Page 63 of Just My Puck
She stands up, smelling them, and a smile lights up her face. “Thank you. They’re beautiful, but it’s already special. Just yesterday we were celebrating my birthday.” She giggles before giving me a sweet kiss.
I can’t settle for a quick peck, so I draw her closer, my hands resting gently on her waist. Her lips are soft and inviting, their warmth impossible to resist. I kiss her again, slow and deliberate, deepening the kiss and savoring every moment. I want to remember the way her breath catches in her chest, the way her hands find their way to my neck, pulling me closer. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise. A promise of what’s to come, of all the moments we’ll share.
“How about we go on a date tonight?” I ask, my hands still grazing her waist. “We’ve kind of done things backward—you moving in before the dating part. But maybe we could do both at the same time.”
Her eyes glimmer. “I’d love that.”
“Great.” Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, we’re going on our first date.”
I picked a small, intimate restaurant within walking distance of my house so we don’t have to take the car. Plus, that way, I can enjoy walking hand in hand with Aria—and stop to steal a kiss or two along the way.
The restaurant is full, but the small scattering of tables and the dimmed light fixtures almost make you feel like you’re alone, especially since I reserved a table all the way at the back. The other diners are mostly couples, and light jazz music is playing in the background.
“Wow, what a selection,” Aria says, studying the menu. “I kind of want to try everything.”
“I’ve never been here, so I can’t be of assistance. But I’ve heard great things about this place. I don’t think we can go wrong.”
“Well, I won’t take the veal. It comes with Brussels sprouts, and the last time I ate those, I had a bad taste in my mouth all night. Wouldn’t be fair to— ”
She freezes, her face going pale as she blinks back.
My heart tightens in my chest like it’s been smothered. “You remember eating Brussels sprouts?”
“I—yes. I guess.” She shakes her head, then lowers her eyes to the table. “I can’t recall any details, though. Like where it was or who I was with. I only remember the taste it left in my mouth.”
“Wow,” I breathe out, lost for words.
“This morning,” she mumbles, shifting in her seat, “I remembered something else. I have this scar on my knee, and when I was in the shower, I remembered how I got it. Saw myself get it.”
I swallow hard. “This is huge.” I try to sound upbeat, but I’m not going to lie. As great as it is for Aria, it still feels like a blow to the head. I can’t chase away this lingering doubt that she might have someone in her life and will leave me when she realizes it.
“I know. I’m sorry,” she sighs. “We’re starting this relationship, and here I am with pieces of my past coming back.” She pauses. “It’s weird, but I don’t really want to remember. Every time I grasp on to fragments of my past, they don’t seem to be happy memories. I’m starting to think losing my memory was for my own good.”
My heart breaks for her, and even if that should be exactly what I want to hear, it’s not. Aria deserves to know her story, no matter how painful it is. “Maybe it was for your own good,” I say, taking her hand. “But you won’t know for sure until you remember. And it’s okay to remember. I want you to.”
She squeezes my hand. “One thing I do know is that it won’t change anything between us, at least not on my end. I have everything I could ever need with you, and I want this to last.”
“So do I.” I kiss her hand.
Soon enough, the waiter comes to take our order, and neither of us goes for the Brussels sprouts. When he leaves, I notice the melancholy that has settled over Aria and decide to change the subject.
“So, how’s your book going?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink, eager to know where she’s at.
Her face immediately lights up, just as it always does when we talk about her writing. “Great. More ideas are coming to me, and I’m excited to get to the end. I sent what I have to the girls this morning. They’ve all read it already, and they loved it.”
“What! That’s amazing,” I say, feeling a true sense of awe. “Future bestselling author. I knew it.”
She giggles. “Well, I don’t know about that. They did havea lotof notes, but I’m glad they did. I was afraid it’d be so bad, they wouldn’t have anything to say to help me improve it. At least I have a foundation to work on now. I can’t wait to make the changes and see how the story evolves.”
“I wish I read romance so I could help you too, but I’m more of a non-fiction guy.”
“It’s okay. You can read the finished product, if you want.”
I smile. “I’d love to. How amazing will it be to hold your own book in your hands? I can’t wait.”
“I know.” She twirls her straw in her glass. “I have a good feeling about this. Like it’s what I’m supposed to be doing, and I can really make it. Strange, I know.” She chuckles. “But since I have no memories or experiences to draw from when I envision the future, I have to rely on my gut.”
“Actually, that can be a good thing,” I say. “Past experiences have a way of bringing us down sometimes, confining us to a box because of our fear, but you’re free from all that.”
