“It sounds pretty.”

“We have a really nice back deck and a pool too. We barbecue a lot.”

I close my eyes and try to envision those places, but the only thing I see are the flipped houses I’ve been watching on HGTV. The befores are always a bit of an outdated mess, but the afters are bright and beautiful. Asher’s house sounds like an after.

“Was it a fixer upper?”

Laughing, he shakes his head. “No, we bought it brand new.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that.” I cringe at the stupidity of my words.

“I think you’ll like it. You can change anything you want. I want you to love it when you come home.”

Unease creeps over me like a draft.

Tomorrow I’ll be transferred to the rehab and transitional living wing to start my intense “multilayered” therapy before I can leave the hospital and move back to the elusive place called home.

“So that’s where I’ll go after the therapy? To your house?”

“To our house.”

“I—I’m not sure…”

He kneels in front of my wheelchair, and I let him take my hand in his. Affection seems to be important to him, and I’m starting to like it. I stare at the designs tattooed across his fingers and the wedding band that, apparently, I slid onto his finger with the promise to love him forever when I was only eighteen years old.

How can I possibly move in with a man that a teenaged version of myself—whom I can’t even remember—decided would make a good husband?

“It’s your home, Ember.”

“With you.”

His dark eyes drill into mine. “Would that be so bad?”

I lift my shoulder slightly. “I’m not really sure. I don’t know you very well. People don’t just live together so fast.”

“That’s true, but this is different.”

“Is it, though?” It’s not for me.

“You’ll get to know me more before you come home. You might even have your memory back by then. The therapy could change everything.”

I wish I felt half of his endless faith and optimism. It’s nice, but on some days, he seems more out of touch with reality than I am.

“Asher…do you believe in things like Santa Claus?”

He frowns. “I used to.”

“Then what happened?”

“A kid in second grade told me he wasn’t real. He ruined it for me and twenty other little kids.”

“It’s possible Ember is a lot like Santa Claus. Just someone you used to believe was real. And now she’s not.”

He winces, and I feel like a horrible, dream-killing, heart-smashing monster. I have no idea why I said that. He lowers his gaze to our hands, runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and lets out a sigh.

“Don’t do that, Em.” His voice is husky. “Don’t make me believe in us by myself.” He lifts his head to look into my eyes, and my heart aches at the sadness I’ve caused him. “I’d still believe in Santa if someone hadn’t gone out of their way to make sure I didn’t.”

I’m mesmerized by the gold flecks in his eyes and the raw emotion laced in his voice. There’s something almost magical and untouched about Asher Valentine. He has this unique, honest pureness.

He makes me want to believe.

“I’m sorry I said that. Sometimes things come out of my mouth that I really don’t mean. I’m trying to believe I’ll get better,” I say softly.

“That’s all I’ll ever ask.”

He walks around the courtyard for a few minutes, letting me enjoy the breeze. When he returns, he surprises me by bowing down in front of me theatrically and handing me a tiny yellow flower.

“For you, beautiful.”

My mouth falls open as I take it from him, and I twirl it around between my shaky fingers. For some reason, this little flower makes me happier than the bouquets he brings me every day.

“Thank you.” My voice pitches into a squeak. “I’m so sorry about what I said—”

He waves it off. “It’s okay. I understand.”

I bring the small buttery flower to my nose and sniff its flowery scent.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

I look into his dark-brown eyes. “I think so.”

He laughs. “I guess that’s as good an answer as I can get. Will you let me pick you up?”

I’m taken aback. “Pick me up?”

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Swallowing nervously, I nod. “Okay.”

“Put your arms around my neck and hold onto me as tight as you want to.”

“You’re sure you won’t drop me?”

Something flashes in his eyes that I don’t recognize. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Em.”

Leaning over me, he slips a muscular arm under my legs, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He lifts me carefully, allowing my body to settle against his broad chest.

“You okay?” He smiles as he slowly swings me away from the chair.

I nod excitedly. “Yes.”

He carries me away from my wheelchair to a field behind the hospital building. The wind blows his hair into my face, but I don’t care. It’s soft and smells like him.