Bryony laughed. “I think you’ll find that our island is pretty tolerant of being old-fashioned. It’s a bit of a throwback. While you can certainly avail yourself of all the modern conveniences such as internet, cable TV and the like, a large percentage of our population is quite happy in their technology-challenged world.”

Rafael shook his head. “I’m shuddering as you speak. How can anyone be happy living in the Dark Ages?”

“Oh, please. You enjoyed it well enough yourself once I finally weaned you off your BlackBerry and your laptop. You went a whole week without using either. A week!”

“Surely a record,” he muttered.

“Oh, look, traffic is moving!”

She put the MINI Cooper into gear as cars began to crawl forward. She checked her watch to see that they’d already lost an hour; it would be close to dark by the time they arrived on the island.

Still, the delay couldn’t dim her excitement. It was foolish of her to get her hopes up, but she wanted so badly to relive her time with Rafael on the island. Take him through all the steps they’d taken before.

She wanted him to remember. Because if he didn’t, things would never be the same for them. He’d resisted the idea of being with her. Her only hope was for him to remember and then…

Then just as she’d told him the night before, she’d forever have to live with the fact that at least some part of him recoiled at the idea of them being lovers.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She grimaced as she navigated her way down the interstate. “They aren’t worth that much.”

“Then don’t think them.”

To her surprise, he leaned over, curled his hand around her nape and massaged lightly, threading his fingers through her thick hair. It was tempting to close her eyes and lean her head all the way back but then they’d have a wreck and never get off this damn interstate.

“I’m nervous, Rafael,” she admitted.

She bit her lip, wondering if she shouldn’t just shut up, but she’d always had this habit of being completely honest. It wasn’t in her makeup to shy away from the bald truth, no matter how uncomfortable. She always figured if people talked more about their issues then there wouldn’t be so many issues.

Rafael—the old Rafael—hadn’t minded her speaking her mind. They’d enjoyed long conversations and she’d always told him what was occupying her thoughts.

But now, she had a newfound reservation against being so forthright. She hated feeling so unsure of herself.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked softly.

“You. Me. Us. What if this doesn’t work? I feel like this is my only chance and that if you don’t remember, I’ve lost you.”