The Romance Revival(65)

I was right. The scientist in me is fascinated witnessing his implicit memory kicking in. The wife in me is smitten and proud, relieved and scared and obsessed with everything he does. And wildly in love. That, too.

Luca barely looks at the recipe. He tastes and adds salt; another taste and he reaches for more wine. I can see how comfortable he is, how easily he moves around the kitchen. He’s confident and happy, humming to himself as he stirs, or pretending to crowd me when he needs something overhead.

I can’t let myself think of how many nights I worked late and missed this, because I know it won’t happen again. Whatever the future brings, my days of prioritizing my job over my marriage are done.

I’m drying the last of the dishes when Luca sets the timer, telling me it won’t be ready for hours. “Now what?” I ask, awaiting further instruction.

“Now we wait.” Luca tosses a dish towel over his shoulder and uses it to wipe his hands. It shouldn’t be sexy, but the man just threw together what’s probably a five-star meal from scratch, and it’s not even noon. I’m pretty sure he’s never been hotter. His tight T-shirt isn’t hurting, either.

Honey’s tail gives a thump where she’s stretched out on the rug, enjoying the breeze coming in through the open back door. I sit down next to her to smother her in love.

“Anything else you want to do?” I ask, kissing Honey all over her perfect nose.

I imagine he’ll want to watch a movie or even go for a drive. Maybe we could make out—wishful thinking on my part, I know. We could go through the papers in my office? Not my first choice, but a promise is a promise.

What I don’t expect to hear is: “I think we should do some work in the yard.”

Yet another sign that he’s lost his memory. “?‘We,’ as in both of us?” He nods and I scrunch my nose. “I’m not particularly… helpful? When it comes to that kind of stuff.”

Luca leans back against the counter and crosses one foot over the other. I’ve truly been blessed, because he’s wearing shorts again today.

“I’m not sure I believe that.” He laughs when I pretend to scowl. “And I think it’d be fun. I also think it’d be good for Betty to hear us outside together, just… being normal. If she tries to talk to us, we’ll just pretend we can’t hear her.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what, Luca Martín: It is not normal for me to be gardening with you.”

“I’d really like to garden with you, Emery Martín.” He looks down at me, smiling with those smug blue eyes. I’ll do anything for him, and he knows it.

I sigh. “Fine. I accept your proposal. I will sit outside with you while you get your hands dirty.” I motion to the sauce simmering away. It already smells delicious. “You’re clearly a natural at whatever you do, and I have a thing for competence porn. Something tells me I’m in for plenty.”





31 EMERY




In my head, it looked something like this: Luca out in the sun, hands covered in soil, cradling delicate plants as he splits and transplants them. Honey would be happily chasing butterflies. I would have a drink, lemonade or something a little stronger, while making encouraging observations from the cool shade of the patio. Maybe, eventually, it would be so warm that Luca would be shirtless. I’m a big fan of this scenario. Big fan.

And yet, somehow I’ve been roped into yard work. Honey is digging somewhere—she’s already brought me a gift: a dead, desiccated worm. The whole neighborhood probably heard my reaction. It’s muggy and there’s not an icy drink to be found. Luca is, regretfully, fully clothed. My assignment: weeding the vegetable patch.

“Carrot or weed?” I ask.

Luca doesn’t turn from where he’s doing something by the new trees Crash planted between our yard and Betty’s, which undoubtedly triggered her homicide fears, checking nitrogen levels or soil pH or something. I should have been listening more carefully while he explained, but he was bending over at the time. I’m only human. “Carrot tops look like parsley,” he says.

“I know that should be helpful,” I tell him. “But I’d like to remind you that you’re the chef in the house.”

He laughs, looking over his shoulder to where I’m kneeling next to the raised bed. “Smell it.”

Unsure, I lean in, sniffing. “Oh. It smells like carrot!”

“There you go.”

Honey trots over to me as if to double-check, and, frankly, who can blame her? I wouldn’t trust me in the garden, either. But we both trust Luca. I am on horny overload today because it is so insanely sexy to see him like this, back in his element. Hopefully any concerns that he’d lost the parts of him that made him who he was are gone now. Some things are just instinct, and Luca has plenty of that.

“I can’t believe Betty thought I’d buried you in the yard. Do you know how big a hole you’d need for that? I am way too lazy.”

Luca huffs out a laugh.

“You should have seen this yard when we first moved in,” I tell him.

“Great or terrible?”

“They had a putting green.”

He turns around, his face a portrait of horrified offense. “Astroturf?”

“Mm-hmm. From the eighties. You wanted to take money off the asking price.”