The Romance Revival(73)
Emery has a scar on her right elbow. It’s just above the joint—a crescent moon about half an inch long. I dig around in my memory for some echo of how she got it.
Nothing.
Bending, I kiss her shoulder, and she hums in her sleep, pressing back into me.
“Morning,” I murmur into her skin.
She grunts, burrowing deeper into the pillow.
Honey nudges my arm, and I look over her shoulder to meet her hopeful brown eyes. She stares at me in stark betrayal. Clearly she’s never been fed a day in her life.
“Morning, sweet girl.” I push to sit up at the side of the bed and, with a hand under her chin, I gently turn her head, searching to make sure she’s really okay. Had she been in the yard the whole time? It’s hard to imagine she wouldn’t have come when we’d called her… unless she’d found a rabbit to hunt or more dead worms for Emery and couldn’t be distracted.
“Where’d you go, huh?” I whisper. “Were you hunting? Or did you get out?”
She whines, pleading with me to focus on what matters: potty, then food.
“Okay, okay.” I’m sore for all the best reasons as I stand and grab a pair of boxers from the dresser and step into them. Leaning over the bed, I kiss the bare skin of Emery’s shoulder again.
“Feeding Honey,” I say to her, smiling when she mumbles something inaudible in response.
Emery never could function before coffee.
I’m on my way to the kitchen when the realization stops me in my tracks. Emery has always been a beast to get out of bed in the morning and needs at least two cups of coffee before approaching anything close to functional. Obviously, I’ve picked up on that in the last week, but this is different. I don’t just know, I remember. I can imagine instances of tickling her, kissing her awake, wafting the scent of ground coffee beans near her sleeping face.
I start to turn back and tell her, but don’t want the train of memories to slip away again. Instead, I walk to the kitchen and follow Honey out the back door.
While she does her business, I think back to how I used to wonder if Emery’s reliance on caffeine was just the way she was wired, or because she had so many late nights. I’d often wondered why she was always up so late. It’s not something I’ve seen her do since she brought me back, and now I’m wondering if I’m truly remembering, or if my brain is just filling in the blanks again where I know memories should be.
It’s a gorgeous morning, and by the time Honey is done, neither of us is in any rush to go inside. Instead, I dig a few of her toys out of a basket on the patio and sit down in one of the Adirondack chairs.
I throw the ball a handful of times for Honey to race across the lawn to retrieve it before she’s distracted by a pair of birds perched on a nearby bush. The morning sun streaks through the trees and light splinters around the thick leaves of the hedges like shards of sunshine cutting through the lush green. I’ve always loved the way our yard looks this time of day. It’s why I never wanted to plant trees around the full perimeter; I didn’t want to block the morning sun. Emery never had many opinions about the landscaping, so she—
I bend at the waist, almost lightheaded with another rush of memories. I wonder if this is what I can expect, just random images and fragments of conversations as my brain rewires.
Honey must hear something in the house, because she forgets the birds and races to the back door, tail wagging frantically. We head inside to feed her, and find Emery awake in the kitchen, her hair a mess and eyes glued to the brewing coffee maker like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. She’s all legs in only a T-shirt and looks up with a sleepy smile when she hears us.
I realize she’s wearing my shirt, and it sends heat spiraling down my torso into my groin. Walking over, I cup my hands around her hips, pressing into her, leaning down to take a deep inhale. She smells like my deodorant and her lotion, and the scent of it makes me fucking feral.
“You’ll be happy I remembered that half your blood volume is coffee,” I say into the soft skin of her neck.
Emery tilts her head back to give me better access, and she laughs hoarsely. “Yes, caffeine is my toxic boyfriend.” Her voice is scratchy with sleep, and I coax her to turn to face me, but Honey lets out an impatient woof, ready to be fed.
Once I’ve got her situated, I return to Emery, who sets her mug down to slide her arms around my neck so I can band my arms around her waist.
“I need a hug more than I need coffee,” she says.
The words make me feel warm all over, and it feels so good to hold her like this. I’m not sure how I managed to keep my hands to myself for so long.
“Do you remember anything else?” she asks.
I take one last huff and then step back, letting her pick up her mug, cradle it in her hands, and inhale deeply.
“Just flashes of working in our yard,” I say. “I was thinking about the angle of the sun coming through the yard in the morning, and remembered not wanting to block the view.”
She stretches one leg out, rubbing her foot over mine. “God, Luca, that makes me so fucking happy.” She lifts the mug to her lips, taking a tiny sip. “How does it feel?”
“Honestly, a little intense. It’s like I get a rush of certainty and then try to search for more and there’s nothing there.”
“Disorienting,” she says quietly, and I hum, nodding as I bend to kiss her, pressing my smile to her lips. “I wonder if we should go somewhere we’ve been together,” she says into the kiss, and I straighten. “Somewhere meaningful. You know? While your memory seems to be sparking?”