Control of the kiss.
Control of the moment.
Maybe even the crazy illusion that I had control over what he did to my heart.
If he remembered Angie, that meant he’d remember me. He’d remember us. And I wanted that to be enough, but I didn’t know what made him say yes when Angie proposed to him. If it was love, then I needed to keep my heart on a tight leash while we did … whatever we were about to do.
When I ended our kiss, I smiled over his lips and he smiled back. “You can have all the stars, Fisher. And the smiley faces too. But I’m going to kick your ass at pool, and I won’t feel sorry for you when you weep like a baby.”
“We'll see.”
We’ll see …
Oh the memories those two words brought back to me.
“But for now. Kiss me again.” He lifted his head to capture my lips, but I pulled away. “No. That’s it. That’s all you get today. If you still want me to kiss you tomorrow, then I’ll kiss you tomorrow. One day at a time, Lost Fisherman.” I climbed off his lap and headed to the door.
“Lost Fisherman?” He stood.
“Yes. You are my lost fisherman. Waiting to be found.”
“Who’s going to find me?” He followed me into the house. “You?”
I grabbed two pool sticks. “No. I already found you.” I handed him a stick.
“Then who?”
I racked up the balls.
“Angie?” he asked, eyeing me carefully.
“You, Fisher.”
“What if I don’t get my memories back? Does that mean I’ll forever be lost?”
I grinned, shaking my head before taking the first shot. “I hope not. That would be tragic. You’ll know when you’re not lost.”
He chuckled. “That makes no sense.”
“When you’re not lost, it will make perfect sense. That’s how you’ll know you’re no longer the lost fisherman.”
He continued to eye me with confusion, maybe even a little distrust, as we took turns making the balls disappear into the pockets.
After we each won a game, I nodded toward the stairs. “I do have to go now.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
“No. Don’t be silly. It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”
“Probably, but I’m still walking you home.” He turned off the porch lights and followed me up the stairs.
When we stepped out the front door, he moved to my right side. I gave him a funny look. Then he took my hand. He had to move so his good hand could hold mine. We walked without any rush, taking twice as much time as necessary.
“I want you to date Angie. And do whatever you need to do to figure things out and to feel sure about the decisions you make. I don’t want you to be impulsive or scared. Don’t make a decision about your life unless you’re certain it’s the right one. Because these aren’t small decisions, Fisher. And I know you can’t even imagine what that feels like right now … to make a decision and feel confident and certain about it because you’re living with the fear of the unknown.”
We stopped just before reaching the driveway. “I’m sorry.” I released his hand and covered my face with both hands. “I’m rambling. I just don’t want you to feel like I expect anything from you right now.” I dropped my hands. “Okay?”
After a few seconds, his brow tightened and he nodded. “Okay. But I’m going to kiss you goodnight because I’m really confident and certain that it’s what I want to do right now … it’s all I want to do right now.”
“I said tomorrow.”
He held up his good arm and tapped the screen of his watch.
12:14 a.m.
I twisted my lips as if I was contemplating it. “Sorry. No goodnight kiss for you.”
His good hand slid around my neck, his fingers teasing my nape. “Why?” he whispered.
Biting my lips to keep him from stealing anything, I shrugged. “Because it’s officially morning, not night.”
Fisher grinned a second before kissing me.
Patient.
Soft.
Teasing.
Perfect.
When he released my lips, he whispered, “Good morning.”
Chapter Thirteen
If it was finally our time, why was it so hard to be with Fisher? Did our time have to include him losing his memories of me? Did it have to include a fiancée?
It definitely didn’t have to include an invitation to his dad’s birthday party. A party at his parents’ house. A party with Angie on the invitation list. Yet … it did.
“I don’t think I’m going.” I sulked into the living room, wearing old sweats, my hair in need of a comb.
“Are you not feeling well?” Rory asked.
Rose pressed her hand to my forehead. “No fever. You can go.”
“That’s not an accurate way to take someone’s temperature.” I frowned.
“She doesn’t have to go.” Rory finished wrapping Pat’s gift from us.
I stuck my tongue out at Rose. She grinned and shook her head. I knew she only wanted me to go so I’d see Fisher and Angie in their element, surrounded by his family. A huge Team Angie party. But Rose didn’t know about the two—scratch that—three kisses. The underdog was making progress. And I was doing it without telling Fisher about our past. I wasn’t only playing fairly; I was playing with one hand zip-tied behind my back.