The Memory Keeper: A Heartwarming, Feel-Good Romance(7)

Jerry the Chihuahua was on Georgia’s lap, offering quiet growls of protest every time she leaned over him. When she sat back, the dog rearranged himself into a blond ball on her legs and tucked his head into the fold in her shirt.

Liam pulled a red cardboard heart full of chocolate from the bag, inspected it and then set it in his lap, plunging his hand back into his carry-on. He got hold of his cell phone and placed it in the center console. “Would you like one?” he asked, holding out the heart.

“You always have Valentine’s chocolates at the ready?” Hannah asked, allowing a slight moment of humor.

“You never know if you’ll be stuck in a car, outnumbered, with two hungry passengers just after Valentine’s Day,” he teased back. “I bought them from a sale bin at the airport in Chicago. The food lines were so long that it was my only option. Well, those or chocolate roses on sticks.”

Hannah declined with a grin, the banter between them lightening her mood just a bit.

He passed the box back to Georgia to offer her some, but she dropped them back into his bag. Jerry wriggled free from her and did a nosedive after it, chasing the scent of chocolate. Georgia scooped him up and pinned him affectionately to her chest, his miniature legs dangling over her arm.

Hannah’s phone pinged with a text, and she remembered the work messages she needed to check. But her attention went instead to the text floating on her screen: I thought it was a snowstorm, but nope. Hell’s done froze over. I hear you’re coming home.

She tipped her head back with a quiet laugh at the comment. Ethan.

Liam glanced over at her before returning to the road.

Another text came through. Your feet still know how to walk in boots? Or did you forget with all those high heels you been wearing?

She chewed on a smile, a memory floating to the surface like feathers on the summer wind.

“What the hell are those?” an eighteen-year-old Ethan had asked when he’d come into her childhood bedroom. He stared at her from under the well-worn curve of his baseball cap’s brim, his hands jammed into the pockets of his tattered Levi’s, bunching up the bottom of his T-shirt.

Hannah did a twirl in front of her full-length mirror in her frayed jeans shorts and a tank top, her old shorties cowgirl boots, named because they stopped at her ankles, kicked over to the side while she stood in the black pair of three-inch high heels she’d gotten for New York. She wobbled slightly.

“Why you wanna wear somethin’ you can’t hardly stand in?” he’d asked, his face wrinkled in confusion, but she could see the underlying disapproval in his gaze.

“I need to look like a professional,” she’d explained, twisting her wind-blown hair and holding it into an updo with her fingers.

“Professional what?” he asked, scooping up her boots. “Round here, all the professionals wear these.” He held his hand out to her, the boots dangling from his two fingers. “How you gonna ride a horse in those things?”

She turned to him with a grin. “I won’t be ridin’ rodeos anymore where I’m goin’.”

“I’m sorry,” he said flippantly, clearly apologizing for the fact that New York City didn’t have rodeos like they did in Tennessee.

Hannah had ridden horses in the local festivals since she’d turned thirteen. Every third Friday night of the month she’d spent kicking up dust in the ring as the banners flew and the music played, the rush of wind when the horse ran at full speed in the processional blowing her cowgirl hat and forcing her to hang on to it with one hand while she grasped the reins with the other. She knew the first Friday she didn’t go would feel strange, but she had to do this.

“I can’t ride rodeos forever,” she’d said.

The gravity in his face right then was burned into her memory. “Why not?” he’d asked. And she didn’t have an answer for him. He’d rolled his eyes, frustrated. “Suit yourself. If we ain’t good enough for you, then maybe you should go.”

The memory still on her mind, she texted Ethan back: I’m coming home to see Gran. Have you heard?

He replied: Do you know me at all? I’ve already been to see her three times.

Hannah wondered if the question about knowing him was that frustration from years ago coming through. That final summer night before she’d left for college in New York, they’d been sitting on the massive exposed root of the old oak tree in his yard, the sun going down on the horizon over the horse fields. “You’re gonna forget me,” he’d worried, his thin lips set in a straight line. “You’re gonna forget all about this place…”

He’d been right. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. She returned: I know you plenty well. I just wasn’t sure you’d heard about Gran, that’s all.

Ethan texted back. You don’t know me as well as you think you do anymore. Lots has happened since you left your boots behind and hightailed it outta here. I’ll fill ya in when you get home. Can’t wait for you to get here!

She let out a little exhale of relief when she read the last line. A part of her expected him to still hate her for leaving, and there probably was a side of him that did, but he was being kind to her anyway, which was just how he was.

Another text floated onto her phone: And hey, happy birthday!

He’d remembered. Suddenly, like a tidal wave, she missed the time they’d spent together growing up so much that she could hardly bear it. Ethan was the kindest person she knew—why had she left him without a word like she had? Tears pricked her eyes as she typed, Thanks. See you soon!