Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Mateo
Gina leaves the apartment, and Florian and I are alone.
“Where’s my phone?” Florian asks.
“I have it.” I remove it from my satchel.
“I want to see pictures of us,” Florian says.
I pause. “You do?”
“Yes.” Florian wraps his arms around my waist, and it’s all I can do to not collapse against his sturdy frame and pretend I have an amazing boyfriend who wants to look at photos of us together.
Except… There are no photos of us.
Florian is a practical stranger, and I am lying to him.
“You know what? It’s not charged!”
“Oh.” He blinks.
“I can’t give you an uncharged phone!”
“Then I’ll charge it.”
I don’t look at him. I have his charger.
Daniela gave me his phone and his charger and his keys and the change of clothes he kept in his locker.
“You know what, I didn’t see a charger,” I lie.
The doctor told him not to look at screens, anyway.
“Maybe I have one around here.”
“I don’t remember seeing a phone charger when I was here.”
“Oh.” He blinks.
“But, if not, we can buy one!”
Florian brightens.
Shit.
I bought myself time, then insisted on having less time.
But Florian probably does need his phone. I just don’t want to answer now why he doesn’t have photos of me.
“I think it’s time for bed,” I say.
Florian smiles at me.
Shit. I’m in unethical territory.
I lead him to his bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You don’t want to sleep in bed with me?” Florian asks.
I swallow hard.
The prospect of getting into bed with a tall, attractive German hockey player isn’t unappealing.
But future Florian will remember that I’m not a man he wanted to sleep side-by-side with. Future Florian will hate me so much.
Past Florian also hated me. This memory loss will be a temporary interlude in the hatred Florian has for me.
I think again of the manifestation book that my sister gave me. This is so the universe’s fault.
“I don’t want to accidentally injure you in bed,” I say finally.
Florian’s eyes soften.
So the thing is, I do work out. In my business, strength is a benefit. I know the terrified look that some smaller massage therapists get when larger clients show up, and hockey players are often very large.
Still, there is no world in which I’ll be a threat to Florian. The man is a 6’4 defenseman at the start of the season with freshly formed protective body fat.
“I roll around a lot,” I say. “I’m incredibly violent.”
He presses his lips together. I’m amusing him.
“That is not your fault,” he says. “That means you have an active life in your dreams.”
“Yes.” I nod multiple times. “I’m totally a medieval warrior in my dreams. Always marching and fighting and thinking everyone around me has on protective layers of shiny armor.”
“Well, I’m not going to put on a suit of shiny armor,” Florian says. “Though I do have a hockey helmet.”
I laugh.
“How about we build a pillow wall?” he suggests. “And then any bedtime impulses to tackle me will be thwarted.”
Florian exits the bedroom. I follow after him. He dismantles every pillow on the couch. He carries them to the bed and builds a careful wall in the middle of the bed.
It is very thoughtful of him.
And hopefully future, memory-restored Florian will be less furious when he discovers we shared a bed with a pillow wall down the middle.
I go to the bag that my sister packed and look for my pajamas.
And they’re…
Well, they’re not what I normally wear to bed.
The pajamas have huge hearts on them. Pink and red. Some of them sparkle.
I’ve never seen the pajamas before in my life, but there is nothing else for me to wear.
I rush to the bathroom with my toiletry bag. Everything is chocolate scented, not my normal and far more sophisticated or at least normal vanilla scent of choice.
After I’m freshly washed with chocolate scented hair and a chocolate scented body and a chocolate scented face, I crawl into bed. Florian gazes at me happily.
“Hearts!” he murmurs.
“I know it’s a lot.”
“It is very romantic,” Florian says, his voice solemn.
“Too romantic?” I ask the question before I can stop myself.
Surely Florian should get nervous at the sight of a man crawling into bed with him who looks like he escaped from a Valentine’s Day dating show.
But Florian only gives me a wide, affectionate smile, the kind that he never once flashed at me in the six weeks I knew him before today, but which has been his normal expression whenever he sees me now.
“It’s adorable,” he assures me. “You smell like chocolate.”
“Yes.” I hesitate. “I can go to the couch if—”
“I do not mind the way you smell, Mateo,” Florian says. “I like chocolate. Germany has wonderful chocolate. Very famous.”
“Puerto Rico is not famous for its chocolate,” I say.
“Clearly a mistake,” Florian says, smiling more.
I give an awkward laugh, but Florian does not make a distasteful huff. Instead, he waits for me to get under the blankets, and when he ascertains that I am completely covered, completely ready for the night, he turns off the light.
And I lie in bed, my heart beating wildly.
I didn’t even want to go to the hospital today.
Is this all my fault? If I hadn’t brought that manifestation book with me and if I hadn’t done those manifestation exercises, would Florian have woken up with his memory completely intact?
Would he have been shooting me the glares and glowers he sends to the hockey players he’s playing against on the ice?
Or would he simply look at me in fear, like people will think he’s gay if he’s in my presence for too long?
Florian shifts, and I stiffen.
To be honest, sleeping next to a much larger man who might wake up and end up upset at you doesn’t fit into typical wellness routines.
“Mateo,” Florian whispers.
“Yes?”
“I know I do not remember you,” he says. “But I will. The doctor says that I might remember in a few days. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when I wake up!”
“That’s great.”
“I want you to know that I love you.”
The words land on my chest, like the softest, loveliest quilt, and I have to remind myself this is all fake.
He waits.
“I love you too, Florian.”
“I know.” With that, Florian rolls back over.
My heart pounds unevenly as Florian falls asleep beside me.
What have I done? Will he remember tomorrow? Oh, God. What if he remembers tomorrow?