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God, why am I so nervous?

After my lunch with Mercedes today, I decided to run to the store and grab what I needed to throw together a quiet little dinner for Sawyer and me so I could thank him for letting me stay here. It was just supposed to be casual and allow us to start exploring our feelings like we talked about last night and I thought I would be okay but now that he’s almost here, I feel like I am about to go on my first date all over again. I have never cooked for a man, at least I don’t think I have, and since I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, I couldn’t exactly ask him what he liked or if he is allergic to anything. This whole thing could really blow up in my face.

Burying my face in my hands, I groan. What the hell was I thinking? This is going to be a disaster, I just know it. My heart jumps in my chest and I take a deep breath before shaking out my hands. This is crazy. How does he affect me so much? Granted I don’t remember a huge chunk of my recent past but I don’t ever remember feeling like this before meeting Sawyer. He lights a fire inside me. A fire that is just as warm and comforting as it is exciting and I can’t imagine ever giving it up. But I’m still lying to him and I have no idea what he’s going to do when the truth comes out.

Maybe I should just tell him. Maybe I should just open up and let him in to the horror of my life for the past two weeks but the way I feel around him feels too damn good and I’m quickly becoming addicted to it. What if his feelings for me change once he knows the whole story? I honestly don’t know what I would do or how I would cope if he decided he wanted to walk away from me.

How can one man consume so much of my life in such a short amount of time?

Sighing, I straighten the silverware and light the candles in the center of the table before taking a step back and pursing my lips. Maybe the candles are too much. I mean, I want us to have a nice dinner but I also don’t want to put too much pressure on him. What if his feelings have changed since last night? We were both swept up in whatever it was we were feeling in the truck yesterday but what if, today, in the cold light of day, he realizes that he was acting crazy? Closing my eyes, I picture the two of us on his front porch last night and rub my palm with my thumb in the exact same spot I felt his racing heartbeat before he kissed me.

No.

There’s no way that wasn’t real - daylight or not.

I stare at the candles for another couple of seconds before deciding to leave them. My heart races as I peek up at the clock again on my way into the kitchen.

He should be here any second…

To distract myself from incessantly staring at the door, I stir the Shrimp Alfredo I made for us. It’s about the only thing I know how to make, besides boxed mac and cheese, so I really hope he likes it.

Shit.

What if he doesn’t?

I’m pretty sure I’d die on the spot. Shaking my head, I grab the plates off the counter and scoop food onto each one before carrying them to the table and sitting down in one of the chairs as I release a breath and check the time on my phone.

5:06 p.m.

Nodding, I lean back in my chair and try to slow my breathing as my knee bounces out of control. God, I hope he likes this and doesn’t think it’s weird. He won’t think it’s weird, right? Fuck. I’m losing my mind. I snatch my phone off of the table and dial Mercedes’ number.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?” she answers and I release a breath.

“Um, well… I’m losing my mind.”

She laughs. “Why?”

“So, after I left your office, I thought it would be nice to cook dinner for Sawyer to say thank you for letting me stay, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now I’m just sitting here waiting for him to get home and I’m so nervous.”

“Oh my God,” she shoots back. “You like him so much.”

“Shut up. That’s not helping at all.”

Her laughter echoes across the line. “Did you cook your famous Shrimp Alfredo?”

“Um… yes. How did you know that? And why are you calling it famous?”

“It’s the same thing you made for Gavin to get him to sleep with you. We learned it at the cooking class we took in Miami.”

I scowl. “What cooking class?”

“Jett,” she gasps. “We took that class during your lost memories.”

“Oh,” I whisper, staring at the plate of food in front of me. How could I remember how to make this if I can’t remember anything else from my life? All damn day, I’ve been trying to remember anything from my life in Miami and this is what I get? “Wait… you said I made this for Gavin?”