“Huh …” He inched his head side to side. “It’s so weird. Like Angie showing me a million photos and videos from our time together, and nothing is familiar. I don’t remember the trip to the mountains or the concert.”
On an easy smile, I stood straight and uncrossed my arms. “Well, I remember for the both of us.”
“You don’t appear bothered that I don’t remember. Angie seems on the edge of going nuclear after we’ve spent hours trying to jog my memory with the photos and videos.”
I nodded slowly. “I think love—the good kind—holds an equal mix of wonder and familiarity. That feeling like you know someone, yet you also know parts of them are still a mystery that you can’t wait to slowly discover. If there’s no wonder, I think the love can die. If there’s no familiarity, I think the love already feels dead. If I were the one marrying you, I would be bothered more than I am. But you chose her.”
Oh … my … sweet … lord …
That was not the right choice of words. And as much as I hoped and prayed Fisher would let my word choice slip by without a second thought, it didn’t happen.
“I chose her?”
FUCK!
Yes, I adopted that word into my vocabulary, like a favorite tool in a toolbox that I used only on a need-to basis.
“Gosh…” I twisted my lips and rolled my eyes dramatically “…that sounded really weird, didn’t it?” For good measure, I threw in an awkward laugh. “I’m so freaking tired from long days of driving. I meant proposed.” I shook my head. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. You proposed to her. Just her. Not like you had a choice between her and someone else. At least … not that I know of. And definitely not me, of course, because until your accident, I hadn’t seen you in five years. Gah …” I covered my face with my hands. “Please just tell me to shut up.”
He smirked just like the Fisher I knew five years earlier. Like the Fisher who didn’t choose me. The Fisher who was finally willing to take my virginity with the understanding that my husband （not him） would thank him someday.
“I find your rambling too entertaining to tell you to shut up.”
“Go home and find your fiancée entertaining.”
Something between a grunt and laugh left this chest. “I’ll do my best.”
“Night, Fisher. Thanks for your help.”
He turned and headed down the sidewalk. “Anytime.”
Chapter Seven
I played it cool the next day for a full three hours after waking before I walked the crossword puzzles over to Fisher’s house. Rory and Rose were at work, and I didn’t start my job until the following week, so no one was keeping tabs on me.
I knocked on the door several times.
No answer.
I rang the doorbell.
No answer.
As I gave up and started to retreat down the sidewalk, Fisher opened the door.
Just my luck …
He was wet and holding a towel around his waist. The past replayed itself. I liked the idea of a redo with Fisher.
“I’m running late, babe!” Angie appeared in the doorway in a pantsuit and her handbag dangling from one arm. She lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but it wasn’t one sided either.
“Morning, Reese. Can’t stay and chat. Byeee!” She waved to me with her left hand, big diamond, and manicured nails, just before hopping into her car.
I mumbled a barely audible “hi” and turned my attention to the resurrected naked fisherman. As I made my way to the front porch, he watched Angie back out of the driveway before shifting his attention to me.