"Robert, are you planning on taking over my company?" I finally asked after a long, silent drive back to his apartment. During the ride, he tried to engage me a few times in simple conversation, asking me what I had talked about with his dad, nephew, and Victoria. He was especially interested in what Victoria might have said. I could tell my silence bothered him, and I didn't care. I just wanted the night to be over. Yet, when we arrived at the house, while I was taking off my shoes, I couldn't hold my question in anymore.

"What? What makes you think that?" Robert straightened, his shoe still hanging in his hand, and turned to me. Noticing he still had the shoe, he laid it and its mate in the cubby near the door and then focused on me again.

I walked into the living room and then to the window, staring over the sparkling city, thinking about how different the view had looked last night.

"Why did you go to LA? Was it to make a deal with my parents' clients? Is my mom helping you take over the company? Is Beth? Are you all cutting me out?"

"No, it's nothing like that. They twisted it. Everything I'm doing is for you, Nicole. You have to believe me." Robert wrapped his arms around my back and buried his head in my hair.

"I don't have to believe anything," I retorted, stepping out of his embrace and facing him. "I barely know you; you barely know me. We've slept together once, but that doesn't mean we know each other; that doesn't mean you care about me. Is this what happened between you and Victoria? Did she outlive her usefulness, too?" Numbness spread throughout my body. Every time I cared, I got hurt. Would Robert kill me, too, or just make me redundant in my own life?

"What are you talking about, Nicole? Victoria and I were never anything. Our parents wanted us to get married, and she agreed, but I never did. We were never engaged. It's always been you, Nicole. Even back then." Robert squeezed my shoulders, his eyes searching for something in my face.

Anger at his lies bubbled up in my chest, and I spewed venom at him, "You didn't even know me back then. How could it be me?"

"You really don't remember," Robert responded balefully. His arms dropped, and he shifted his face away from my view as the sadness mixed with anger in his eyes.

"Remember?" Confusion and pain pierced my numbness. I had hurt Robert, but not just because of that night. There was something more, something else he hadn't told me. "Remember what?"

"Remember me. Remember our day." Frustration and compressed anger filled his tone, and Robert's hands clenched. He took a deep breath and faced me again. "I fell in love with you that day, and you don't remember it."

"Our day?" I realized what must have happened, and I bit my lip with worry.

Before college, Lisa, my high school friends, and I went on a yacht trip through the bay. Something happened, and I fell off the side of the boat. The next thing I remembered, I was in the hospital. The doctor told me it was easier to lose recent memories than distant memories. But with therapy and time, I remembered most of what I had lost, all but the last few weeks before the accident and right after. Had I met Robert during that time?

"Your father told me about the accident, about your memory, but I didn't want to believe it. I made many excuses for your behavior, but last night..." Robert touched my cheek, and I didn't pull away. My mind was still spinning, and trying to remember, I felt a headache forming in the back of my head, the same one I always had when I tried to remember.

"My memory for the few weeks before the accident is spotty, and something happened to my brain. My therapist thinks it's a mixture of concussion and PTSD, but that's why I can't swim anymore." After that, my art took on a different tone, always hinting at mystery and sadness. My instructor even remarked that my artwork had matured. The thought of my instructor triggered a feeling of something else that was lurking at the edge of my memory.

"What do you remember?" Robert asked, his hand dropping from my face, leaving it feeling cold.

"Just impressions, sadness, happiness, yearning. It has always felt like something was missing." Tim had helped me fill a void in my previous life, but not completely. The pain of recollection was too much, so I allowed myself to forget. "Did we meet then? Before my accident?"

"Yes." Robert's shoulder sank. "It's late. Do you want to do this tomorrow?"

"Do what?"

"Try to remember?" Robert stepped back, giving me space to think about everything he had said and answer his question.

I took a moment to sort through my conflicting feelings before responding. "Yes, we can do this tomorrow."

We walked towards my room, and upon reaching the doorway, Robert paused while I walked through. His desire was evident, but his ever-present sense of propriety prevented him from pursuing it. I was torn between wanting him to stay with me and wanting to be alone. "Goodnight, Robert."

"Goodnight, Nicole," Robert answered without hesitation. He stepped away from the doorframe and let me close it. A few minutes later, his steps receded down the hallway back to his room.

I noticed a stark contrast as I looked over at the two canvases I had started painting recently. The skyline painting had a cheerful and innocent feel, while the other felt darker and incomplete. The dark lines on the canvas formed the outline of a silhouette, but I hadn't decided whose face would fill the frame. Feeling restless, I sighed, changed into painting clothes, and sat in front of the easel again.

***

I must have gone to bed at some point without closing the blinds because the morning light woke me up again. I didn't remember moving from the nook to my bed, but I still wore my painting clothes, so I was likely half-asleep when I made the transition.

I could smell the enticing odors of coffee and cooking coming from the outer room, so I decided to face the day instead of hiding in my room. After cleaning my brushes and palette, I showered and changed.

When I entered the living space, Robert stood by the stove cooking something delicious smelling. I must have made a noise because he turned and smiled at me.

"Sit, I'm almost done. There's a cup of coffee on the table that's still hot for you," Robert instructed me as he lifted the pan off the stove and slid an omelet onto an awaiting plate.

I followed his command and enjoyed the coffee while he brought me my breakfast. He sat across from me, and we ate in silence. It was delicious. Daisy must have taught him a thing or two, or maybe it had been Tiffany. I thought back to the desserts I had tasted the night before. They had been well-made. I wanted to ask about Tiffany and her relationship with Robert. Was she more like a mother to him? She was old enough to have a son only a few years younger than Robert, and his mother had died when he was a child. But it didn't feel like the right time.

After we finished eating, Robert brought our dishes to the sink. After rinsing them and placing them in the dishwasher, he returned to me and helped me stand. I accepted his help.

"Do you remember I wanted to show you something yesterday?" Robert asked, still holding my hand as he directed me toward the hallway where my room was. We passed my doorway and stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway, which I had always assumed was a closet.

"Yes." I knew my palm had to be moist, but he didn't let go. "Does it have something to do with our first meeting?"

"Yes, I thought yesterday it would be a happy surprise, but now, I'm not so sure." Robert hesitated, then let go of my hand to fish something out of his pocket. He produced a key, unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped back to let me enter first.

I surveyed the room, a time capsule filled with paintings from my entire career. My gaze settled on the earliest one, the very piece that had propelled me into the art program at my university. It had been lost in the recesses of my memory. I had turned it in the day before we went on the boat. The face it depicted stared back at me, hauntingly familiar. Almost of its own accord, my hand traced the blue eyes staring back at me from the canvas, trying to recall the process of painting Robert Lamb.

"Why do you have these?"

"You don't recall our first encounter," Robert murmured, his hand covering mine on the painting and then drawing it closer to his heart. But I do."

My mind spun, struggling to remember the day I had created that painting. I remembered the assignment and the timing. It was a day right on the edge of my amnesia. Staring at the painting and then at Robert, the memories cascaded through my mind.

"You were the man in the park?" It was a stupid question; obviously, he was. The face in the painting was younger but still distinctly Robert.

"Yes," Robert smiled and pulled me closer. "I was the man in the park you hijacked for an entire day to serve as your muse."

I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. It had been one of the most magical days in my youth, yet I had forgotten it entirely.

***

Are you here to meet me?" I asked the only man at the entrance to the park who was handsome enough to be considered a model. My instructor, Lizel, hadn't described him, only that he came highly recommended.

"Maybe, who are you?" the handsome man responded, his soft brown brows raised with amusement over his icy blue eyes. He placed a phone in his perfectly fitting jeans pocket and gave me his full attention.

"Nicole Mason, I'm here to paint you," I answered, confident I had chosen correctly. "Lizel told me you would be perfect, and you are. I don't have any portraits; I mostly do landscapes and objects, but I can paint faces if they are interesting." My hand shot out to touch his cheek. At eighteen, I had no sense of how inappropriate it was to touch a strange man in a park. I assumed he was the model Lizel sent to me and that he would be used to working with artists. His slight stiffening at my touch surprised me, as did the loss of his amused grin. Maybe top-notch models didn't get touched, and he certainly was in a tier above the ones Lizel hired for our class. "Um, sorry, it helps me paint when I touch. Will that be okay?"

The man stood silent, and I retracted my fingers quickly. His hand shot out to stop mine, then dropped it as soon as they touched. I didn't think you could get a static shock standing on concrete, but it felt that way when we connected.

"Yes, it is fine. Are you going to paint me here?" He nodded at the small camera bag I was holding.

"No, I wanted to take pictures of you in the park to get some natural lighting, but we will do the sketches in the school's studio. Lizel said she would deposit the fee directly into your account, but I can give you money if we go over four hours."

"Four hours?" he glanced at his watch. "Let me make a call, then I'm all yours."

"Sure." I assumed he had set up a second sitting and would have to rearrange it. While I waited, I pulled my camera from the bag and started messing with the settings. The sun was just getting high enough to supply highlights without too many shadows. I wanted to catch my window. A face could look so different under the sun than under studio lamps. I snapped a picture of him as he spoke sharply on the phone. I wasn't sure who his next client was, but they must have been close for him to talk like that to them.

We spent well over four hours together, and my young heart wished the day would last forever. After photographing in the park, I brought Robert back to the studio. If I had known he wasn't a professional model, I would have been more cautious about bringing a stranger into an empty art room. My phone had died, so I didn't receive Lizel's call canceling the modeling appointment. I only realized my mistake after I received her message later that night, but by then, it was too late.

Robert, who was at least five years older than me, was a perfect gentleman all day, much to my teenage chagrin. We laughed and talked, but I couldn't recall the exact details of our conversation. All I could remember was the feeling of being kindred spirits. I shared with him about my family, college plans, dream of becoming a famous painter, and the reality of being a Mason. He didn't reveal much about himself, as he had to remain still while I painted, but his warm smile and attentive eyes kept me talking throughout the day.

We reluctantly said our goodbyes after I had enough sketches to let him go. The only slight breach of protocol Robert made the entire day was giving me a goodbye hug. My stomach stayed in knots all night after that brief physical contact.

Even though Robert had written down his number for me, I hadn't been careful since I thought I could contact him through the agency. Somehow, I lost it, so I couldn't call, apologize, or reconnect when I realized my mistake.

***

Robert, I'm so sorry," I cried, tears streaming down my face. "How could I have forgotten you?"

My distrust and fear of Robert's intentions evaporated as I walked from painting to painting, realizing that Robert had been the buyer Marcus sold my paintings to most of the time. The collection wasn't complete, so some probably had been purchased by other collectors, but enough were there to represent each phase of my career. "You've been following me the entire time?"

"You were so young then, I felt ashamed of my feelings and buried them as deep as I could until my father brought me to Marcus' Gallery, and I saw your name on one of the paintings. I realized then that I couldn't forget you, so I told Marcus to call me whenever a new painting came in."

"How did you get my submission to the university?" I pointed to his face again.

"My father is a donor, and he used his sway to remove my face from the university art gallery walls," Robert answered sheepishly. "I told him about you then, about the day and my feelings. It was one of the first times my father talked to me about my mother, how they had met, and his feelings for her. He understood exactly how I felt and let me turn down Victoria's marriage proposal despite the potential business losses."

"But you never came for me," I protested, thinking of the years between our meetings.

"You never called either," Robert replied, wrapping his arms around my back. "And I wanted to give you time to become whoever you wanted. But when I heard you were in my hotel that day, I sped over from the airport to see you instead of waiting for my father."

A chill ran down my spine at his words. Robert had been at the hotel because of me, in both lives. He may have saved me in both, but in one of them, he had lost his on his way back to the airport. Robert Lamb had died because of me.

I turned around in Robert's arms and grabbed his face with both hands. As I stared deep into his eyes, my heart exploded with shame, love, happiness, and relief. I had missed Robert in my first life, forgotten him, and let myself be fooled by a cheap substitute, but I had been given a second chance.

"Robert, I'm an idiot," I admitted, tears streaming down my face. He leaned in to kiss me before I could say anything else.

"Nicole, I have loved you since that day, though it took me years to understand my feelings. It wasn't until we met again, and you agreed to be my fake girlfriend, that I realized I wanted more."

"You have me now," I teased, burying my hands in his wavy black hair.

"It's not enough," he growled, lifting me into his arms.

"What do you mean I'm not enough?" I huffed and pounded his chest with fake anger.

"I want all of you, Nicole," he explained, followed by a demanding kiss.

"Are you sure?" I whispered as lingering doubt threatened to dampen my excitement at his words.

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," Robert promised, whisking me off to bed. He spent the rest of the day proving the truth of his words, and I relished it.

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