There was a new eagerness to him, as if he had a million questions, and he sat forward a little. ‘You sure?’

She nodded.

‘The feeling of doom worries me most, though I get that both you and George say no one died. George said I could be subconsciously repressing memories because I fear them. Maybe something to do with when I lost my wife.’ He glanced at her from under his brows, as if he was worried he would offend her. ‘Do you know of anything that I could be trying to forget?’

Ava didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think of an instance that would be so horrific to Zac that he would fear its memory. Then a horrible thought occurred. What if his subconscious had rebelled at the fact that he’d betrothed himself so soon after his wife had died and the guilt had caught up with him?

Her stomach sank and she tried to keep her voice level. ‘Not that I can think of, but then I can’t compare this experience to the one where Roslyn was injured. In our accident, I woke up and you were unconscious.’

He shook his head with frustration and looked around the room awkwardly. ‘If I remembered my time with you this would all be different. As it is, I feel like I shouldn’t be here.’

This is exactly where you should be, she wanted to shout. Instead, she stared into her teacup as if the future were there. She drank the bitterness of lost hope, put her cup down and said brightly, ‘Then we need to beef up the hospitality aspect if we can’t keep guests feeling welcome.’

He threw out a hand. ‘Oh, I feel welcome, just a fraud. And I think I’m hurting you by being here.’ He reached across and took her hand for the first time in days and her breath caught. ‘If I am, I’m sorry. In that case, I shouldn’t have come.’

He squeezed her palm, wrapping his strong, warm fingers around hers. She didn’t think he realised he was doing it, but she reeled as the memories rushed in of other times he’d held her hand, times she’d taken strength from the feeling of his hand on hers. The tears welled up and she closed her eyes tightly to hold them back. She would not beg him to remember that he’d said he loved her. But, oh, how she wanted to.

Ava pulled her hand free and stood up. She walked a few steps to face out the window overlooking the river, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. ‘Do you think you’ll ever get your memory back?’

The creak of the kitchen chair told her he’d followed and then his hand was warm on her shoulder, pressing softly, and he turned her to face him.