The Wife He Couldn't Forget

And hope like crazy that it would be enough.

* * *

Xander woke abruptly. At first confused as to his surroundings, he let his body relax when he realized he was home, lying in the hammock in the garden. He let his gaze drift around him, taking in the familiar and cataloguing the changes that they’d obviously made over time. They’d done a good job, he had to admit—if only he could remember actually doing any of it, then maybe he’d feel less like a stranger in his own home and more as if he belonged here.

Carefully, he levered himself to a sitting position and lowered his legs to the ground. He wondered where Olivia had got to. He couldn’t see her through the kitchen window. He got up and shuffled a few steps forward. Then, as if his brain had taken a little longer to wake up and join the rest of him, he moved with more confidence.

“Livvy?” he called as he went back inside the house.

The creak of floorboards sounded overhead, followed by her rapid footsteps on the stairs.

“Xander? Are you okay?” she called before she reached the hallway where he stood.

He watched as she did a quick inventory of him and suppressed the surge of irritation that she’d immediately jump to the conclusion there was something wrong. It wasn’t fair of him to be annoyed with her, he told himself. This was all as new and as intimidating for her as it was for him.

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