Sebastian had twisted, trying to keep sight of her, but in an instant, the fog had stolen her from view.

The book and movie character Jason Bourne had been hit on the head, woken up with amnesia, realized he was extremely talented at killing people, and gone on a series of high-adrenaline adventures.

Sebastian had been hit on the head, experienced short-term amnesia, and been so out of it when he’d come to that it hadn’t occurred to him to ask for the woman’s name.

He’d gotten only one thing right on the morning of his accident. He’d correctly understood that he was not going to be fine without her.

Instead of high-adrenaline adventures, his world had been muted and dull since his concussion. It was like he’d been walking through time in a space suit that kept out joy.Which he didn’t understand, because he’d finally achieved the goal he’d been chasing for years. He’d become a pediatric heart surgeon, and his job was supposed to have righted the wrong that had happened to him when he was a kid. It was supposed to have brought him security, fulfillment, happiness.

To be fair, his job did bring him some of that. But not enough to free him from the space suit. Which made him mad.

Also, Jason Bourne sucked.

Sebastian jerked off his sunglasses and pushed them into the chest pocket of his lightweight gray-and-white-checked button-down. He wore the shirt untucked over jeans, the sleeves rolled up.

He saw all ages and shapes of people. But not her.

For weeks after his encounter with her, he’d racked his brain, trying to think how he could learn her identity. He’d never seen her car. She’d been wearing nothing distinctive that would have allowed him to track her down. She’d left no trace behind.

He’d contacted Misty River’s 9-1-1 dispatcher and the EMTs to ask who she was. Neither had been willing to share her name. Privacy, they’d said. He’d hunted the social media feeds of his Misty River friends for a photo that included her. No success. He’d looked through old high school yearbooks, trying to find her picture in one of Misty River High’s graduating classes. No success.

After a month of making himself crazy with frustration, he’d forced himself to quit searching. He’d told himself she could not be as appealing in real life as he’d made her in his imagination.

Unfortunately, his brain hadn’t listened. His body might have stopped the search, but he’d continued to brood over her for the past six months.

To his left, he registered movement at one of the stalls. He glanced toward it in time to see a blond head rise from behind buckets of flowers on risers. The woman extended a hand and poured change into a customer’s palm.