Page 24 of Forget Me Not

I laugh, in part because I’m too anxious to think straight, let alone carry on a real conversation. “I bet. I’m guessing you know this route pretty well then?”

He nods again, still smiling. “Sure do. Next stop is Halifax.”

I have no fucking clue where that is, and for the first time I realize just how small the bubble I’ve been living in really is. I’m barely an hour outside of my hometown and yet I feel like I’ve left the country. Nothing looks familiar. And it should. I’ve been here. Or, at least close. The accident was near the coast. Near here.

I hold my screen up for the man to see. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know the area. Do you happen to be familiar with a place called Cooper Ceramics?”

“Yes, sir, sure am. Got my favorite coffee mug from Cooper. Even fixed the handle for me free of charge when my grandson dropped it last year. Her studio’s on beachside, just a block over from the main drag, easy to find but not in the middle of all the touristy shops and restaurants. Bright yellow building, three stories high. Can’t miss it.”

My heart is pounding so hard and so loud I can barely hear anything else. “Beachside? Beachside, where? Will this bus take me?”

He turns back to face in the opposite direction of where we’re going. “Just missed it. But we’re coming up on the last stop before they loop back around, so there’s not much point in getting off until we get back to Canal. You can take the Flex from there.”

“Flex?”

“Smaller shuttle, take you straight to where you want to go.”

Cooper Ceramics. Jane Cooper. That’s my destination. That’s where I want to go.

Cooper

It’s lunchtime when I finally sit down for my pancakes. The very pancakes I had started to doubt were ever actually part of Gunnar’s plan. But there they were when I came out of the shower, sitting on a plate in the middle of my kitchen table in a notablycleankitchen.

White chocolate raspberry pancakes with a sweet cream cheese drizzle. If I ever learn to cook like he can, I’m opening a restaurant. I’d make a fortune. People would line up for miles and miles to eat these pancakes. I don’t know why he wastes his time with real estate. I mean, his overflowing bank account aside, it’s really quite dull. Unlike these pancakes, which are delicious and downright fascinating.

“See, I knew pancakes were a good idea,” Gunnar announces in his charming but undeniably cocky way as he comes strolling out of my bedroom still rubbing his dark brown hair with a towel. Gun has great hair. Long enough to be messy in a dangerously sexy way but not so long that I have to worry about him stealing my brush...or hair ties.

“Seems you’re full of all kinds of great ideas this morning,” I mumble quietly. After all this time, I still get a stupid sort of embarrassed about how easily I get turned on by him. Sexy. It’s not my thing, but it’s definitely Gunnar’s.

“I’m always full of good ideas when I’m looking at you,” his smooth, deep rasp rumbles in my ear from behind as he leans down over my shoulder to kiss my cheek right before he dives in and steals a bite of fluffy pancakes right from the tip of my fork.

“Hey! Those were headed formymouth, not yours,” I point out the rather obvious, stabbing at what’s left of my breakfast slash lunch with my now bare prongs.

“I see someone’s got their appetite back.” He smirks, walking around the front of the table, draping the towel over the back of a chair as he passes. “Relax, tiger. I made a whole batch. Whole plate stacked at least ten high sitting in the oven keeping warm for you.”

That’s so like him. It’s not enough to just make me the world’s greatest pancakes, he has to make enough to feed me all week. And now I feel like an ass for even pretending to complain about sharing.

“Are you taking off?” I ask, noticing the increasing distance between him and myself.

He glances back over his shoulder, scanning the shockingly spotless kitchen before landing on me with his eyes, an ever present heat emanating from them. His left brow arches the way it always does, and he grins. He’s doing that an awful lot today. “I think my work here is done. For the time being anyway.” Then he winks, and reaches for the door.

“Wait!”

He does. “What?”

I shove the last of my food into my mouth and push up from my chair. “I wanna walk you out.”

His mouth twitches ever so slightly at the corner and there’s a quiet surprise in his eyes. It’s not easy to catch Gun off guard and I’m always pleased when I do. “Careful, Coop. I’m gonna start to think you like doing all this mushy shit.”

I shrug, doing my best to bite back the desire to stretch my lips from one side of my face to the other. “Blame it on the sugar high. Or the after sex buzz,” I say as dryly as I can manage. “Now give me your hand so I can hold it while I walk you to your car.”

He chuckles, but obliges, twining his long, sturdy fingers into mine until our palms touch. Using his free hand, he opens the door and together, we walk out into the stairwell. Taking the steps slowly down from the third floor, we walk in silence nearly the whole way.

“Scared?” he asks, as we come up on the last flight.

“Of what?” I don’t know why I’m playing dumb. I know exactly what he’s asking. Which I guess means the answer is yes. I’m scared.

“Reed showing up. Remembering.” Gun doesn’t look at me. He just keeps taking one step after the other, never once easing his grip on my hand as we go.

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