My gaze dropped to our feet.
“I don’t care if I remember these missing pieces or not. I really don’t. I just wish someone could tell me for sure. Yes, Fisher, you’re going to get your memory back in six weeks. Or no, Fisher, this is it. You will never remember. Because I can’t fall in love with photographs. I can’t fall in love with someone else’s memories. I just …” He shook his head. “Can’t.”
“What do you need, Fisher?” I lifted my gaze and looked into his lost eyes.
“Time. And space.”
I nodded. “You followed me,” I whispered.
“See, that’s the problem. The people I need time and space from just refuse to give it to me. And the one person I need more time with and much less space from is the one who keeps running or driving away from me.”
“I was running to keep warm. And the day I drove away, I had to help deliver a baby.”
Fisher grinned while easing his head side to side. “That’s your story?”
I shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“My family thought I did a great job trimming my beard.”
“As they should have. I did an impeccable job. But it’s getting scruffy again.”
“I’ll make you dinner tonight if you come over and trim my beard.”
“You get your cast off in two days.”
“But I like it when you do it.”
“Well, that’s just lazy, Fisher.”
“I’ll let you help me finish the bookshelf in my shop.”
“What time is dinner?”
He grinned and it was glorious. It was for me. All me. Fisher wanted to spend time with me. Fisher wanted as little space between us as possible. I let myself believe it wasn’t about Angie, like Rory’s relationship with Rose wasn’t about my dad or even about me.
“Six.”
“Fine.” I acted like it was such a sacrifice.
A car drove past us, and Fisher waved to them as I turned my head so maybe they’d think I was Angie.
“Come prepared. I’m going to kiss you until your lips go numb.”
I pressed said lips together to keep from grinning.
“I might even make a play for second base. Dress accordingly.”
I snorted, no longer able to contain it. “Who are you?”
“According to you, I’m the lost fisherman. Just trying to find myself.”
“And you think you’ll find yourself on the way to second base with me?”
He glanced over my shoulder into the distance, head bobbing a little bit. “Maybe not on my way to second base. Third base …” His lips twisted. “That’s a much higher possibility. I think a home run would make me not give a shit if I found myself or anyone else for that matter.”
“It’s funny because you’re talking, and I see your lips moving, but I’m still thinking about you teaching me how to build that shelving unit. Do you think I’ll get to use more than just sandpaper? Like a hammer, a saw, or a screwdriver?”
Fisher eyed me, a tiny grin bending his full lips. “You’re getting a little excited. Am I about to get kissed? Or fondled? Pinned to a pine tree so you can have your way with me?”
“What about that tool that drills the little holes for the shelf pins?” I ignored his questions. “Could you teach me how to use that?”
The more I ignored him, the more amused he seemed to get. And I loved it.
“A shelf pin jig?”
“Sure. Call it what you want. I just want to know if you’re going to teach me how to use it?”
“I’m not calling it what I want. I’m calling it what it is.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I ever agreed to teach you anything. I think you’re lying about that.”
“I’m not lying. And you’re going to let me use the jig thingy if I’m going to let you explore second base.”
Fisher eased his head to the side, that puppy dog head cock. Lips corkscrewed. Eyes narrowed. “Shelf pin jig it is. Six o’clock. Now we have to get back. Separately.”
I shrugged off his jacket. “Here. You need to return as you left.”
“You need to get back before you freeze to death. How am I supposed to do things to you later if you’re frozen to death?”
I laughed. “Your biggest concern about me dying is what that means for you getting to second base? Do you need me to grant you a special ten-second rule?”
“I’m listening.” He tipped his chin up while glancing down at me.
“I die. You get ten seconds to fondle me before it will be considered perverse.”
Fisher’s eyebrows crawled up his head. “You’re one sick chick.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a solid yes, but I just want it on record that it was your idea.”
“Noted.”
“Seriously, your lips are blue. Go. Run. I’ll wait a few minutes before heading that way, and I’ll go in through the lower door.”
“Six.” I grinned a second before turning and jogging toward the drive.