The next morning, with a half-full mug of steaming honey-lemon tea in my sock-covered hands, I stood on the porch, watching Luke dust snow off the four-wheeler for our morning’s venture to the small town of Tuckerville.

The sock mittens had been my idea since there was one pair of gloves between us and I felt like the guy driving ought to have full use of his fingers. My hands were probably warmer anyway since it was like wearing mittens. That lamb’s wool and leather coat he had, which used to be his father’s, fit me better than him, and the knit cap he had found in the closet did a fine job keeping my head warm.

All that pondering helped me delay thinking about waking up with him this morning. For a minute anyway.

I’d been right about being a cuddler myself, but hadn’t anticipated that he would be too. We’d spooned, him tucked all along the back of me. His nose had been buried in the back of my neck, seeming not to care about my hair being in his face. His arm had been around me with his hand cupping one of my pecs like he owned it.

Then there had been the fact his top leg hadn’t just been curled behind mine, oh no, he’d looped it over my thigh and tucked himself right up into my butt. The man’s morning wood was a sycamore, and my fuzzy, not-totally-awake-yet brain had made me wiggle into it with a grin. His breathy groan had snapped me awake as well as pissed me off because, damn it, I was trying to do the right thing here. No idea how long I’d laid there debating with myself about to wiggle or not to wiggle before I finally scrambled up and into the bathroom. I’d managed to calm my own wood before I came back out of there.

He’d been even hotter with ginger bed-head and pink cheeks, one with a pillow crease, as he’d shuffled into the bathroom after me. The sleepy, aw-shucks grin on his face had made me want to jump him where he stood. Then he’d had to go and take a shower, leaving me to stand there knowing he was naked and wet and probably taking care of that tree trunk with a soapy hand… I’d gone and stood on the little back porch until I started shivering from the cold—which had been maybe a whole minute—before I tried to distract myself by making breakfast.

His hair curled adorably when it was wet. Bastard.

So now here we were about to squish together for a few hours on the back of a rumbly, rocky ATV going over the river and through the woods. I belted down the last of my tea like this gulp might magically be a shot of whiskey instead. Mildly disappointed as well as wondering if I made a habit of drinking liquor from coffee mugs, I met Luke at the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay,” he said. “Gas is all topped up and we’re ready to roll.”

I looked over the seating options. “How did we do this before?”

“Carefully.” He pointed at the flat area at the back that looked like a spot for cargo with its small rail going around three sides. “Now when you sit here, I won’t have to worry about you falling off.”

I planted myself on that flat spot since, this time, I could hold on and pay attention. We found places for my feet before he swung on and started it up. I remembered the rumble and shake of this thing. It was like a motorcycle on steroids. Had I ridden a motorcycle before? Except for the other night, this didn’t feel familiar at all.

“You can hold onto me or the cargo rack,” he said over his shoulder and above the noise. “Whichever helps.”

I split the difference and held onto his hip with one hand and the rack with the other. With a jerk forward, we were off.

I soon noticed that his cabin wasn’t far from the lake’s edge, maybe some fifty feet from the porch steps. There was even a pier that stretched about forty feet out, half of it stuck in the ice ringing the island. I tried to imagine what this place would look like in the summer. My thoughts wouldn’t stay on the subject, though. They kept straying to what might happen at journey’s end.

I didn’t know what the result of this pilgrimage would bring for someone with no memory. All the possibilities of my identity kept bouncing around my mind. At Luke’s cabin, at least, I had felt safe and accepted. As soon as we reached civilization, Luke would be free to leave and I knew, as selfish as it was, I did not want to lose him.

But I also didn’t have any right to him.

Wanted him, though. He was the angel I had assumed him to be. He was laughter and smiles, oil paint and strawberry curls. Though I couldn’t remember what my life consisted of, I did know that he held the keys to things I hadn’t known in a very long time. Things like relaxing at a kitchen table over a huge breakfast and having a man taking care of me. All those things were why I wanted to stay with him. I didn’t want this fairytale to end.

Even now, knowing it wasn’t fair of me to even think it, I wanted to move his scarf just a little lower and taste the smooth, pale skin of his neck. But what if I was in a relationship? What if I was married? A father? I couldn’t cheat on someone who might right now be worried about where I was, missing me, desperate to find me. And I couldn’t bring Luke into all that.

So, really, it was better to focus on getting out of his hair and on with whatever came next for me. I just hoped I had some good to go back to.

“Just a bit farther,” Luke said, “and we’ll reach the bridge. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. It’s a nice ride.” I looked around to make sure I wasn’t lying.

It was definitely a wintery forest, but every now and again a pine or maple jutted over the rest with the gnarled and massive grandeur of centuries. All around us, heavy snow pulled down branches, covered the ground completely, and turned shrubs into white mounds sparkling in the sunlight. Like the other night, I was acutely aware of being far from everything and surrounded by three things: snow, trees, and Luke.

Suddenly, Luke sat up straighter and throttled down the ATV’s engine. “Shit,” he said. “The bridge is gone.”