I couldn’t help but smile at her words. “Thanks, Mom.” I looked around the quiet kitchen and even quieter house with a frown. “Where’s Dad?”
Mom sighed deeply but when she turned to face me, a bright smile lit up her face. “Don’t tell him I told you, but your father is taking dance classes at the gym and the community center.”
I blinked in shock at her words. “Dad?”
She nodded.
“My dad, Bob Jackson, is dancing?”
She let her head fall back as laughter shook her body. “Shocked me, too, but he was determined to find something fun to keep him in shape, and he’s determined that we spend our golden years dancing the night away.” The wistful smile on Mom’s face said that was exactly what she wanted to hear.
“That’s great, Mom. You love to dance.”
“So do you.”
I did love to dance. “Maybe I should take Megan dancing. Maybe the muscle memory of dancing with me will jog something loose.” It was a long shot, but right now, that was all I had.
“That’s a great idea, son.” My dad’s deep voice sounded behind me, and I had to school my features to keep his secret. “But don’t just take her dancing to jog her memory, taking her dancing because you love having her in your arms and twirling her on the dance floor in a pretty dress.”
I turned at his words and immediately wished I’d given myself more time—because Bob Jackson, retired bank president and unofficial leader of Jackson’s Ridge, was dressed in tight black pants and a sweat-stained white tank top.
Laughter bubbled out of me. “Dad, what in the hell are you wearing?”
A smile lit up his face rather than the frown I expected, and he moved his hips from left to right, twirling a towel to a beat only he could hear. “It’s called dance attire, son. Jealous?”
“More like blinded by the bulge.” I slammed my eyes shut and turned back to face Mom. “No wonder you’re so excited about this.”
Mom laughed again. “Did I forget to mention how sexy he looks in his dance getup?”
“Yes,” I growled. “Fortunately, you did.”
Dad chuckled and crossed the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Mom’s lips and then each of her cheeks. “Smells good in here, honey.”
“Corn fritters.”
Dad’s eyes went wide. “My favorite. Good thing I burned lots of calories today.” He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled, shaking his hips again.
“We’ll burn some more later. I made a caramel cake for dessert.”
“Mom,” I growled. “Stop. Please.”
Dad laughed right along with her before he turned to me, his expression serious. “I’m sorry about Megan, son. So damn sorry.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nodded and went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water for each of us. “Your mother said you and Megan were a little disconnected before this all happened.”
“We were.”
“Then let me offer you a bit of advice from a man who’s been happily married for decades: romance the woman. Don’t just focus on getting her memories back, just make her fall in love with you all over again.”
“How do I do that?”
“The same way you did it last time. Take her out, make her laugh, and buy her flowers once in a while. Make sure Megan knows how much you still love her today, not just your history.”
“I do love her,” I insisted. We weren’t having problems, we just needed more time together.
“I know that. Your mother knows it. Everyone knows it, even Megan. But showing her just might help her remember—and if it doesn’t, she’ll be in love with you, anyway.” He shrugged, as if it was just that easy.
It wasn’t a bad idea. “I think you might be on to something, Dad.”
“I am,” he said and moved his hips again. “That’s why your mom can’t keep her hands off me.”
“Enough.” I was happy that they were still happy together, still affectionate and physical after all these years, but I didn’t need to witness it firsthand.
“Listen to me, son, and in forty years you’ll be grossing out your kids with how much you love your wife. I need a shower.”
With a hand on my shoulder and another kiss for Mom, Dad left the kitchen and made his way up to the bathroom.
“Your father has an excellent point, Casey. A good, old-fashioned courting session is in order.”
Courting Megan. It sounded so small for how much we already had together, but I loved the idea of spending more time with my wife. Romancing her and seeing her smile without that disappointment in her eyes that I would be late for a date or wouldn’t be home in time for movie night. She never made a big deal about it, but it was hard not to hear or to see her disappointment.
This was our chance to get back on track, and I wanted it. Badly.
“Okay. You and Dad have convinced me.” I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my wife. “Done.”