Lost In Me (Here and Now) (4 page)

“Frightened of what? I don’t understand.”

“If there’s someone in your life who’s hurting you…” Nix trails off.

A chill sweeps over my skin until my bare arms are covered in goose bumps. “Who would want to hurt me?”

Nix cocks her head. “I know you don’t remember your time dating Max, but I want you…” She takes another long breath and shifts awkwardly. “I’m sorry I have to ask, Hanna, but even without your memory, you know Max better than I do. Have you ever known him to be violent? Or quick to anger?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. He’s just”—
the guy I always wanted
—“a really good guy.”

She leans her elbows on her knees and nods. “Okay. I trust your instincts.”

“What?” The implication clicks into place in my head. “You think he did this to me? You’re wrong. Max is as nice as they come.”

She nods again but doesn’t look convinced. “Please don’t be upset. I’m not making any accusations. I want you to know you have resources. If you don’t feel comfortable calling the domestic abuse hotlines, you can always call me or—”

“Nix,” I say. “I promise I’ll contact you personally if I don’t feel completely safe.” She doesn’t look convinced, so I add, “I just…fell down the stairs. I’ve always been clumsy.”

“Hanna,” she says carefully, “I am suspicious that there’s more to these injuries than a fall.”

“What? But you said—”

“Maybe you fell down the stairs and hit your face, your ribs, your hips in the worst conceivable places. It’s possible. Or maybe”—she touches her own cheekbone, pointing to the location of one of my ugliest bruises—“maybe you were beaten and then pushed.”

I’
M CONFUSED
when we pull up outside a building near the town square. “Where are you taking me?” God, this is awkward. Max Hallowell is driving me home. Max Hallowell is my fiancé. Max Hallowell may or may not be abusive.

No. I don’t believe that. I’ve known Max all my life, and he’s sweet. Tender. He wouldn’t have pushed me down the stairs. But who? And
why
?

It’s all so unbelievable that, if it weren’t for these bruises, I’d think this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke.

“You live here now,” he says softly. There’s a little crinkle between his eyes that tells me this is all as weird for him as it is for me. “You moved here in May.”

“Oh.”
I
moved here. Not
we.
Is it weird that I don’t live with him? Probably not. Mom still thinks it’s 1950 and disapproves of “premarital cohabitation” as much as she disapproves of premarital sex. Probably more, because at least you can hide premarital sex from the neighbors. “Does Lizzy live with me?”

He shakes his head and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “You live here alone.”

That surprises me, but I can’t think about it too long because the feel of Max’s rough fingers on my cheek has my eyes fluttering shut. I wonder if I’ve come to take this for granted. Max touching me. Max looking at me with all that tenderness in his eyes. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of this being the new normal.

“Come on.” He pinches my earlobe lightly between two fingers. “I’ll walk you up.” He climbs out of the car and rushes around to get my door, offering his hand as I step out.

He doesn’t release me when I climb onto the sidewalk, just twines his fingers through mine. The storefront before us says
Coffee, Cakes, & Confections
, and the idea of it being mine takes my breath away. I’ve loved the simple chemistry of cakes and cookies and scones since I was a child. The smells comfort me in a way nothing else can. Feeding other people those delicious things? The best.

He nods to the glass double doors. “That’s your bakery. You have an office there to meet with clients and a kitchen in the back where you do prep, but the front is all about coffee and baked goods.”

“Any good?”

“The most amazing things I’ve ever tasted.” He presses a hand to his stomach. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds since you opened it.”

I quirk a brow. “Can’t tell.”

He squeezes my hand. “Your apartment is upstairs.”

We walk to the paved walkway at the back of the building, and I have to stop and smile at the gurgling water of the New Hope River. I grew up here, playing along the banks, and nothing says
home
to me like the sound and smell of the river.

I slow as we approach the stairs. They’re wooden and look sturdy enough. They aren’t especially steep, and it’s August, so it’s not like they’d be slippery with ice. Was the doctor right? Did someone push me down the stairs?

Max touches my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“This is where it happened?”

“Lizzy found you. Thank God she came by when you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Does that seem as weird to you as it does to me?”

He shifts awkwardly. “I don’t know, Han. My best guess is that you forgot to eat again and maybe your blood sugar tanked.” He strokes my cheek with his index finger. “You’ve been pretty bad about that since you opened the business.”

Forgetting to eat? That doesn’t sound like me at all. I’ve
pretended
that I “forgot” to eat before, but I’ve never truly forgotten. Eating is my coping mechanism. My go-to when all else fails. But then again, with all the amazing things happening in my life, maybe I didn’t need to cope anymore.

We take the stairs to the second floor, and I find myself hoping to feel a faulty step or find something I could have tripped over. If I’d passed out from not eating and hadn’t been conscious to catch myself, would that explain the force of my fall?

When we get to the door, I rummage through my purse for my keys, but Max just grins and opens the door with a key on his ring.

He has a key to my apartment. Of course he does. We’re engaged.

He flicks on the lights, illuminating a spacious, open-concept loft. To the left is a little kitchen, the right a living room, and on the back wall, against windows overlooking the New Hope River, a tiny pub-height table and four chairs.

“Wow. This is… Wow.”

He cocks his head, watching me as I take in our surroundings. “Doesn’t ring any bells?”

I frown. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

He nods. We went over this again and again at the hospital. What I remember (everything before a day approximately eleven months ago) and what I don’t remember (everything since), but I imagine this is as difficult for him to comprehend as it is for me.

“Well, this apartment is yours, as is the bakery.”

“I still can’t get over knowing I started my own business.” And not just any business. A bakery. The dream.

He steps closer. “A damn good one,” he whispers.

I tilt my head up to look at him. He’s half a foot taller than me. I wonder if that makes it difficult to kiss while standing. I’m sure I’ve kissed him before. How many hundred times do you kiss a man before wearing his ring?

My heart pounds as his gaze travels from my eyes to my mouth and back. For as sweet as he’s been since I woke up in the hospital, for as many times as he’s kissed my hand or cheek, for as many times as he’s touched me, he has yet to properly
kiss
me.

And I want to properly kiss Max more than I want to breathe.

Without the memory of his kiss, this might as well be the first time.

He skims his thumbs along either side of my jaw. “When Lizzy called and said you were at the hospital and unconscious, I was so damn worried about you. I felt like I’d lost half of myself. Don’t do that to me again, okay?”

I force a laugh. “Right. I’ll try not to.”

His gaze dips to my mouth again. “I want to hold you and never let go, and at the same time I’m too afraid that if I let myself touch you, I’ll hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” I whisper.
Kiss me. Please kiss me.

Then he does. He lowers his head and sweeps his lips over mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if he’s done it a million times. His kiss is soft but warm, and I slide my hand into his hair to encourage him. It doesn’t take much before his mouth opens over mine and I can taste his gum, his heat, his carefully harnessed control.

He’s good at this, and my heart quickly goes from a nervous hammering to a stuttering, aroused racing.

He pulls me close until my breasts are pressed against his chest and I can feel the long ridge of his erection against my stomach. When he breaks the kiss and nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck, he leaves one hand at my hip, his thumb skimming the skin just above the band of my jeans.

This is my life
. It doesn’t seem possible.

I know he’s holding back, stopping himself. By the way his fingers are curling possessively into my hip, I can tell he wants more—and I want to give him more. My heart stumbles at the idea.
More. With Max.

Max lifts his head and runs his gaze over my face. His blue eyes have gone dark and smoky. Is that how he looks at me when I’m naked? God, I hope so. And yet, even with the changes in my body, the idea of his eyes on my nude form makes me painfully self-conscious. I’ve seen the women he’s dated. I’ll never compare to them.

“Do you need to rest or do you want me to stay for a little bit?” There’s a painful edge to his voice.

“Stay.” I flush and my teeth sink into my lip. “I’m a little nervous,” I confess, but even as I say it, I tug his shirt from his pants and slide my hands underneath it. I’ve had a crush on Max since I was thirteen years old, and now I finally have permission to touch him the way I’ve only dreamed of before.

His stomach is washboard flat under my fingertips. As I trace the soft line of hair from his navel to the band of his jeans, his eyes float shut. His breath rushes past his parted lips. I remember admiring these abs when he was working on the deck at Arlen Fisher’s cabin. I guess that would be almost a year ago now. He had sweat trickling down his chest, and he was laughing with William Bailey about something. I remember looking at him and wishing I was the kind of girl he liked. Wishing I stood a chance.

And now I’m wearing his ring.

That knowledge fills me with confidence I never imagined having, and I release the button on his jeans and slide my fingers into the band of his boxers. He hisses and staggers back half a step.

I flush with embarrassment. I shouldn’t have been so bold. I shouldn’t have assumed that—

“You just got out of the hospital.”

One look at his face and my insecurities fall away. He’s breathing hard, and there’s something tortured about the way he’s looking at me.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Max. Please don’t worry about that.”

He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. He sits first, but instead of taking the seat beside him, I grasp on to this newfound confidence and straddle his hips.

He groans. “You’re determined to tempt me, aren’t you?”

I shift side to side, adjusting my knees until his erection puts delicious pressure between my legs.

“Hanna,” he breathes.

There’s something in his eyes. Something so much beyond the tenderness he showed me in the hospital. Heat. “I don’t want you to hold back.” I press my mouth to his, and his hands instantly find my hips, his curling fingers betraying his true desires. I want more of that, more of this evidence that this is really happening, that this is really my life.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers against my mouth. His fingertips roam over my jaw and across my collarbone as he shakes his head. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Tell me about our first date.”

His face splits into a grin. “You want to hear about how nervous you were or where we went or—”

“How did it happen?” I settle my hand on his chest, loving the solid heat of it under my hand, the feel of his steady heartbeat. “I’ve had a crush on you for so long, but I thought you only had eyes for Lizzy. Did I finally work up the courage to ask you out?”

Some emotion I can’t identify flashes over his face. “I asked you.”

“Really?”

“You joined the gym, and I could tell you liked me.” He shrugs awkwardly and slides his hands around from my hips to my ass. “Asking you to dinner was definitely the best decision I ever made in my life.”

I’m engaged to Max Hallowell, and he says these amazingly sweet things to me.
“Where did you take me?”

“Sebastian’s.”

My eyes go wide. “Fancy.”

“I was determined to impress you.”

“Ha! I liked you so much, you could have taken me to McDonald’s and I would have been impressed.”

“Hanna—”

I cut him off with my kiss. I press my lips softly to his and feel him relax underneath me. When his lips part and his hands tangle in my hair, I’m not kissing him anymore. He’s kissing me. His lips are gentle and persuasive, and I’m swept into that feeling that this is all some elaborate dream. And I don’t want to wake up.

By the time our lips part, we’re both breathing heavily, and I lean my forehead against his. “What are we going to do if my memory doesn’t come back?” I whisper. The question has been nagging at me. “We’re supposed to be getting married and I’ve lost the entirety of our relationship. This must be so terrible for you.”