The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(14)

Wow! It seemed to really bother him.

I gave my answer some thought. Of course, my knee-jerk response would have been, “You zip-tied me to a stool and ate me out.” That response gave away too much information. I wasn’t actively trying to break up his engagement. Not consciously, anyway.

“You had a gift for making me blush. That’s all.”

He kept his mouth hidden behind his coffee mug. Was he grinning?

“Do tell. What kinds of things did I do to make you blush?”

“I …” I laughed. “I’m not going to tell you. I’m sure most of it was because I was young. I’d spent the previous three years in a Christian academy, and Rory was gone, so I think you were bored. Embarrassing me became your favorite pastime.”

After another sip of his coffee, he set his mug on the counter. “Well, I’m sorry.” He seemed serious.

The long moment of silence conveyed a level of genuineness. Then a case of untimely giggles hit me. I just … started laughing, and I couldn’t stop.

Even with my hand cupped at my mouth, my laughter continued. “I’m … I’m sorry. I just don’t believe you.”

“What don’t you believe?”

“That …” I took a deep breath to control my laughter. “That you’re sorry. You told me your dick still works.”

“Only because yesterday you asked me if it worked.”

“As a nurse. I asked you in a professional way.”

“But you’re not my nurse, so it made you look like my friend’s daughter simply asking about my dick.” He retrieved the butter from the fridge.

“No peanut butter? You can’t possibly be out of peanut butter.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that. Everyone tells me I love peanut butter. Rory made peanut butter cookies. I mean, it’s all right, but I don’t feel a big love for it.”

“I hate it.”

“Really? That’s interesting. I don’t know what I hate. Or I don’t remember what I hate. It’s weird how some things are clear and other things just don’t exist. Not like I don’t remember them well, it’s that they are not there at all.”

I nodded. “The brain is a mysterious place. For everything we do know about it, there seems to be so much we still don’t know and may never fully understand. Don’t stress over it.”

“I’m not, but I feel the stress from everyone around me.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing more about it for a minute or so before changing the subject. “I brought you some crossword puzzles.” I set the folder on the counter.

“Oh …” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are we done talking about my memory and my dick?” That smirk …

Different guy, yet same guy. Just missing a few memories.

“I hope so. Do you need help spreading that on your toast?”

“Do I look like I do?” He had butter on his cast and his toast kept slipping off his plate onto the counter as he tried to spread it.

“No. You don’t. You look like you have everything under control.”

He hugged the tub of butter to his chest with his casted arm and used his good hand to press the lid back onto it. After he returned it to the fridge, I noticed a glob of smeared butter on his shirt. Rolling my lips between my teeth, I kept silent.

“You not working today?” He looked down, frowning at his shirt.

“I start my new job on Monday. Are you not working today? Because you clearly could do about anything. That cast isn’t holding you back one bit.” I snorted.

Fisher glanced up, eyes narrowed. “Are you picking on a disabled person? How Christian of you.”

“Sorry. What can I do for you today? Rake the leaves in your yard? Shave your scruffy face?”

“My face?” He paused his chewing. “Angie said I needed to shave or at least trim my beard. She offered to do it, but I said I could do it myself.”

“Of course you did.” I smirked. “If you were left-handed, you’d be fine. But you’re not left-handed.”

“You know my handedness?”

“Yes, but if there was any question, that butter fiasco I just witnessed confirmed it.”

“Smart ass.” He ate his toast.

I watched him eat it. And we shared familiar glances. Well, familiar to me.

“I’ll let you trim my beard. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Okay. Why is that?”

“Because I want Angie to think I did it on my own.”

“You do realize … this is the woman you asked to marry you. The whole ‘in sickness and in health’ thing. Right?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t propose. She did.”

“Uh … you remember that?”

“She told me. She’s told me everything. I officially have all the memories of our life thus far; they just aren’t mine. They’re hers, which makes it about as real to me as someone reading me a fictional book.”

“And she proposed?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I asked her if she knew why I hadn’t proposed.”