Page 36 of Don't Forget Me
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and walked toward the kitchen, needing space from the one woman who wasn’t fooled by the mask he wore. “I’ll clean up. You go do something you enjoy.”
She didn’t argue with him. “Okay, I found a good book to read, so I think I’ll head to bed early.”
Setting the plates on the counter, he turned to stop her. “Liz?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for telling me about them.”
Her expression softened. “Friends.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Friends.”
When she disappeared into her room, he released a sigh, wondering what he did to deserve to be stuck here with someone who could unravel every part of the man he tried to be.
If he wasn’t careful, she’d find out who he really was.
12
ELIZABETH
Whoever this Stephen guy was, he was a brilliant writer.
It was the thought Elizabeth couldn’t get out of her mind. She’d never been so drawn to words on a page, to the point where she couldn’t stop. It was a screenplay, not a book, and that should have made it harder for her to read.
Yet, it didn’t.
The characters felt so real, like they could be sitting right beside her. “Don’t forget me,” she whispered. She wouldn’t be forgetting this writer anytime soon.
But why was the manuscript hidden away in a forgotten drawer? What other gems did that study hold?
She hadn’t gone back, not out of fear of Nick but respect. It obviously meant something to him to have the place locked up, and it was something she understood. Closing off parts of herself was natural. The only ones who got the whole Elizabeth were the two little squirts who called her mom.
And even then, they were too young to understand what she’d been through, how her life had been shaped more by what happened to her than what she did.
For the last few days, she’d cooked every meal, not wanting to miss a single one. In the afternoons, she swam out as far as she could from the dock, looking up into the distance to see Nick watching her, always watching.
It had been many years since she had the energy to cook complicated meals or exercise. Most of her energy these days went to just staying upright at work, to being able to tuck her kids in at night.
She’d given every part of herself away. To her kids, her job… to cancer. It made no sense that it took a coma to get any of it back.
The oven beeped, and she dropped the story on her bed and ran into the kitchen to pull out fresh salted caramel cookies, inhaling their sugary scent. Kicking the oven closed, she set them on the stove with a grin.
This kitchen was magic. She could make anything; the ingredients were all here.
Nick walked inside from where he’d been doing a series of pushups and sit-ups on the deck—one of the reasons she’d hid in her room—and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, a mouth that had gone dry at the sight of the shirtless movie star.
She liked to think she hadn’t been affected by him since that first shock when she arrived, but that was a lie. She was just good at hiding her thoughts. It came from years of telling the world she felt fine during her illness.
But this… this was different. Sweat glistened across well-defined muscles. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him shirtless—or even more undressed. He wasn’t immune to doing nudity in his movies, but it wasn’t the same. Now, he was right in front of her, a real, living, breathing man.
It was only she who’d forgotten how to breathe.
Nick sauntered toward her, completely unaware of how he affected her. Well, that was what she thought until his lips twitched. “It’s hot out there today.”
“Mmhmm. Hot. So hot.”
“Just so you know.” He dipped his head so his breath brushed her ear. “Friends don’t stare at friends like that.”
