Chapter Five

Asher's POV

Xander slept with his arm thrown across my chest, his breath warm against my neck. Six months of this and I still couldn't believe it was real. Every morning I woke up expecting the cold distance to return, for his eyes to harden when they looked at me. But each day, he only seemed to fall deeper.

"Morning," he mumbled, lips brushing against my collarbone. "You're thinking too loud."

I ran my fingers through his hair, savoring the softness. "Sorry. Just appreciating the view."

"Mmm." He stretched like a cat, all lean muscle and grace. "What's on the agenda today? More memory lane trips?"

I checked my phone. "Nothing scheduled. We've hit most of the important places already."

The past six months had transformed into something I never imagined possible with Xander. Before the accident, getting him to agree to dinner was like pulling teeth. Now, we had a routine of weekend brunch at his favorite café, movie nights where he insisted on cuddling, and spontaneous trips to galleries and parks.

We'd visited his childhood home in the Hamptons, his college campus, and even the site of his first modeling shoot, all hoping to trigger memories. Nothing worked, but Xander never seemed bothered by it.

"Let's stay in bed all day," he suggested, trailing kisses down my chest.

"You know I have that conference call at noon."

He groaned dramatically. "Fine. But I'll make it worth your while when you're done."

This was the biggest change—Xander's complete transformation from aloof supermodel to affectionate boyfriend. Before, he'd barely acknowledge my existence in public. Now, he showed up at my office unannounced, just to take me to lunch.

His phone buzzed with a text. "Duke wants to come over. Says he found some old high school photos that might help."

I felt that familiar twinge of guilt mixed with relief. Every attempt to restore his memory had failed, and secretly, I was glad. The selfish part of me wanted this Xander to stay forever.

"Tell him to come around three," I said, getting up to shower. "I'll be done with work by then."

Xander followed me to the bathroom, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. "Need help washing your back?"

One shower and forty-five minutes later, I finally made it to my laptop.

Duke arrived precisely at three, carrying a worn shoebox. Xander greeted him with a friendly hug, another change I couldn't get used to. Before the accident, their interactions had been minimal, formal. Now, Xander treated Duke like the childhood friend he couldn't remember.

"Brought the good stuff," Duke said, settling on the couch. His massive frame made our furniture look child-sized. "Senior year, basketball championships, that ski trip where you broke your arm showing off."

For two hours, Duke narrated stories while showing Xander photos of a younger version of himself. Xander laughed at all the right moments, asked questions, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that nothing registered. No spark of recognition lit his face.

When Duke left, Xander collapsed on the couch with a sigh. "Nothing. Not even a flicker."

I sat beside him, rubbing his shoulders. "Give it time."

"It's been six months, Ash." He turned to face me, taking my hands in his. "What if they never come back?"

"Then we keep making new memories," I said firmly. "Better ones."

He smiled, that brilliant smile that never failed to make my heart stutter. "I like that plan."

We sat in comfortable silence until Xander suddenly perked up at something on the TV. A cooking show host was demonstrating a spicy Chinese dish, the wok sizzling as he tossed in chili peppers.

"Oh my God, that looks amazing," Xander exclaimed, eyes wide. "Can we make that? Please?"

I laughed at his enthusiasm. "Now?"

"Why not? I'm starving and that looks incredible."

I checked the time. It was only six, and I had nothing planned for the evening. "Alright, let me see what ingredients we need."

The recipe called for items we definitely didn't have in our kitchen. I grabbed my keys and wallet. "I'll run to the store. Won't be long."

"Hurry back," Xander called, already scrolling through the recipe on his phone. "I'll prep the kitchen."

The convenience store three blocks away had most of what I needed—garlic, ginger, various peppers that promised to scorch our taste buds. As I paid, my work phone rang.

By the time I made it back to the penthouse, forty minutes had passed. Xander greeted me with a kiss, taking the grocery bags from my hands.

"Work called," I explained apologetically. "I need to review some layouts tonight."

"No problem," he shrugged. "I'll handle dinner. How hard can it be?"

I raised an eyebrow. In six months, I'd learned that Xander and kitchens didn't mix well. The man could burn water.

"Just let me get started on it first," I insisted, washing my hands. "You can help chop vegetables."

I got the base of the dish going, oil heating in the wok, aromatics starting to sizzle. My phone rang again, and I answered while stirring the sauce.

"These are completely wrong," my boss complained, launching into a detailed critique of the layouts.

The call dragged on, and I moved to my laptop in the living room to make notes, completely forgetting about the stove. The first hint of trouble was the smell—a sharp, acrid burning that cut through our conversation.

"Oh shit," I muttered, dropping the phone. Smoke billowed from the kitchen, setting off the alarm.

I rushed in to find Xander frantically waving a towel at the smoke detector, coughing violently. He'd turned off the stove, but the damage was done. The wok's contents had burned to a crisp, filling the apartment with eye-watering spice and smoke.

"I'm so sorry," I began, heading toward him.

Then it happened. Xander sneezed—a massive, body-shaking sneeze that made the veins in his forehead stand out. He blinked rapidly, eyes watering from the spice particles in the air.

When he looked at me again, something had changed. His expression shifted, hardened. The warm light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by cold confusion.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sharp and unfamiliar.