The Romance Revival(48)
Next to me, Luca shifts in his seat to buckle his seat belt, and I’m relieved that he seems to be in less pain today.
“I’m excited to see the area,” he admits, which, honestly, is so surreal to hear. Luca knows Southern California from Orange County to San Diego so well that he can direct people to individual streets within a hundred miles without consulting a map.
Will this come back quickly? If I let him drive, would he be able to get us to Necessity Coffee without prompting? Would he know where the gas station is, the car wash, his favorite running trail? If I had to guess, I’d say yes. It would be a fascinating display of his implicit memory kicking in.
The wife in me tells the scientist to shut the hell up.
“I bet,” I say, navigating through the neighborhood. It’s weird to drive with him next to me—he loves driving, hates being a passenger, but even though he seems alert and steady, I’m not ready to put him behind the wheel yet.
Luca stares out the window, eyes wide, gaze scanning like he’s trying to memorize or recall everything. Drivers fly past us, but I’m happy for once going the speed limit. The ocean is a stormy blue blur to our right, and I love seeing this spectacular view—one I usually take entirely for granted—through Luca’s eyes.
He leans forward to peer out the windshield. “It’s definitely going to rain.”
I lean in, too, following his attention up and overhead. The sky is calm, clear, and dotted only with fluffy clouds. “I didn’t see anything about rain this week.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Just wait.”
A spark of joy ignites in my chest. “You always do this.”
“Forecast the rain?”
“Forecast everything. Not a cloud in sight and you’d insist we were going to get some freak storm.”
“And was I right?”
“Usually.” He grins proudly at this. “You’ve been a surfer since you moved here,” I tell him. “I always assumed you learned how to read the sky and water in a way I never did.”
Luca goes quiet, and I glance over at him. “You okay?”
He nods, staring out the window. “Just—still weird to hear things about myself that I don’t know.”
“Sorry.” I squeeze the steering wheel, getting the twisty feeling out of my gut through my hands. “I know we’re supposed to be starting over.”
“No, no. I don’t expect you to act like you don’t know anything about me.”
“But I like the idea,” I tell him. “So when we get to where we’re going, let’s do it. Let’s start over entirely. Like we’ve just met on Hinge.” He looks at me, and I explain, “A dating app.”
“Ah.” Nodding, Luca says, “Okay, perfect. So pretend I haven’t noticed you need four cups of coffee to function, or that you’ll devour the pack of cherry tomatoes in the fridge but pick diced tomatoes out of your salad?”
I grin, gleeful that he’s noticed anything about me. “Exactly like that. There are so many tiny things we learn about people and then just file away. I know it’s probably so frustrating that you don’t remember them all, but I’m excited to get to know you again, too, to see who you want to become.” I peek at him. “You know, I told you how we met and that we had sort of an unconventional start, but I haven’t told you about the first time I went to your apartment here in San Diego. Do you want to hear it?”
He nods once, enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”
“Okay,” I say, relishing his attention. Although I’ve always been obsessed with my work, the discovery of Compound Y and ramping up of the research has meant that I’ve been single-minded for the past two years. But being with Luca like this, being forced to distance myself a little from what’s happening in the lab, means that I get to remember just how much I love when it’s only the two of us.
“We were coming back from our first official date,” I say, “and you’d just parked. We were passing the dumpster—”
“Oh, the dumpster. Romantic.”
Laughing, I continue. “We were passing the dumpster, and you saw this sad little plant someone had thrown out. I hadn’t even noticed it, and if I had, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but you immediately picked it up and took it upstairs.” I glance at him again. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the plant in our bedroom in front of the window?”
“The fiddle-leaf fig?” He looks at me, surprised. “That’s the same one?”
I’m amazed all over again how some information is still hardwired for him. He knows the fiddle-leaf fig but not what movies he likes.
“Yeah, that’s the same plant.” I reach over, tentatively squeezing his uninjured thigh. God, he has great thighs. A flush runs through me. “Someone gave up on that spindly little thing, but you nursed it back to health. You never give up on anything.”
I realize I’m getting a little choked up. I’m not an overly emotional person, but it’s happening a lot this week. For so long I’ve promised myself that as soon as this project is done, or the next trial is complete, or the next milestone is hit, I’ll be more present, more of a partner for Luca. But I hadn’t, not until it was almost too late. Still, he never gave up on me, and he’s not giving up now.