I’m pretty sure ninjas don’t have hardwood floors. Or if they do, they have some mad stealth skills that I don’t possess.

When I woke up, Evan had already arisen. I smelled coffee brewing from the kitchen and some heavenly breakfast scents.

Good Lord, had I married a man who cooked, too?

I crept down the hall, trying not to bother him in case he’d already started his day’s work. He assured me it was no big deal to work from his home office, but I knew my presence would be a distraction.

Hence the ninja skills.

He was hunched over his drafting table, a blueprint unfurled before him. He’d already gotten dressed for the day, sexy as hell in ripped jeans and a rumpled flannel. I looked down at my grubby jammies feeling like the amnesiac slacker I was. I was about to turn around and get dressed when the floorboard in front of his office let out an almighty groan. I shifted my weight off of it, but Evan’s head shot up. He turned around to look at me.

His eyes were bloodshot, and I could have sworn it was from tears that had welled up.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine. Fine.” He rolled up the blueprint and slid it into a waiting tube. “Allergies.”

Ehh. I knew that trick.

But then again, this had been an unbelievably difficult week for him, too. He’d almost lost his wife, then he kind of got her back, only to find out that he’d lost her again. And now, I’m sure he felt like he was in the same bizarre limbo that I was in. Not quite fitting anywhere—the past or present. And wondering what on earth the future could possibly hold for us.

“Wait,” he said. “What are you—? Get back in bed.”

He toddled me off to our bedroom like I was a child and tucked me back in.

“Dr. Anand didn’t say bedrest,” I reminded him.

“She said to take it easy.”

“Could I at least have my laptop so I can work on editing?”

“Can you—what? No. Work constitutes brain strain.”

I didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth. I couldn’t just sit here all day with my racing thoughts and worries. It made the fear so much worse. Besides, getting up and moving—doing stuff—seemed to be a key ingredient in the recipe to getting my memory back.

My mom showed up around lunchtime with enough food to feed an army. Then Evan’s mom came around dinner to finish the process of stuffing me until I popped. My mother-in-law seemed to take it as a personal insult that she had not been the first bearer of food, so she ran out to the grocery store to gather ingredients for a few extra meals. It was like dueling casserole dishes. Thank goodness we had an extra freezer out in Evan’s workshop.

Jen came to visit two mornings later, before Evan had tucked away his sleeping pallet. When she saw it, her eyebrows drifted upward, and I shrugged. I didn’t fully understand it myself. He couldn’t think I feared that he’d force himself on me. He barely touched me, and when he did, it was with a measured, hesitant hand, like he was afraid he was going to break me. They certainly weren’t the same hands that I remembered from the quilt in the backyard.

That night, Evan and I settled in for a movie marathon of mindless superhero films. He plopped on one end of the couch. I, on the other. About halfway through the latest Avengers movie, I stretched out. Without me having to say a word, Evan hopped up and grabbed a blanket for me, wrapping it around me like a cocoon.

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” I said.

“Hmm? Trying to figure out what?”

“Your kryptonite.”

“Wrong superhero universe.”

“Huh?”

“Marvel versus DC. They’re different . . . actually. Never mind. You could never keep them straight even before the accident.”

I grabbed the remote and paused it.

“I mean, I’m trying to figure out your flaw. You seem perfect. I don’t know what I ever could have done to snag you.” And so quickly.

“You haven’t heard me sing yet.” Evan lifted his eyebrows comically. But then the man gave me the most freaking amazing foot rub, and that hit all the right notes.

* * *

I dozed off on the couch, and it was well past midnight when strong arms scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom. Evan laid me gently on the bed and pulled up the covers around me. The next sound I heard was the hall closet opening.

That damn sleeping bag.

I wasn’t sure how that stupid piece of padded fabric had come to represent all my fear, disappointment, anger, and frustration with our situation. But it had.

“No,” I said, louder than I intended in my half-asleep voice.

He paused, probably wondering if I were talking in my sleep.

I pushed myself up. It was proof of how well I was healing from my injuries that I only half-winced at a tinge of residual soreness.

“No. You’re not sleeping on the ground.”

“Annie, I—”

“Get in bed.”

“How about I drag the mattress down from the guest bedroom?”

“Shut your mouth and get in this bed. Now.”

“What if I . . .” His voice trailed off as he noticed my raised eyebrow of fury. Ahh. He was familiar with that particular look. It would appear Captain America wasn’t perfect after all.

Without another word, he picked up his pillow and dropped it on the bed. He slid onto the farthest sliver of the edge of the mattress. I let out a sigh. It was progress. Maybe.

* * *

“My word. You’re so . . . stubborn.” His voice holds a heaping dose of frustration mixed with pure awe.

“Maybe so. But I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Not yet. Not now.”

“Okay, then. When?”

“When it’s not so . . . complicated.”

“Is that what you—?” His eyes are confused and more than that. Hurt?

“Just not yet. Okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

I woke in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I tossed my covers off, unsure if my recollections were memory or dream or a combination. It had been a fight, but not one with sharp edges or even sharp words. More a dull ache.

I glanced over at Evan, snoozing peacefully away. Whatever it had been, we must have worked through it. My last thought before I drifted back to sleep was the realization that our breathing had synchronized into one.