Page 117 of Wrecked

He handed me the papers, and my eyes shot up when I saw the front elevation.

It was a ranch home with a pitched roof and front porch. The house was broken up into three buildings connected by hallways of floor-to-ceiling windows.

I ran my fingers over the drawing and traced the triangle steeple above the front door.

He leaned into me and took the paper from my hand, revealing the next sheet behind it. It was a layout of the inside of the house.

He placed a hand behind me and cocooned into me as he explained the drawings, “This”—he pointed to the paper—“is the foyer that opens up into the great room. It has a pitched ceiling lined with wood beams. There’s the living room with French doors looking out to the yard. This is the dining room, and that is the kitchen, equipped with an island for entertaining.”

I followed his finger around the room. It was exactly as I had just described to him.

He moved over to one of the glass hallways. “This is the master bedroom with a large closet for me and a bigger one for my wife and also a master bathroom. There are two bedrooms—one for the boy and one for the girl.”

He looked at me, and I tried not to lose myself too much in the way his lips curved with his smile.

He continued to the other glass hallway. “This is the media room. One television in a house isn’t enough,” he explained.

I laughed. If anyone knew that, it was me.

“This is the guest bedroom with a full bathroom, and this room here…I haven’t really decided.”

Adam looked up. I did, too. His dark gaze searched mine. Goose bumps traveled down my thighs.

“We have the same dream house,” I whispered.

“We do.” His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “Then, maybe you can tell me what I should do with this room.”

I looked back down at the square room on the far right side of the home. It could be a music room or a playroom. It could be a library for quiet reading or a craft room.

“That’s your office. Your wife won’t want you spending too much time at work. She’ll want you home as much as possible. Dinner will be at five, so you’ll have plenty of time to play with the kids before bed. When the kids are asleep, you can go into your office and get some work done. She’ll bring you a drink and maybe a snack. She’ll give you a kiss and wait in the media room for you to finish, so you can watch some of your favorite Matthew McConaughey movies together.”

He gasped at the last sentence.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. Then, I added, “Because he’s everybody’s favorite actor. If your future wife doesn’t love McConaughey films, then I’m not coming over for our Tuesday poker nights.”

“We play poker?” he asked with a wicked smile.

“Yes. The four of us get together every Tuesday. It’s our thing.”

He continued to look at me, the smile gone from his face. In its place was a pensive stare, one that was trying to see into the future. He looked back down at his dream house and then back to me. I just sat there, tucking my hands under my knees, and looked back at him.

His lips parted, and I once again fell into the sound.

“I promise, I will marry a girl who loves Matthew McConaughey.”

“She’s opening her eyes,” a girl’s voice says.

“She’s not in a coma. We knew she’d wake up eventually.” There’s another female in the room.

I know their voices. They’re the two girls I call my friends.

I slowly open my eyes, blink a few times, and look around the room. I furrow my brows and look at the walls, as if the room is new to me; then the television, like I’d never seen such a contraption before; and finally, at the girls, as if they are complete strangers.

I blink again, seeming dazed and confused. “Are you my nurses?”

Jessica’s eyes bulge out of her head, and her hand flies to her mouth. “She has amnesia.”

Suzanne squints her eyes at me. “Do you know your name?”