Forget Me Not

Chapter 7

Emma didn't know who was more amused – she or the tattoo artist – when Dylan told them he wanted her name imprinted on his wrist. She and the other lady had exchanged looks, trying to stifle their laughter as Dylan looked almost affronted by their reactions.

"I do love you," Emma had mused, when the tattoo artist had left the room to give them another moment to decide. "And I know that you feel the same way about me. But is it really necessary?"

"No, but I want to have that," he insisted. "I'll be in England for a couple of months and I need something to remember you by."

"You could have a lock of my hair," she teased, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

"A lock of your hair? Are we still living in medieval times?" He sounded so appalled she had burst out into another fit of laughter, leaning into him when he looped a lazy arm around her waist to pull her close. "Your name on my skin," he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough so that only she could hear, and no one else. "I never want to forget you."

Warmth rushed through her at his words, but she couldn't stop teasing him. "You're really creepy."

"Some would call me romantic."

But his frown faded when she reached over to smooth the lines away with her fingertips. And a smile spreading across his face when she leaned down to sponge kisses down the bridge of his nose. "A romantic creep, sure," she murmured, sealing her words as she finally pressed her lips to his.

Her name on his skin. Emma could've kicked herself now for forgetting that. She'd been so caught up with finding mementos that would remind him of her when the most important reminder had been with him all along.

Just hidden under the brace, that's all.

Much like the way his amnesia had hidden memories of her from him.

"I don't remember how I got this," Dylan said to her now, his voice quiet, eyes fixed on the words imprinted on his wrist. "Or when, or why. I just know that – you must've been someone very important for me to have wanted to get this."

"Yes," Emma said carefully, meeting his gaze squarely when his eyes darted up to look right at her. "Yes, I was."

"We got off to a bad start," he acceded, apology flickering across his face for a brief moment. "And I'm sorry I acted like a complete idiot. I just – I was so confused. I still am. But – I'm here now," he added, before swallowing roughly. "And I'm listening. So – if you'd just give me another chance. Not to tell me who I was, or how things were like between us," he continued slowly. "Just – tell me about yourself."

Emma stilled. The words that left his lips were so unexpected that she couldn't quite think of anything to say. But he seemed completely serious, no tricks up his sleeve, no hostility this time. "What would you like to know?" She asked at last.

"Everything," he didn't miss a beat this time, sounding far more confident than he had mere moments ago. "Tell me everything there is to know about you."

"Okay," taking a deep breath, she tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear before looking at him unsurely. "Well, my name's Emma Jones. I just graduated from college last year and I'm now working as teacher. The workload is insane, but it's refreshing. Keeps me on my toes," she added, flushing when she noticed how intently he was listening to her now. Like every word that left her lips was worth holding on to. "I'm a single-child, Mom's back in Oregon but we speak on the phone a lot. My favourite colour's blue and, um – " she trailed off and bit her lip. "Sorry, I'm not very good at introductions."

"No, it's fine," he hastily assured her. "So you're a teacher?"

"Yes, in elementary school." Her eyes immediately brightened at the thought of her job. "I teach first-grade."

His lips quirked up in a wry smile. "First-grade kids, huh?"

"They can get a little crazy and loud at times, yeah," she added, with a little laugh. She couldn't help but think that it was an odd conversation. Not bad at all, just – different. Like to know they were getting each other all over again, and Emma couldn't help but smile at the idea of that.

She watched as he shifted around in his wheelchair to get into a more comfortable position, but her eyebrows rose when he held out the cup of coffee to her.

"Peace-offering," he said, waiting patiently until she hesitantly reached out to take it.

Emma could've sworn her heart stuttered for a moment when she tasted the coffee. Her mind reeling in disbelief, she took another sip, and then another, before pulling away to look at him in confusion.

His forehead creased at the expression on her face. "What's wrong? Did you not like it?"

"This is exactly how I drink my coffee," she said quietly, eyes darting down to the coffee and then back to him again. "How did you know that?"

He looked equally as stunned as she was. "I – " he swallowed, shaking his head in clear confusion. "I don't know, I've been ordering this for the past couple of days."

"You've never taken your coffee like this before."

He took the cup that she handed back to him, wrapping his fingers around the warm cup. "I guess there are some things I just don't forget," he said at last, his lips curving up in a faint smile when he looked at her.

Emma didn't know what else to say. Her heart was racing and it felt like somehow, things were finally, finally beginning to fall into place.

But she didn't need to say anything. Because he had reached out before she could even blink, tucking that same lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear. His fingers were unexpectedly gentle, the warmth of his skin grazing hers when he touched her, and she went completely still.

After a second or two, he pulled back and, for once, he looked entirely unsure. "Emma," her name was barely audible as it left his lips, and she strained her ears to catch whatever it was that he had to say.

But then the patter of feet nearby made them both look away from each other, and then came a voice that completely destroyed the moment. "What're you two doing?"

Flo.