He laughs. “Me either.” And then his lips brush my cheek through my face mask, his arms circle me in a hug, and it’s normal and natural even if it feels like the first time. “And I’ve sent you some pictures on the tablet I gave to you. It’s on your kitchen counter with a sticky note on the screen. You can’t miss it.”

“What pictures?”

“It’s from snow machining today p . . . p-lus a video from my phone. I did it during lunch, so it’s . . . nothing professional, but I think it’s a start.”

I touch my legs, feel the plush waterproof material of snow pants, the tight band of goggles strapped to my head. It’s what I would wear for snow machining. “That must have been fun,” I say, and hope that he can’t hear the sadness I feel at not being able to remember.

“It was. You laughed nearly the entire time. It’s a start.”

My eyebrows meet. “A start?”

He pulls me closer, and it’s not the cold that sends shivers across my back. “To get to know each other. I want to know you again, Claire.”

I’m thankful for the gaiter that hides my frown. “But how can I get to know you, Tate, if I can’t remember?”

Cracks run out from his eyes when he smiles. “If you can trust me, I’m hoping the p . . . p-ictures and videos will take some of the burden of remembering off you. Plus, I’m . . . pretty hard to forget.”

This fits with the Tate I remember—sweet, thoughtful, funny, and maybe just a tad cocky, but in the cute kind of way—and I can’t help but smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Monday, February 18

I’ve been waiting for Maree to knock on my door, and when she does, I’m struck by how badly I want to see her and know her—and I do, but only from my notes and the pictures I’ve been staring at for the past half hour. Without those, I’d walk right past her in the hallway, not a beat of recognition other than from the photos I hold in my hand.

But the girl outside my door doesn’t resemble the one from the photos, who makes goofy faces and smiles like she’s trying to split her face in two. It’s like someone blew out a light inside her.

“Hi, Maree,” I say.

“Hi,” she says and walks past me, shoulders slumped, not a smile or spark of enthusiasm about her.

“Is everything okay?”

When she looks up, her eyes are extra bright behind her glasses, the lids swollen and red. She presses her lips together and shakes her head.

I bend down until I’m nearly eye level with her. “You look like you need a hug. Can I give you one of those?”

She looks at the floor, nods.