Free Forget Me Not by Ericka Scott Page A

eyes filled up with tears, but she did finally disappear. I suspected she hadn't gone far.
    Alone at last . I took a sip of my wine and looked up at the stars sparkling through the canopy of grapevines. Napa Valley was beautiful any time of the year, but I loved it most in the fall when the vines were fragrant and heavy with fruit.
    It reminded me of the night Aaron first brought me here. Blinded by a sudden wash of tears, I fumbled for my wine glass, hoping no one noticed my distress.
    “Hello, I hope I'm not interrupting?”
    I shook my head, not trusting my voice to be able to push past the lump of emotion in my throat.
    The man slid into the seat across from me. He was six feet of pure muscle and sex appeal in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white shirt. His blond hair was cut short and the ends tipped with gold, either from the sun or a very good stylist. When he flashed me a hundred-watt smile that reached right up to his sparkling brown eyes, I felt a flicker of something deep in my belly. Whoa, what was that? Desire? Nah ... After my accident, that part of me had died. Hadn't it?
    “This is going to sound really strange,” the man began.
    Hey, that was my line! The one I use when knocking on some strange woman's door to tell her to look for her father's will in the fake spinach package in the back of the freezer, or to tell a man that his wife hid their stock certificates in with her beloved Manolos. I looked up at him with interest.
    The man's smile had dropped to about forty watts, and he looked uncomfortable in his skin. Oh shit. I gave him a subtle nod to encourage him to go on, although there was a heavy weight pressing down on me and I could hardly take a full breath.
    “I have a message from Aaron.”
    No, this was not happening. I leaned across the table, hoping that my voice was as venomous as I felt. “Listen, I see ghosts too, all the time. I can assure you, if Aaron needed to get me a message, he could do it himself.”
    With as much dignity as I could muster, I ripped my napkin off my lap and threw it onto the table. I stood up too fast and my chair clattered to the floor. Heads turned my way, and I could feel heat infuse my face. So much for a quiet dinner.
    My heart was pounding in my ears, but as I whirled away, the man's voice chased me.
    “Do you remember the first time we came here?”
    My fleeing steps faltered, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Oh Aaron. My heart had never quite stopped hurting since he died, and now I thought it was going to break all over again. I walked and then ran until I got to my cottage. I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, my ragged breathing sounding loud in the quiet room.
    For once I was annoyed there wasn't a television in the cottage. I couldn't turn on some mindless sitcom and let the drone of conversation drown out the man's voice echoing in my head.
    The first time we came here.
    We ? Had he been channelling Aaron? I thought back. Of course I remembered when. It was in late September 2001, after my ill-fated trip to New York. Aaron had brought me here to rest and recuperate, to hopefully regain the memories I had lost. But alas, my mind had been wiped clean on 9/11. Since then, I had given up any hope of regaining any recollection of my past. Despite that, just being here again caused something to tease the edges of my mind. I closed my eyes and sighed. As before, no matter how hard I tried, the only thing I felt was a deep sense of loss.
    There was a soft knock, and a voice called, “Ms. Davies?”
    I sighed, thinking it was the management coming to make sure I hadn't gone off the deep end.
    Imagine my surprise when I saw who it was. Him ... again.
    “I'm really sorry to disturb you.”
    My first reaction was to slam the door in his face, but something odd happened to my body. Warmth suffused me from head to toe, my breasts tingled and desire coiled deep in my womb. It took all my restraint not to drag him inside and jump him. As my gaze travelled