Chapter 2
I was frantically planning my amnesia performance in my head when I heard urgent footsteps echoing from the hallway.
Howard was back.
I quickly closed my eyes, adjusted my breathing, and made myself look weak and helpless. Showtime!
"Molly?" Howard called softly, his voice laced with careful concern.
I slowly opened my eyes, blinked a few times, and put on a confused, bewildered expression. Then I looked at the doctor beside me: "Doctor, who is this gentleman?"
Howard's face instantly turned ashen, as if struck by lightning: "What? Molly, it's me, Howard!"
The doctor stepped forward: "Mr. Reynolds, please stay calm. Miss Bennett was fairly lucid when she first woke up, but now it seems..."
"She doesn't recognize me?" Howard's voice trembled. "What's happening?"
The doctor adjusted his glasses: "Concussions can sometimes cause temporary memory impairment, especially memories related to traumatic events. This is temporary - nothing to worry too much about."
Howard turned to me, his eyes filled with urgency: "Molly, you really don't remember me? We work together every day, we..."
I blinked my innocent big eyes, pretending to struggle with recall, then shook my head: "I'm sorry, I really don't remember..."
Howard took a deep breath, walked to my bedside, and looked at me tenderly: "Molly, I'm Howard, I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for three years."
What the fuck?!
I stared wide-eyed, nearly sitting up in the hospital bed. Three years?! Boyfriend?! What the hell was this bastard talking about? We were clearly sworn enemies!
I bit my lip hard, forcing myself not to break character, but my mind was exploding internally.
Howard Reynolds, you damn liar! What game are you playing?!
The doctor observed my reaction: "Miss Bennett, does hearing this trigger any memories?"
I pretended to think hard, furrowing my brow, then shook my head helplessly: "I'm sorry... I don't remember anything..."
A flash of complex emotion crossed Howard's eyes - was it disappointment? Or... relief?
"It's okay," Howard said gently, his voice so tender it gave me goosebumps, "I'll help you slowly recover these memories."
Recover my ass! We never had any boyfriend-girlfriend memories to begin with!
The doctor checked his watch: "Well, since the patient is stable, we'll observe tonight and she can be discharged tomorrow. Mr. Reynolds, you can go get some of her personal items now - she might need a change of clothes tonight."
"Personal items?" I asked blankly.
Howard's ears turned red again: "Just... your clothes, toiletries, things like that..."
The doctor added: "Returning amnesia patients to familiar environments is very helpful for recovery. Mr. Reynolds, do you two live together?"
Oh God! What lie is he going to make up now?
Howard hesitated: "We... we each have our own apartments, but Molly often stays over at my place. Doctor, given her current condition, I think she should move in with me for a while so I can take better care of her."
Move in with him?!
I was screaming internally but had to keep up my innocent, confused facade on the surface.
This performance was getting way more complicated than I'd imagined...
The next morning, Howard drove me away from the hospital. I looked through the car window at Seattle's familiar streets, calculating what to do next.
"Molly," Howard suddenly spoke, "we'll go to your apartment first to get some things, then... you can stay at my place for a few days."
"Your apartment?" I asked nervously, "Do I really have to live with you?"
Howard gripped the steering wheel tighter: "If you're uncomfortable, I can sleep on the couch..."
Wait, I've never actually seen Howard's place! This could be a good opportunity to scope out his secrets.
Twenty minutes later, Howard's car stopped in front of a modern apartment building in downtown. I looked through the window at this at least twenty-story luxury building, unable to hide my shock.
"Howard, this place is huge. You never mentioned living somewhere this... fancy."
Howard hurriedly explained, obvious nervousness in his voice: "It's just... you know, family property. Nothing special. Come on, let's go upstairs."
The elevator went straight to the top floor. The moment Howard opened the door, I nearly forgot to breathe.
This wasn't an ordinary apartment - this was a penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered an entire wall, overlooking Seattle's entire skyline. Modern furniture, an open kitchen, and even a professional-grade coffee bar.
"Don't mind the mess," Howard said nervously, "you know how I am..."
But what I saw wasn't mess - it was details everywhere that showed his understanding of me. On the sofa lay a copy of "Modern Coffee Brewing Techniques" - I remembered mentioning wanting to read that book. On the coffee table was a bag of my favorite cinnamon-flavored roasted beans.
What shocked me most was the kitchen.
Howard opened the refrigerator to get me water, but what I saw left me instantly petrified - the fridge was neatly stocked with various high-end coffee ingredients: vanilla syrup, hazelnut cream, Madagascar cinnamon, and Ethiopian beans I'd always wanted to try but were too expensive.
Even more shocking was a small notebook stuck to the refrigerator door.
"Howard, what is this?" I pointed at the notebook with a trembling finger.
Howard turned to see what I was doing, his face instantly flushing red: "I... I just want to make sure I get your orders right at the shop."
I opened the notebook. Every page detailed my preferences:
[Monday mornings - extra shot, needs the caffeine boost]
[Rainy days - prefers warm milk, hates cold drinks]
[Stressed - vanilla syrup helps calm her nerves]
[Happy - likes to try new combinations]
[Tuesday afternoons - always orders the same thing: caramel macchiato with oat milk]
And even more detailed records:
[Doesn't like bitter aftertaste]
[Smiles when coffee is exactly 140°F]
[Gets cranky if espresso sits too long]
[Always adds exactly half a spoon of brown sugar]
Every entry was dated, the earliest going back three years.
My hands began to tremble, the notebook nearly slipping to the floor: "Howard... how long have you been... watching me?"
Howard frantically tried to take the notebook back, but moved too quickly and knocked it to the ground instead. The scattered pages fluttered like snowflakes across the kitchen floor, each one recording details about me.
"It's not what you think!" Howard hurriedly crouched down to collect them. "I just... I wanted to be a better barista. I observe all our regular customers..."
"All of them?" My voice was barely a whisper.
Howard's movements stopped. He remained crouched on the floor, not daring to look up at me: "No. Just you."
The air seemed to freeze.
I looked at Howard kneeling on the floor collecting papers, at his trembling hands, at his red ears, and felt a complex emotion I'd never experienced before rising in my chest.
Why? I wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. Why would someone who supposedly hated me pay such detailed attention to my every nuance? Why did his apartment contain everything I loved? Why did he lie to the doctor about us being together?
Howard finally stood up, clutching the scattered papers, his eyes showing a vulnerability I'd never seen before: "Molly, I know this looks crazy, but I can explain—"
"Explain what?" My voice trembled. "Explain why you've been secretly studying me for three years? Explain why your apartment looks like... like you've been preparing for me to live here?"
Howard opened his mouth but no sound came out.
I felt my fake amnesia mask about to crack. This discovery was too shocking, too overwhelming. Howard wasn't the arrogant, selfish competitor I thought he was.
He was someone who had been secretly noticing my every smile, every frown, every preference...
"I should rest," I finally said, avoiding Howard's gaze. "The doctor said I need rest."
Howard immediately nodded: "Of course. The guest room is ready. I'll... I'll leave you alone."
But as he turned to leave, I couldn't help asking a question that made my heart race: "Howard?"
"Yeah?"
"When we were... when we are together," I carefully used the present tense, "am I happy?"
Howard looked back at me, tenderness nearly overflowing from his eyes: "You're the happiest I've ever seen you when you taste a perfect cup of coffee. And I... I just want to be the one who makes that coffee for you."
But in that instant, a thought struck me like lightning:
Wait.
If Howard truly loved me, why would he compete with me for the coffee shop? Why would he oppose me for three years?
Unless... unless this was all planned.
