With a frown, he looked down at his boots. They were worth a few hundred, easy. Why not take the boots? He couldn’t have had much in his wallet. Not more than what the boots and jacket were worth combined. What had he been doing in a garden, anyway? It was a strange place to end up, not to mention get mugged. Maybe he should check his jacket. Joe had mentioned there was no ID or anything on him, but maybe he missed something.

  Tom found his jacket and sat down on the couch with it, carefully inspecting every pocket both outside and inside. He patted the sleeves and felt up the lining. He had no idea what he was looking for, but if he could just find something, he might have a lead. The motions seemed familiar to him.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, he went over his jacket inch by inch, checking every stitch, every inch of fabric. His heart sank when all he found were traces of dirt and pink flower petals inside his right pocket. Dammit. With a heavy sigh, he threw his jacket on the couch cushion beside him. For a moment, he thought he might have found something, no matter how minimal.

  Well, he wasn’t going to learn anything new moping around on the couch. He stood and walked to the kitchen when he heard the lovely melody of an old jazz song. He laid his head against the chipped wood of the door with a smile, letting the lyrics of some sweet love song wash over him. Just the thought of Joe made his insides go all warm again. Amazing. The man didn’t even have to be in the room and he managed to lift Tom’s spirit. Why?

  This thing he had going on with Joe, it was strange. He shouldn’t feel this way about someone he’d known for such a small amount of time. Joe had every right to be cautious. Slowly, he pushed the swinging door open and peeked inside, biting his lip to keep himself from chuckling at the sight of Joe bouncing along to the tapping cymbals and vivacious brass, a tray of muffins in his mitted hands and a blue-and-white-striped apron tied around his waist, the color making his eyes seem more blue than green. Slipping inside, Tom watched Joe for a bit before speaking. “Morning, sunshine.”

  “Jesus!” Muffins shot off the tray in a desperate attempt to escape, landing on the floor. Joe gazed down at the little scattered breads, lips pursed. “I dropped my muffins.”

  “Man, I’m so sorry.” Tom quickly got to cleaning up the mess. “I’ll help you bake some more.” He tried not to laugh at the truly leery expression on Joe’s face. As if Tom had suggested they secretly use his baked goods as a means to smuggle illegal contraband out of the country.

  After a quick shake of his head to snap himself out of it, Joe smacked Tom’s hand away. “Stop sneaking up on me like that, and maybe I’ll let you help. Hopefully, the extent of your culinary prowess is better than Donnie’s.”

  Having collected what was left of the rogue baked goods, Joe stood and Tom followed him over to the large wooden table in the center of the kitchen where Joe replaced his food gloves with new ones.

  “I take it the kid’s not the greatest cook,” Tom said. Not that he was any kind of expert himself. Or was he? Something told him he did okay, but wasn’t really any kind of chef. He loved food as much as the next guy, but the thought of sweating away over a hot stove didn’t appeal to him.

  “Have you ever seen bread spontaneously combust?” Joe asked casually. Tom shook his head. “Well, I have. I tell you, it’s heartbreaking. I’m still trying to figure out how he did it.”

  Tom laughed, leaning his elbows on the table only to get a light smack on the arm.

  “I prepare food on here. Go wash up to your elbows. And stop with the face.”

  Rubbing his arm as if it was sore, Tom’s brows rose inquisitively. “What face?”

  “That face.” Joe pushed the tip of his index finger against the end of Tom’s nose, his eyes narrowed. “The puppy face.”

  “I have a puppy face?” Somehow he was pretty sure puppy was not a term often associated with him. Tom tried not to let too much of his amusement show. Joe would probably whack him again. He cleared his throat and nodded very somberly. “I’ll uh, keep that in mind.”

  Deciding it was best to let Joe get on with whatever he was doing, Tom did as Joe asked and washed. When he was done, he pulled a stool over to the end of the table, content to just watch until he was given something specific to do. He noticed the multitude of ingredients scattered about. He would never have guessed it took all that to make a pie. There was flour, brown sugar, lemon juice, a collection of little bottles that appeared to be extracts, smaller containers with powders of which Tom could distinctly smell cinnamon—a scent he was coming to associate with Joe and loving more every minute. There were scores of different-sized ceramic bowls and wooden utensils. To one side of Joe was a piecrust he must have made while Tom was asleep, and in front of him a big bowl of red fruitiness.

  “What’s that?” Tom asked curiously.

  “This is the filling for my cherry pie.” Joe’s smile lit the room, and Tom smiled too. Though lately, he seemed to always find himself smiling. It felt… nice.

  “Is that your favorite?”

  Joe stared at him. “How’d you know that?”

  “You have a big, sappy grin on your face.”

  “As opposed to the big, sappy one on yours?” Joe snorted, mixing his cherry filling. “I offer three different pies a day. Today is Thursday, so it’s cherry, chocolate cream, and blackberry. Fridays is lemon, banana cream, and peanut butter. Saturdays it’s caramel with pecan, strawberry, and key lime. Sundays we’re closed. Mondays we have pecan, cranberry with apple, and blueberry. Tuesdays it’s apple, lemon meringue, and peach. Wednesdays we have apple and cinnamon, coconut cream, and pear. All the pies for today have already been made and are being eaten as we speak. This is for later. As soon as I’m done, we’ll go downstairs and have some breakfast.”

  “Wow.” It was all Tom could think of to say. The man was amazing. “How long have you been up?”

  “Since four-thirty. I slept in a little,” Joe replied, his cheeks going a little rosy.

  “Jesus, there’s a four-thirty?” Tom asked, only half joking. “Wait, that’s sleeping in for you?”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Yes, there is a four-thirty. If I woke up at nine every morning, I wouldn’t have any customers. It’s sleeping in for me Monday through Friday. Saturday we open up later. I’m usually up before five. Sundays I sleep in until seven or eight.”

  “I don’t always sleep in until nine,” Tom stated, feeling somewhat affronted. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that, but he was somehow sure. “Unless I’m out really late. I don’t really keep regular hours. Besides, it’s not as if my routine has been normal lately.”

  “Tom, not everyone likes mornings. It’s nothing to get defensive about,” Joe went on, adding a pinch of something to the bowl of cherry filling and looking as calm as could be. Meanwhile, Tom frowned.

  “I wouldn’t feel defensive even if I didn’t like mornings, but as it happens, I do like mornings, very much,” Tom huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You seem a little cranky this morning. Why don’t you go back to sleep for a while. Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

  “I’m not cranky! I don’t want to go back to sleep.” He pouted. Why was he pouting? Joe was right—he was being cranky. Dammit.

  Joe gave him a pointed look. “There’s that face again.”

  “What face!” After an exasperated sigh, Tom decided it best he take a deep breath and assess the situation. Somewhere, something went awry, and after backtracking a moment, he realized that something was him. “Okay, maybe I am a little cranky this morning. I’m sorry.” What the hell had gotten into him? He wasn’t normally prone to angry outbursts. Was he? No, he was sure he wasn’t. Aw, hell, he didn’t even know which way he was facing anymore, and that wasn’t good for either of them.

  “What’s wrong?” Joe cleaned his hands on a paper towel and turned to him, all patience and understanding, making Tom feel like a jerk.

  “It’s just so damn irritating,” he said. “Every time I feel I might be on the verge of remembering something, that cloud—that fuzzy image of colors, shapes, and sounds pulsing in my mind’s eye—just stops and stays there, floating and taunting me. Like a melody you can hear clearly in your head but can’t quite remember the lyrics or the voice that goes with it. I thought I’d find something in my jacket that would put me on the right track to remembering who I am. Maybe something we missed in the lining.” He shook his head. “Nothing but dirt.”

  “Yeah, you were kind of covered in the stuff. It was in your pockets too. Thought I’d gotten all of it. I’m sorry, Tom. We’ll find a lead. You’ll see. Getting yourself worked up and frustrated isn’t going to do you any good, all right? Some hot breakfast, good coffee, and you’ll be all set for sleuthing. I’ll see to it that Bea whips up something special for us. Then we can come back up here, grab my laptop, and see what we can find.”

  How did the man do that? A few words and Tom felt like he could take on the world. If Joe told him it would be okay, Tom had no doubts that it would be. He found himself feeling lighthearted again.

  “Thanks, Joe.”

  “No problem,” Joe replied with a sweet smile that made Tom’s pulse quicken. Then he realized what Joe said.

  “Us? You mean you haven’t had breakfast yet?”

  Joe’s cheeks flushed while he went back to his ingredients. “No, I thought it’d be best if we had breakfast together. You know, to make it easier for Bea,” he explained feebly, not tearing his gaze away from the table. “Less for her to worry about.”

  Joe waiting to eat breakfast had nothing to do with convenience. Tom held back a smile. “Thanks.”

  Joe nodded, going back to his baking, and Tom went back to watching him, mesmerized by Joe’s graceful hands as he stirred the mixture, adding dashes and drops of various ingredients, a faraway look coming onto his handsome face, one he seemed to get when involved with his pies.

  Despite the daydreaming, Joe’s hands never missed a beat, and he scooped the filling into the piecrust. Once it was all in, he removed his gloves and swiped his finger along the inside of the bowl. Tom nearly fell off his chair when Joe sucked and licked his finger, completely oblivious to how incredibly arousing the gesture was. Down, boy.

  After scooping up some more filling, Joe started to move his finger to his mouth when Tom caught his wrist, snapping him out of his little trance. Looking from his finger to Tom, Joe cocked his head to one side in question. Tom didn’t say a word. He let every bit of his hunger show in his eyes as he very deliberately drew Joe’s finger into his mouth, provoking the gorgeous man to draw in a sharp breath. The ocean of his blue-green eyes grew stormy while he stood transfixed by Tom’s tongue as it ran over the gooey, red digit. A tremor went through Joe, and Tom grinned wickedly.

  “Mm, do you always taste so fruity?”

  Joe arched an eyebrow. “Is that a bad pun? Because if it is, you’re cute, but you’re not that cute.”

  Tom laughed. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss Joe, but that would be a bad idea. Reining in his wayward thoughts, he averted his gaze. “Thanks for washing my clothes.”

  Joe fidgeted with his apron before turning back to his ingredients. “No problem.”

  “Joe? Where are you?”

  “Oh!” Joe smiled brightly and turned toward the door. “We’re in here, Jules.”

  Tom watched curiously as the kitchen door opened and a petite, young woman with soft red curls stepped in. When she saw Joe, she dropped her backpack on the floor and flung herself into his arms.

  “It’s so good to see you!”

  Jules was pretty, dressed in jeans and a deep green band T-shirt that brought out her big emerald eyes. Her fiery hair and her crimson lipstick sharp against her pale skin, and she was curvy in all the right places. When she saw Tom observing her, she pulled away from Joe and extended a hand to him. “You must be Joe’s new friend.”

  “Tom. Well, that’s the name we’re going with for the time being.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Tom. Don’t you worry. You’re in very good hands,” she said confidently, motioning to Joe. “And don’t you let him tell you otherwise.”

  “Right, well, Tom,” Joe cut in before Jules could say any more. It was apparent the little redhead knew her friend quite well. “Jules is a great nurse—better than some of the doctors she works with.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “That jackass still giving you trouble? Because I’ll go down there and give him a piece of my mind.”

  Jules laughed and patted Joe’s arm soothingly. “I know you would, Joe. No need. That jackass won’t be bothering me anymore.”

  Tom straightened at the sad smile that came onto her face, just as Joe’s arms fell at his sides.

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  “They laid me off this morning,” she sighed.

  “What!” Joe took hold of her shoulders. “I don’t understand. Why? How? You’re the best nurse they have!”

  “Come on, Joe. Times are tough, you know that. Budget cuts. I was lucky they didn’t let me go sooner, what with my being the only one in that clinic with a set of ovaries.” Her eyes teared up, but with a deep breath, she blinked them back and straightened, giving Joe a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I already have two interviews lined up for next week. So really, I’ll be just fine. Now, Tom.” She turned to Tom with a cheerful smile and motioned to the door. “Why don’t we go into the living room so you can be more comfortable, and we’ll see what we can do?”

  “Okay.” He followed Jules out, Joe trailing behind, and sat on the edge of the couch while she pulled a stethoscope out of her bag.

  She smiled warmly. “Okay, Tom. I’ll need you to take off your shirt.”

  “Sure.” He did his best not to notice Joe’s sudden fixation with the lampshade on the small wooden table. After removing his shirt, Tom laid it on the couch beside him as Jules placed the stethoscope to his chest over his heart. He took the opportunity to sneak a peek over at Joe, who was very blatantly staring at his chest. A little shiver went through Tom, and he had to remember he was in the middle of an examination.

  Jules smiled widely. “Sorry, the diaphragm’s always cold at first.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” Tom cleared his throat, and Jules glanced at Joe, who was studying the lampshade again with great interest and an even greater blush on his cheeks. She turned her attention back to Tom and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  “Okay, Tom. Deep breath, and release slowly. Good. Again.”

  He did as asked, conscious of Joe’s gaze on him every time he breathed deeply. Patiently, he sat as Jules took his blood pressure, checked his pupils, felt the now significantly reduced bump on his head, and continued her thorough examination of him. She had very warm and gentle hands, and he immediately felt at ease with her. Once she was done, she started asking him a series of simple questions. He could do math just fine, and he remembered TV shows and movies. He knew the sky was for the most part blue, depending on what state you were in. That you used a spoon to eat soup and who the president was, among various other odd facts.

  “Do you remember everything that’s happened after your injury?”

  “Anything that’s happened since waking up on Joe’s couch I remember just fine. Before that, I get hints of memories, fuzziness. Figures but no faces, more like shadows. I can’t recall any names or feel any familiarity.”

  “What’s the verdict?” Joe asked, his tone filled with concern.

  “You’re in great shape, Tom, apart from the memory loss. Obviously anything more in-depth would require the proper analysis and tests.” She put away her equipment as she spoke, her voice calm and soothing. “I’m afraid without hospitalization, it’s hard to know for sure, but from what I can gather, it’s only temporary. Tom, you’ll recover, and I’m certain your brain is starting the process as we speak, but it could take some time. Your semantic memory is fine. That’s the conscious recollection of your general knowledge. Whatever you knew how to do before, like drive, read, scramble eggs, hasn’t been affected.” She placed her hand on Tom’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “I know it’s frustrating, but you were very lucky. Whoever did that to you could have killed you, or if they’d hit you in the right place, just hard enough, your injuries could have been so much worse. Some patients lose the ability to form any new memories. Yours will come back. There’s no telling how it’ll come back, however. With this sort of thing, it’s not just a matter of someone just telling you who you are. That won’t necessarily bring everything back, nor will just looking at something. Listen to your body when it talks to you, your instincts, feelings you get about certain things, smells and sounds. If you need anything, or just need to talk, you call me, okay? Joe’s got my number.”

  “Thank you, Jules, I really do appreciate it,” Tom replied, sitting back glumly. He didn’t know what he’d expected. It wasn’t as if she had some magic pill that would undo everything.

  Joe took a seat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Tom. You’ll see.”

  Tom nodded and gave him a small smile, glad he wasn’t alone.

  “Joe?” Jules interrupted quietly. “Would you mind escorting me downstairs? I’d like to say hi to Bea and the kids before going.”

  Joe looked a little uncertain about leaving him, so Tom smiled broadly, not wanting to be any more of an inconvenience to Joe. He didn’t want to take over the man’s life. After all, Joe had friends, and a business to run. “You go ahead, Joe. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Joe nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute.”