I decide I like this room better, because they made it for me.

They really do want me to feel loved.

Sometimes, I feel bad for Ember.

She lost a lot.

Chapter Twenty

With every hour that passes, Ember is waning with physical and mental exhaustion from being in a new place.

Her first day home has been eye-opening. Living with her is much different than visiting her at the hospital. Now I see much more of the personality shifts, mood swings, and the various physical struggles she’s fighting to overcome. It’s all front and center, and it’s making my love and respect for her even stronger.

I’m not sure I could endure what she’s had to.

Sarah is a motherly woman in her early sixties. A widow. She’s tall with wavy brown hair scattered with grays, and big, rimmed glasses that make her look like an owl. She has a calm, caring, and confident attitude that seems to be exactly what Ember needs.

I hired her not only because of her medical background, but her knowledge and willingness to help in all other areas of Ember’s new life that extend beyond physical therapy. Ember needs someone special, who she feels comfortable with, who only knows her now. Not before. Someone who isn’t waiting for her to remember them.

Sarah’s son suffered a head injury and memory loss years ago, so her personal experience is an invaluable bonus.

Ember and Sarah cook pasta for dinner together, chatting like old friends, and then Sarah takes Ember upstairs to help her unpack and get settled in her room while I clean the kitchen and call Kenzi to give her an update. We decide we should wait a few days before anyone visits, so Ember doesn’t feel overwhelmed with too much at once.

“Mr. Valentine?”

I peer at Sarah from behind the open refrigerator door, which I’ve been staring into for the past two minutes even though I’m not hungry.

What I want is upstairs, not in the refrigerator.

“How’s she doing?” I ask.

“Tired, but I think she’s doing well. We put her clothes in the closet and put all her new toiletries away. Then we did some light stretching. Tomorrow we’ll get started in the gym. She really wants to work on her leg strength. She set a goal for herself to be able to go up and down the stairs without difficulty.”

I close the fridge door. “Is she happy? Do you think she likes it here?”

“She wants to. I imagine she feels like I do right now—a guest in someone else’s house.”

“I want you both to be comfortable here.”

She smiles. “You’ve made me feel very welcome. Soon Ember will feel at home. She needs time and lots of patience, which I know she’ll get. If you don’t need me for anything, I’ll retire to my room for the night.”

“I’m good. Thanks for everything you’re doing. Help yourself to anything you need. If we don’t have anything you need or want, let me know, and I’ll make sure we get it.”

After I set the house alarm, I head upstairs, my heart hammering faster with each step.

She’s home.

She’s home.

The words are on repeat in my brain.

I’ve prayed and begged and bartered with every god and devil to have Ember back home. Now I don’t know what to do with myself or how to act around her.

Should I check in on her?

Should I say goodnight?

Send her a text message from my room?

Call her on the intercom?

Does she want to see me?

At the end of the hall, her door is open a few inches, the glow from her television visible. I tap my knuckles lightly on the door.

“You can come in.”

She’s sitting up against a pile of pillows, dwarfed in the middle of the king-sized bed. I can’t help but smile at how cute she looks with her hair in a ponytail, wearing a pink T-shirt and gray sweat shorts. She looks comfy and at home.

“I like Sarah,” she says.

“Me too.” I gesture to the space next to her. “Can I sit with you?”

Nodding, she moves the television remote and her book over to the nightstand.

“Thank you for the flowers.” She smiles. “It made me happy to see them here.”

“You keep killin’ them, and I’ll keep buyin’ them,” I tease.

“Maybe I’ll do better with them here. I think there’s more sunlight in this room.”

“You saw all the flowers in the backyard you planted. There’s a green thumb in you somewhere.”

“Tomorrow can I go out in the yard and look around?”

“You don’t have to ask permission, babe. This is your home. Everything is yours.”

“Ours,” she mimics my usual correction and flashes me a teasing smile.

“Damn straight.”

I lean back against the headboard next to her and stretch my legs out. She turns to face me and slowly reaches across the bed to touch my hand.

She has no idea how her simple touch makes my entire body come to life—every cell aching for her. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her into next week.