Chapter 16 Charlotte #2
"No." His grip on my hand tightened. "I need you to hear this. You are not defective. You are not broken. You’ll always be enough, especially for me.” His voice was fierce, almost angry.
"That man's failure wasn't a reflection of you.
It was a failure of his own courage. He couldn't handle real life, much less the messy, hard, beautiful thing that is love. "
I stared at him, this man who didn't remember falling in love with me, who was defending me anyway with the ferocity of someone who'd loved me for years.
"Your turn," I whispered. "Tell me about the fifteen years."
He was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then: "Do you know what a ghost feels like?"
"No."
"Neither did I. Until I became one." He picked up a fallen leaf and twirled it between his fingers.
"I did everything right, Charlotte. Law school.
Partnership. The condo with the view. The wife who looked good at firm events.
" His mouth twisted. "I checked every box my parents ever drew for me. And I felt absolutely nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Like watching my own life through a dirty window." He let the leaf fall. "After you, after I walked away, I never let anyone else in. Not really. There were people. Dates that felt like interviews. A relationship that ended about thirty seconds after I got the diagnosis."
"She left because of Parkinson's?"
"She said she didn't sign up for it." His voice was flat, but I could hear the old wound beneath. "And she was right. She signed up for a successful lawyer, not a man whose body was going to betray him."
"She was an idiot."
A surprised laugh escaped him. "I appreciate the loyalty."
"It's not loyalty. It's a fact." I shifted closer on the blanket, close enough that our knees touched. "Anyone who would leave you because of something you can't control doesn't deserve you."
"Is that so?"
"That is absolutely so."
His eyes were warm, searching my face with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "Charlotte, I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"Hearing about your marriage—" He shook his head.
"It makes me want to rewrite history. If I had married you back then.
If I had been brave enough to choose us instead of my father's blueprint.
" His voice dropped. "I would have been with you forever.
Through the hard times. The beautiful times.
All of it. I would never have made you feel like you were anything less than the miraculous, beautiful person you are. "
I couldn't breathe; if I did, I would’ve cried.
"Even with this—" He tapped his temple with his casted arm. "Even with the blank spaces. I know this, Charlotte. You are my lifeline. You have always been my lifeline, even when I was too scared and stupid to choose you."
"Miles—"
"I don't remember falling in love with you again." His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "But I remember being in love with you. Fifteen years ago. Every day since." His eyes held mine. "I hope that's enough to start with."
"It's more than enough," I whispered.
The air between us changed. I was suddenly aware of everything—the warmth of his hand on my face, the depth in his hazel eyes, the way his gaze dropped to my lips and stayed there.
He leaned in slowly. Giving me time. Giving me every chance to pull away.
I didn't pull away.
His lips met mine, soft, questioning, impossibly tender. He tasted like apples and cider and something else, familiar and new all at once. I melted into it, into him, my hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my palm.
The kiss deepened. His good arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and I went willingly, carefully, mindful of his injuries but desperate to be near him.
This wasn't the frantic, flour-dusted kiss from the kitchen he couldn't remember. This was something else entirely, a beginning built on the ruins of a past only one of us recalled.
When we finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, both of us breathing hard, the world felt remade.
"That was—" he started.
"Yeah."
"I want to do that again."
"Please."
He kissed me again, softer this time, lingering. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright.
"Charlotte?"
"Hmm?"
"I want to remember everything." His voice was rough, wondering. "Not because the doctors say I should. Because I want to know every moment that led to this. Every time I made you laugh or made you cry or made you look at me the way you're looking at me right now."
My heart was so full it hurt.
"Then come inside," I said. "I have something to show you."
"What kind of something?"
I stood, brushing grass from my jeans, and held out my hand. He took it, letting me help him to his feet.
"Something I've been saving," I said. "Something I hoped might help."
I led him inside, through the kitchen where we'd made a mess of pasta and each other, down the hall to the room that had been his father's study.
On the desk sat a box I'd put together over the past few days, photographs, ticket stubs, the menu from the diner, and a dried rose from the first bouquet he'd left on my doorstep.
"What is this?"
"Our story." I opened the box and spread the contents across the desk. "Every piece of it I could find. Every moment I could document."
He stared at the collection, the tangible proof of three months neither of us wanted to lose.
"You kept all this?"
"I keep everything." I picked up a photograph, the two of us at the diner, taken by Beth, both of us laughing at something I couldn't remember. "This is who we were. Who we are. And I thought maybe, if you saw it…"
I didn't finish the sentence. Because Miles had gone very still, his eyes fixed on something in the box.
A single photograph. Us on the bleachers at the reunion, captured without our knowledge, his hand reaching for mine in the dim gymnasium light.
"Charlotte." His voice was sweet, filled with warmth.
"What is it?"
He picked up the photograph with trembling fingers. Stared at it like he found a treasure.
“You looked so beautiful in that green dress.”
My heart stopped. But I forced it to start again so I could speak.
"You remember?"
"I wish I did, but I’m glad we met that day." His eyes lifted to meet mine, and they were teary, filled with emotion. "I’m sorry, Charlotte, I wish I could remember. I really want to.”
I couldn’t stand seeing him like that, and walked up to kiss him. Our lips met slowly. I didn’t part away from him until he calmed down.
“I’m glad too, I still am. Always will be.” I said those words with an aching heart, but I really meant them.
I would forever thank meeting him again, even if he never remembered it.