hold the swing still, inch into the corner, and spread my legs. We wiggle her back into my chest, and I ask, “Is that better?”

“Yes.” She leans her head back onto my shoulder. “Drake doesn’t love me,” she says with a hint of sadness.

Unsure of how to handle her statement, I decide to just listen. Hear what she feels and needs to say. My fingers trace circles on her arms, and she purrs.

“His parents are getting a divorce and when he told me, we hugged. As we came out of it, he kissed me. I’m sure it was just Drake needing someone. I felt like a cheater, and I got the hell out of there.” Her painted Funny Bunny fingernails scratch over the back of my hand. “I don’t remember you but in my memory, I knew I was married and disgusted that I let someone other than my husband touch me.”

With unshielded honesty, she bears the vulnerability in her heart. She’s as afraid as I am about the future, and her fidgeting hands reveal the depth of her uncertainty.

“There’s no excuse for kissing or touching someone without an invitation. You did nothing wrong. Drake was wrong and judging by his text messages to you, he regretted it, but I think it’s because you rejected him.”

“I wish I remembered you.”

Me too.

Chapter Eighteen

Wynter

“Iwish I wouldn’t have run off to the gorge. This is all my fault.”

“It was an accident. Should you have gone to the gorge alone? No.”

“But now, I can’t tell our baby about our wedding day or get lost in the memory of when we made her.”

A sense of peace blankets me as the sun dips below the hills, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. While lying on this swing with my husband, I don’t remember. My heart beats in a soothing rhythm in synchrony with the gentle sway of the swing. It’s the first time I’ve let him wrap his arms around me. They’re strong, and they feel like my safety net—that no matter what, these arms will save me from drowning in my frustration or save me from falling down a cliff. His embrace feels like it’s right where I belong, a homecoming, right here on the porch.

He strokes my arm, and I skate across his hands as he whispers, “Just concentrate on how you feel about me, now. There’s no mistaking that regardless of your memory… I love you.”

With one foot on the slatted wood floor, he moves us back and forth with the same gentle force of the tide ebbing and flowing over the beach.

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