Chapter 10
It took the remainder of the day. It also involved several failed attempts, a kitchen trash can full of mistakes, and a lot of wasted food, but I finally ended up with pan-fried chicken, greens, and a batch of biscuits that didn’t require me to shut off the smoke detector. I set out the food on the dining room table.
Just in time, too. Jeremy rang my doorbell.
When I opened the door, my breath caught. The contours of his handsome face were even better looking because of the goodness that shone from his soul. A breeze whooshed through, as Jeremy walked past me into the house, bringing the scent of his cologne with it.
Whap! I had to lean against the door of the hall closet. My body chemistry reacted to Jeremy’s pheromones like they were a powerful drug against which I had no defenses. I trailed after him. My head spun, filling with scent memories, and then with what might be actual memories.
A kiss, a tumble, my head hitting the floor.
We entered the living room, and I fixated on the spot between the couch and the coffee table. The back of my head throbbed. The memory of Jeremy’s face came into focus. My lips burned.
Was I remembering something?
“Did you cook?” Jeremy stopped and turned around, and I plowed into him. “Whoa, there.” He steadied me. Then, holding me by the shoulders he examined me carefully. “Are you okay?”
No. Not remotely. “I—I think I remembered something.”
“Usually people say that another way: I think I forgot something.” His eyes crinkled at the sides. “It looks like you forgot you can’t cook. It smells really good in here.” He turned and looked at the place settings on the table. “This looks really good.”
“You told me if I kept trying I could learn something new.”
Slowly he nodded. “I did say that. But …”
But he hadn’t said it since my memories had returned. “I’m sorry.” I shook myself. “I’m having … a moment. And it’s making me forget my manners. Please, have a seat. Dinner’s ready. I owe you thanks and apologies, and this—for what it’s worth—is my attempt at all that.”
Instead of seating himself, he helped me into a chair at the table. Jeremy, the gentleman. I marveled again.
“I’m impressed,” he said, surveying the meal again. “You baked and cooked.”
“It was a process of elimination. You’ll notice there’s no pasta salad.”
“Um, okay. I hadn’t been expecting one.”
“You should, since that was in the picture. You made pasta salad, chicken, biscuits, and greens for me.” I pulled out my phone and showed him. “I wanted to recreate it.”
He peered at the screen of my phone, frowning. “Is there some reason you chose that particular meal?”
“Besides the fact it looked like the easiest one? Yes. But let’s say grace so we can eat before it gets cold.”
Jeremy and I bowed our heads and he offered the prayer. Then he took the first bite while I held my breath and watched, pushing away even the swirl of memories vying for my attention. This moment was too critical. For some reason, it felt like everything hung on it.
“It’s good,” he said through the bite of chicken. “You seasoned it really well.”
I took a bite. Whoa. Very salty. I took a sip of water. “You’re exaggerating. It’s at the edge of inedible.”
“And yet, it is edible. Good work.” He took another bite, and a big gulp of water.
“I should have bought some Pepsi for you.” I’d obviously never be quite as aware of his needs as he was of mine. “Answer me this—why the Pepsi obsession?” I took a bite of the biscuit. A little dry but, again, edible.
“You honestly don’t remember?” He set down his fork and knife. “That day in sixth grade? Everyone was on my case for the paper clip incident.”
“I remember the incident. What does it have to do with Pepsi?”
“Seriously?” He stared at me, mouth open. Finally, he said, “I was about to be lynched by a mob of twelve-year-olds because we’d all been sentenced to three consecutive recess periods with our heads on our desks. Mrs. Underwood, Liam’s mom, left the room. You went over to her desk, took her Pepsi, and brought it to me.”
I’d stolen my teacher’s caffeine? “I did not do that.”