At some point in the night I must have gotten cold again. Good thing Evan was a human furnace. Seeking his warmth, I had wiggled over to his side and nestled into his arms in my sleep. I was still in that drowsy, snoozy state of half-wakefulness, like congealed wax that hasn’t chosen a form. My tee shirt had slipped up, exposing my abdomen. Without thinking, I pulled his arm tighter around me as if it were a particularly stubborn blanket. His hand splayed open, but I could tell he wasn’t cognizant of his movements yet. It searched for a landing place and found one on the soft flesh of my stomach.

Mindlessly, his fingers trailed up and down my side then traveled to warmer territory, the sensitive crease of skin under my breast. My brain began to wake up from its stupor, and I realized that he’d berate himself if he woke up in this position, if he knew what he was doing. But it felt good—so natural, so easy. It felt like us.

Like our bodies had remembered together what my mind couldn’t on its own.

In slumber, we knew the steps to the dance that we stumbled over in the light, and I didn’t want it to end.

I arched my back and pressed my body backward into his torso. His morning wood grew in response, and he brought his knees up to mold against my legs. I reached behind us and gripped his butt, pulling him harder against me, and he groaned in response. His fingers shifted upward to my nipple, and he played with it until it perked in response. But it wasn’t the only body part that responded.

I was wet with wanting—no, needing—as I pirouetted to face him head-on. I wedged my leg between his, parting my thighs. An invitation waiting for a reply. Evan’s groans turned to growls, and he buried his face in my hair. I slipped my hand under the drawstring of his pants and drew my thumb along the length of him.

In one swift movement, he jerked away. His eyes flew open, and he threw himself backward off the bed, landing on the floor with a thump.

“Annie. Oh, God.” He covered his mouth in horror, like I’d caught him redhanded in the middle of a murder scene. He stood up, but it only accentuated the massive hard-on, which set me giggling like a seventh grade girl. He looked down, then closed his eyes in regret. “I’m so sorry. What all did I do?”

Not nearly enough.

Worse, I found myself disappointed that he didn’t remember stroking my skin. He couldn’t recall those instinctive movements that had knit us together mere moments before. Not even in a sexual way, just in a way that felt comfortable and natural.

Well, and then sexual.

Anger brewed in me. He was mine, damnit. I could sense it, feel it in my core. Even if I couldn’t remember it.

I wanted to claim it. I wanted to claim him. And I wanted him to claim me.

“Stop saying, ‘I’m sorry,’” I said.

“What? You want me to congratulate myself on taking advantage of you?”

“You weren’t taking advantage of me. You were spooning me. Cuddling. Making me feel safe and protected and secure.”

“Yeah, while you were asleep and defenseless.”

“I wasn’t asleep. If anything, I was taking advantage of you.” I threw my hands up in the air. “And defenseless? Why would I want or need to defend myself against you?”

“But—”

“Evan, I may never get all my memories from the past four months back. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have my husband back. I don’t need my memories to see why I fell for you in the first place. I’m falling for you all over again.”

His eyelids fell closed as if he could sense the same thing I did, some invisible wall that had stood between us that was crumbling. He stumbled forward onto the bed and cupped my face like he was holding a fragile flower. He bent his lips toward mine and held them in a sweet kiss that was so perfect and pure, I could feel my heart clench.

“I love you so much, Annie. I was so scared I’d lost you, and . . . and . . .”

“Shh. You think all it would take to lose me is a little amnesia?”

We both started laughing and kissing, and then he held me close like he’d held me earlier. But aware now. Fierce and warm. Possessive and calm.

We dozed off like that, joined together as one, and I woke up an hour or two later. It was the weekend, and Evan didn’t have any work waiting for him. I pried my body loose, ready to pay him back in kind for all the coffee and breakfasts he’d left waiting for me this week. I’d gotten a pot of java brewing and some eggs frying before he padded into the kitchen behind me.

“Mmm.” He came up and wrapped his arms around my waist. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I’m ready to earn my keep,” I said.

“I’m pretty sure you make more money than I do,” he said with a laugh.

“That reminds me. I need to go through my planner and figure out what the heck I’m supposed to do shooting and editing clients I can’t remember.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “I think I’ve gotten messages from every professional photographer in the city offering to help in any way they can while you’re recovering.”

It was a tight-knit community. I smiled, knowing that they’d all meant it. Thankfully, the winter was my slow season, so I’d have some buffer before things got crazy again in the spring.

“Well, good to know, but by earning my keep, I meant, like, cleaning and cooking and stuff.”

“You hate cooking,” he said as he shuffled to the front door in his slippers and brought the paper in.

“You shouldn’t have admitted that,” I said. “You could have reprogrammed me to be Rachael Ray.”

He chuckled as he opened the paper, and I marvelled at the normalcy of it all. Until I smelled the toast starting to burn. But then again, with my cooking, that was probably our normal as well.

I still had a hard time remembering which cupboard the plates were in, and I opened three before finding them. I looked at them for a minute. Something felt off.

There were my plates and his plates. They didn’t clash or anything, but I realized what I found odd.

“Did we not register?” I asked.

“Hmm?” he murmured absentmindedly, nose-deep in an article.

“For wedding gifts. Did we not set up a registry?”

“No, we were going to wait until—” He cut himself off but didn’t lower the paper.

“Wait until what?”

“Nothing. We just wanted to wait.” He flipped the top of the newspaper down and gave me a shrug. “It wasn’t a long engagement. We had all the essentials covered between our two places, and we thought there might be things we’d need later on.”

“Ahh.” Made sense. And it had been such a small, intimate ceremony. Maybe we were planning on a larger reception later on.

After breakfast, I headed upstairs to tackle my work planner and client list. Thankfully, I’d used the same organizational system for years, so it didn’t take as long as I expected it to. I only had a handful of events scheduled out for January and February, and two of my closest photog friends texted back within minutes that they’d be happy to take them off my plate. There were a few large gaps in my schedule, which was unusual for me, but those weren’t until later in the summer. I tapped the desk with my nails. I booked months in advance, sometimes upwards of a year. And I could have sworn I’d booked at least two August weddings last June. Maybe they were cancellations. I did all my scheduling with a virtual assistant named Marcy. I made a note to ask her about it on Monday.

I swiveled in my chair and faced my shelf of albums. Evan had replaced the leather bound one of my favorite shots, and I pulled it out. With even the short amount of time between now and the hospital, the pictures felt more real. More true. I still didn’t remember the exact moments they had captured, but it didn’t feel like I was looking at two strangers on the pages anymore.

My heart still ached when I reached the wedding shots. Maybe a trip to the beach would spur on the recollection of those. But this time around, I focused on the expressions on our faces. The best I could come up with was adoration. Evan regarded me with a gaze just short of reverence. Again, the thought sprang up unbidden in my mind: what did I ever do to deserve him?

I sensed I was being observed, and I glanced up to find Evan watching me from the open landing area. That same look was in his eyes now. Almost worshipful in its intensity.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi. Just checking to make sure you’re not working too hard.”

“Just looking at . . .” I held up the book in explanation.

“Don’t let me bother you,” he said.

“You’re not.” But then I turned the page to his nude, and heck yeah, I was bothered. Hot and bothered.

I shut the book with a snap, making my decision, and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the stairs.

“What are you—?”

“What do you think?”