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He let out an empty chuckle. “Marigold, there are very few things I don’t remember about you.”
Time froze at those words. He looked up from the paper in front of him finally and met my eyes.
When memories of us surfaced for me, the good ones always included picnics, holding hands under the lit-up sky on the Fourth of July, stolen kisses, awkward prom dates, coconut cakes, and fifty-cent corn dogs.
In this moment, twelve years of memories flashed in those eyes. Memories of love, loss, grief, excitement, pain, and joy.
This man knew me better than anyone else, and yet not at all. He knew the ghost of me. The woman I used to be. Now I had no idea what he saw when he looked into my eyes.
It was his turn to clear his throat and turn back to the paper. “Uh, let me see your driver’s license.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“I’ve been thinking of stealing your identity and using it to open up a frozen yogurt shop down the street.”
With a huff, I pulled out my wallet. “Good luck. I hope you get mice and the health department shuts you down.”
One side of his mouth quirked up as he unzipped my wallet. He was already searching for my ID when I was hit with a jolt of panic.
No, no, no, no. I grabbed it and yanked it out of his hand.
Don’t say anything weird. The man can read you like a book. “Actually, uh, let me get it.”
“Why are you acting weird?” he asked as I turned away from him.
“I’m not. My wallet is an unorganized mess.”
“Yeah, so is your car, and I didn’t care about that. Quit turning that way. You’re going to hurt your wrist.”
He was right. This was very uncomfortable.
“I have personal feminine items in here.” That oughta do it.
He squinted at me. “No, you don’t. They wouldn’t fit in that.”
“Y-yes, they would. They make more portable ones now. Advancing technology and whatnot.”
“Do they?”
I had no idea. I slid my driver’s license out of its slot and all but flung it at him. “Here. No need to worry about it anymore, Mr. Nosy Pants.”
I needed a distraction here, desperately. It would be the perfect moment for a nurse to call me back. Wait. My stomach sank. We still hadn’t filled out the forms. This was taking forever, and he had been rifling through my wallet where he could have come across things I swore I would only ever keep to myself.
“Just hurry it along.” I waved my left hand, ready to move on from any conversation surrounding my wallet or any of the contents inside it.
“All right, weirdo.” He raised his brows and shook his head, like he was shaking off my answers.
Thank God. I needed this to move much more quickly.
When the nurse finally called us back, Liam had already given every single employee, and even some other patients, a play-by-play of my accident. He used wild hand gestures, and at one point, he imitated the way I screamed as I fell. The man blathered on about the types of X-rays I needed and possible treatments.
He’d obviously done too much googling in the waiting room.
After the nurse had checked my blood pressure and asked the standard questions, she curled a finger at me. “Let’s go get a scan done. We’ll know more from there.”
Liam sat up. “Before you do that, shouldn’t you—”
“Sir.” The middle-aged nurse—who was wearing scrubs with kittens all over them and orthotics with thick soles—held a hand up, shutting him up instantly. “Your wife is in good hands. I promise.”
