Page 139 of You First
Gray took it without hesitation. He peeled back the foil and saw with relief that the pressed sandwich, with its grill marks etched into the golden sourdough crust, was already cut in two. He lifted one half and handed it to her.
“No, thank you,” she said, shaking her head.
His hands were full, so he couldn’t pick up his phone. Instead, he pressed the sandwich closer to her and raised an eyebrow.
At this she laughed, a magical sound that brushed down his neck and made every hair on his body stand at attention. “You always do that,” she said, reaching forward and taking his offering. “You always make me eat with you.”
An inexplicable happiness welled up in his middle, and he smiled with it before taking a bite. Provolone cheese, ham, and tomato — all melted together and somehow still warm — conquered his manners, and he moaned in surprise and gratitude. How could a simple sandwich taste so good? The bread must have been brushed with olive oil and… What was that? Rosemary? And Gray thought he detected the faintest hint of brown mustard mingled with the cheese.
Smiling at his response, Meredith took her own bite, and a stretchy piece of cheese chased after her until she broke it, giggling. She reached into her green bag, produced a handful of napkins, and handed him one first.
“Brooke’s mom has a panini press. When I’m at her house, this is all I eat if Mrs. Cormier isn’t cooking.”
Gray wiped the fingers of his right hand before he could respond to her.
Gray:It’s delicious. I wish I could say that aloud. My speech is embarrassing.
She read the text, and her eyes softened. Meredith shook her head gently. “You don’t ever need to feel embarrassed in front of me.” The declaration seemed to surprise them both. Meredith put down her half of the sandwich and grabbed the plastic water pitcher off his tray. “Would you like some water?”
Before he could answer, she was already filling two of the little disposable cups by his bedside. When he took the cup from her, their fingers brushed, and an electric charge snaked up his veins.
Their eyes met, and Gray was almost certain she’d felt it too. He finished the final bite of his panini and drained the cup of water. He tried out his voice.
“Tho… glo… kood.” His face burned, but Meredith didn’t laugh or eye him with pity.
“So good?” she asked, looking pleased.
He nodded. “Eth.”
“Yes,” she echoed, her voice just a whisper. “It’s really good to hear your voice.”
And though she smiled, Gray saw that her eyes were shining. She stood beside him, her sandwich forgotten, and he noticed then the way her fingers shook as she touched the lowered guardrail at his bedside.
Gray scooted over and patted the space beside him. He watched her swallow hard, and she shook her head. “I shouldn’t.”
“P-pa,” he tried. He wanted her near him. In truth, he wanted her to lie beside him. Every second with her removed any trace of doubt. His memory was the only part of him that didn’t know Meredith. Everything else in his being screamed for her. Gray had never known anything like this sensation of boundless need.
“Please?” she asked, frowning slightly as she tried to understand him.
“Eth.” When he saw on her face that she considered giving in, he put out his hand.
Meredith took it and sat facing him. Her hip pressed into his, and a tightness he’d carried from the moment he awoke from surgery simply released. He let himself sigh as he squeezed her hand in relief.
Like he had the day before, Gray spread open her hand and traced each contour with his thumb and fingers. This time, he knew its delicate shape and silken texture, so he wasn’t running his fingers over her palm to learn her. He touched her so she would know something of the desire and desperation that coursed inside him.
The woman beside him was in love with him. He was certain of it. And he didn’t need memory to tell him he was in love with her. Whoever she was, he loved her. It didn’t take faith. Faith was something a man felt when he wasn’t certain. Gray Blakewood was certain he loved Meredith Ryan.
Wordlessly, he locked eyes with her and leaned forward, tugging on her hand so that she met him halfway, and, before she could pull back, before he could wonder if she thought he looked part mummy, Gray kissed her.
He knew it wasn’t their first kiss, but whenever that was, it couldn’t have felt better than this. Her lips were soft and yielding under his,and he held himself still for an instant, learning her heat, her delicious scent. When he cupped the back of her neck with his hand, Meredith tilted her head just a little and opened for him.
And with that, Gray was gone.
The kiss overtook him, and he overtook her. Because here, in this space, with their two bodies pressed together and their mouths locked, there was no need for words, no room for memory. Gray could tell her everything he wanted her to know with fingers, lips, and tongue. That little muscle that had failed him in speech seemed to have no trouble at all making itself understood against Meredith’s sweet and welcoming one.
His fingers spread into the sweep of her hair, and he felt the crush of her breasts against his chest, igniting him. The kiss was a homecoming, and Gray knew by the way her hands fisted into the synthetic fabric of his hospital gown it wasn’t just his homecoming. In the passion of her kiss, untamed and immediate, he felt, too, her unexpected relief.
Gray squeezed her tight and ran his palms along her back, certain that they had passed some kind of test. Whatever hardships his medical conditions had placed in their way — memory loss, speech impediment, and God knew what else — they would overcome them. Together.
