CHAPTER 1 #2
The aroma of coffee floated on the chilly spring breeze.
Oddly comforting. He had never been much of a coffee guy.
He surveyed the place with its sandwich board out on the sidewalk and the name painted on the window: Copper Kettle.
Something in his memory glitched, just out of reach.
Warmth. Laughter. A flash of someone behind that window, then… nothing.
Sort of like trying to tune the filthy AM/FM radio back at the shop where he’d worked and getting nothing but static.
“Trevor?”
Tightening his grip on his backpack straps, he glanced at the two young women who approached—likely sisters, given their similar long blonde hair and blue eyes.
The taller one walked with an easy, confident stride.
The other hovered half a step back, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to participate in the conversation. He could relate.
Did he know them? Should he?
Oh man. Had he done something to hurt them?
Just smile. Nod. Be polite. Don’t let them see that you don’t have a clue.
Except the younger of the two looked like she was fighting back tears, and her expression had turned pasty. Was she about to pass out or cry? For all he knew, he’d broken her heart. Or worse.
The other three people who’d recognized him hadn’t looked at him like this.
A hunting guide who’d seen his face on a missing persons flyer, followed by the boisterous mechanic at the shop in Glennallen, who’d clapped him on the back and said he’d been good friends with his dad.
Or the woman who worked the front desk at the airport in Deadhorse, who’d mentioned she’d seen his story on the news.
Sure, they’d been surprised when they’d sort of put the pieces together.
But these two—at least the younger one—carried more than shock in those beautiful, wide-set blue eyes.
“Hey, I’m Caroline McGuire. This is my sister Megan. You are Trevor Kelly, aren’t you?”
Rolling the names around in his head, he waited for a spark. Nothing. He tried for a normal smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“That’s what they tell me.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “You don’t know who you are?”
“I can’t argue with you. I have amnesia. Evidently from a plane crash fifteen months ago.”
Megan gasped. Caroline linked her arm through Megan’s and tugged her close. Was she holding her up?
“You both seem like maybe you know something about that.”
“We’re…” Caroline hesitated, giving her sister a side-eye. “Our families are friends. Have been for a long time.”
“Our brother’s been searching for you.” Megan’s chin wobbled. “He found a piece of your shirt once. Navy blue. That’s one of the colors you loved to wear.”
Wow. Okay. He glanced down at the blue Henley he’d pulled from a donation bin in Anchorage a while back.
Hadn’t thought twice about why the shirt caught his eye.
Mainly, he’d wanted something long-sleeved and not stained or torn.
But this detail about his favorite color hit different, as the kids liked to say.
He should probably be flattered that two attractive women were speaking to him.
Had offered new information about his past. But honestly…
mild panic twisted his insides. What if coming here meant finding out he wasn’t the man he hoped he’d once been?
State Troopers had tracked him down and asked him dozens of questions about some missing artwork on his crashed plane.
A private investigator named Peter had already arranged to meet him here.
He wished he had what they were looking for, but he didn’t remember crashing.
Didn’t even remember taking off. And he certainly didn’t remember anything about art.
“Um…where have you been?” Megan asked, scrubbing at the tears trailing down her cheeks. “I saw you once. At a gas station in Glennallen. But I thought I was mistaken.”
So she’d seen him when he hadn’t even known himself yet.
Great. He hesitated, letting his gaze wander to the nail-bitten fingers that tucked wayward strands of her long platinum-blonde hair behind her ear.
There was that dagger behind his eye—a now-familiar stabbing pain that accompanied a hint of a memory.
Her, in some other place, some other time, laughing.
His hand on the small of her back. The flash vanished as quickly as it came.
Vapors lingered, though. Not the same as the heat of attraction, although he wasn’t blind.
She was quite attractive. This was a deeper connection—and one of the most frustrating parts about recovering from a traumatic brain injury that almost none of the books or movies showcased.
Maybe it was muscle memory. Or some deeply stubborn part of him that still recalled the ways their lives were intertwined… even if he’d lost the narrative.
But he couldn’t keep staring at her.
Trevor cleared his throat. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. You’re the fourth, actually. I noticed a pattern.”
“So you’ve just been living in Glennallen?” Megan sniffed. “Doing what?”
“I was in Glennallen for a little while, but then I went out to northwestern Alaska. Worked in some mines, then in the oil industry. Moved luggage around in Deadhorse. Pretty much anything I could do to get work.” He shrugged. “Just waiting for my memory to come back.”
He shook his head, looked down, and scuffed the toe of his boot against a pebble on the sidewalk.
“Is it working?”