The two-story brick house appeared significantly smaller and more compact from the outside, nestled among the sprawling old oak trees. However, as Millie and Blake stepped inside, the interior exuded an ageless charm, well-preserved rather than outdated, which might be somewhat intimidating for the house's infrequent visitors.

"You'll see, this kitchen is incredibly well-organized," Millie remarked beside Blake as they entered. "I'm a big fan of cooking shows, and I'm probably the best in the house at whipping up...what's it called, Mom?"

"Creative cuisine!" Carla's voice reached them from the doorway, where she continued to sift through the mail after welcoming them into the house. She had not voiced any objections when her sister Alana initially suggested that Blake stay with them temporarily, as their home had provided shelter for many others in the past.

"Yes, experimental cuisine," Millie confirmed. "What's your favorite food?"

This had always been Millie's favorite question for any new friends she made. But this time, there was a different air of anticipation, for she expected something exotic from the rather unusual man standing somewhat awkwardly in the center of the kitchen. One hand clung to his small suitcase, while the other still held onto his hospital paperwork.

"I wish I could remember," he replied, his gaze distant. "No matter how hard I try, all I recall is the hospital. It's where my memories seem to begin, on that hospital bed. The food there was surprisingly good. I have a ...fondness for tuna fish melts, I discovered in the hospital."

Millie couldn't resist interjecting, "You haven't tried my cooking yet."

Carla's smile, which had been concealed behind the letter she was holding, now shone through. "Only if you have a taste for the pungent cheese this kid here adores!"

"The room you'll be staying in is this way," the woman said, pointing to the first door adjacent to the kitchen.

"It used to be my room," Millie chimed in, eager to contribute to the conversation. "I gave it to Aunt Alana when she started spending so much time with us. Sam slept in the same room with Aunt..."

Her mother cut her off abruptly, leaving Blake to wonder about Sam and the complex relationships among these people, who all seemed oddly familiar, even though he had no memory of them.

"You'll find all the basic necessities here. Feel free to explore the house and make use of the kitchen as you see fit. Millie here will be of great help if you have any questions," Carla's tone had a commanding quality, making Blake briefly wonder if she had a military background. "I'll be away for two days, but Alana will be here to... watch both of you."

"Law enforcement," Millie whispered, completing her mother's sentence. Blake nodded, satisfied with his guess about her profession.

Carla opened a small cabinet and retrieved a box that resembled the one Blake had received from the hospital as part of his discharge equipment. He was required to wear the device over his temples each night to aid in his brain recovery. Seeing the device in Carla's hands, about to be packed in a travel bag, he briefly wondered about her medical condition. However, he deemed it too personal to inquire and dismissed the thought to the back of his mind.

In his room, for the first time, he found himself alone, and the sensation of freedom was invigorating. No more people observing him, no more monitors keeping him under constant surveillance. Blake hadn't realized how much it had bothered him until he was left to his own devices. After organizing his meager collection of clothing, he decided to explore the kitchen.

It was a sight to behold as a man adeptly managed the kitchen. Dishes and pots moved in and out, condiments and cleaning products were efficiently utilized and returned to their proper places. An hour later, a sumptuous Mexican taco meal rested on the table, and the kitchen was spotless. The delightful aroma of the tacos wafted through the air, drawing Millie out of her room in curiosity to discover the source of the enticing scent.

"No way, Blake," the girl exclaimed from the kitchen entrance. "Sam used to make tacos all the time, and they smelled this good! I never ate tacos after he..."

Her words trailed off, and her initial enthusiasm waned. For a moment, her gaze seemed vacant, and then she appeared to shake her head. Suddenly, with a broad smile, she gestured toward the plates.

"Can I try it now?"

Her hands were already in motion, reaching for the ingredients. She searched for something without actually seeing it. To her surprise, Blake strode purposefully to one of the cabinets and returned to the table with a small bottle of spicy sauce.

"How did you know...?" Her question hung in the air while Blake remained unfazed.

"Just old tacos..."

"Old tacos..." she repeated, and again, that brief blank stare followed by a quick smile. "Old habits, indeed..." This time, her momentary detachment did not go unnoticed by Blake, who furrowed his brow.

"Are you feeling alright?" he ventured to ask the girl after she had polished off the third taco, still marveling at the fantastic taste and contemplating how to make them even better next time.

To his surprise, Millie didn't rush to answer his question. Instead, she bowed her head over her plate, taking another sniff of the taco meat, and finally, she met his eyes with the most innocent look she could muster.

"It's been quite a busy few days around our home lately, with all the preparations for your arrival... I think I just need to recharge."

To his astonishment, Millie reached for a device similar to the one her mother and he had and, after giving him a wave, she headed happily to her room. At the doorway, she paused and turned to flash him her warmest smile.

"Do you remember your favorite food?"

The man looked up, surprised by the repeated question, and without any hesitation, he pointed to his plate.

"The old tacos."