Bombshell

“How do you like your coffee, dear?” Joann asked.

“Lots of cream, no sugar,” the girl said, without the slightest hesitation.

If she remembers how she likes her coffee… Something twisted in Merrick’s stomach. She’d want to leave soon, to go back to her life. He couldn’t think about that right now.

But to his relief, for the next few minutes, the girl didn’t ask any questions, nor did she ask for a phone or talk about the night before. She had a one-track mind. He found himself smiling as he watched her enjoy her food. He marveled at her gusto and the brightness in her eyes. Gone were the haunted, terrified eyes from the night before. She seemed happy and content. Merrick’s throat tightened.

“Excuse me,” he said. He got up from the table and went outside. Pacing along the dirt driveway, he crunched pine needles with every step. It was driving him mad not knowing where he stood. He needed to know what, if anything, she remembered, but he was afraid to ask. What if she asked for a ride home, a ride back to that bastard? He couldn’t allow that. He needed to find a way to convince her to come back with him, to leave Misty Falls.

When he came back inside the cottage, the girl was strolling around the small home, taking in the shabby chic interior as she picked up and examined every knickknack and book in the room. She looked happy and relaxed. Gone was the yellow dress, replaced by an oversized t-shirt and a pair of men’s sweatpants. Despite her unfashionable ill-fitting attire, she looked sexy as hell. His heart rate quickened as he saw her run her fingers lightly along a wall of small paintings. Clearly reproductions since he recognized several old masters, each one placed inside the same kind of intricately carved wooden frames.

He realized she was humming. He recognized the tune, and the hope that she’d forgotten her past disappeared. She was humming the song from last night. If she could remember the song from the night before, then that probably meant she no longer had amnesia. Damn. He hated not knowing. He gritted his teeth and walked over to her, determined to find out.

“Do you know the lyrics to the song you’re humming?” he asked casually.

“Oh,” she said, starting. Her face lit up into a big smile. “I didn’t see you there. What did you say?”

“Do you know the lyrics, to that song you’re humming?

“Of course I know the lyrics,” she said as if surprised he could ask such a silly question. “I know all the lyrics to all the great musicals. I love musicals. Why do you ask?”

Merrick didn’t know how to answer.

Joann came into the room, drying a just-washed frying pan. “I see you’re starting to remember things, dear. That’s excellent. What would you prefer I call you?”

“Huh?” the girl said as her brow furrowed in confusion.

Merrick tried to silence Joann with a glare, but she wasn’t giving him any eye contact.

“Your name, honey. Do you remember your name?” Joann asked.

Merrick wished he was close enough to stomp on her foot.

The girl laughed nervously, then said in a voice much higher than before, “It’s just the silliest thing, I can’t remember my name. Isn’t that hysterical?”

Relief and guilt both flooded Merrick at the same time. Relief that she didn’t know who she was, and guilt because she was so upset about not knowing. Joann moved to comfort the girl, but she put out a hand to stop her.

“It’s okay, we can ask him,” she

said and pointed at Merrick. “I’m sure my fiancé knows my name.”

Merrick couldn’t speak. Was she on to him? Was she messing with him? Was she rubbing his lie in his face?

The girl faltered again, and this time Joann rushed to her side. She led her to a nearby couch and helped her to sit down. As soon as she was seated, she grabbed a throw and wrapped it around her shoulders. Merrick could see that she was trembling, and Joann glared at him.

When the girl lifted her face to wait for his response, he saw that her eyes were wide and wet. He could read her now. She wasn’t faking anything; she wasn’t trying to rub anything in his face. She didn’t know who she was, and it scared the hell out of her.

When her lips began to quiver and Merrick heard the rattling of her teeth, he made a decision. Moving to the couch, he scooped her into his arms. She burst into tears, shaking as she cried. He held her, his chest expanding as he breathed in her heady scent and compressing as he imagined the fear and confusion she had to be going through.

“Don’t stress, honey,” he said as he kissed the top of her head. “You had an accident, that’s all, and you hit your head pretty bad. It’s just a little memory loss. Everything will come back to you soon. I promise.”

When the sobbing slowed, Merrick released her and thought about giving her some space. But, when he started to get up, the girl grabbed for his hand, gripping his fingers like she was drowning and his hand was the only thing keeping her alive. His Irish white hand interlaced with her rich honey fingers, and he squeezed them tight, letting her know he was there for her.

She looked at him with sad, innocent eyes. “Please tell me my name.”

Merrick gulped. He didn’t know her real name. He only knew one name for her.

“Bombshell,” he blurted, before realizing how idiotic that sounded.