"The point is, I said 1970, not 1974. It took nearly a month to get that part in," I snap into the phone. This guy is really testing my patience, but I maintain a level of professionalism. He babbles on for a bit about order numbers and inaccurate shipment verification, but all I hear is blah blah blah I'm full of bullshit.

"Calling this an inconvenience is putting it pretty lightly," I inform him. "This is a tremendous setback and it needs to be handled immediately. I want the correct part and I want it next day aired to me the second you get your hands on it." The irritation is building inside me, so before my mouth runs off without checking in with my common sense, I rattle off a stiff but polite closing and end the call.

Unreal.

I squeeze my eyes shut and run my hand down my face in an attempt to wipe off the stress. The glow on the shop's OPEN light has been out for two hours. It's nearing 8 pm, which means I'm closing in on my fourteenth hour here. Most of the guys are gone for the day; it's just me and my top mechanic, Knox, trying to bust out some work on this project.

We've been restoring and customizing a 1970 Apollo White Buick SGX for a corporate big shot down in Chicago for the last two months. The job popped up shortly before Henley woke up, and it's easily one of the biggest accounts we've ever had. I put a lot of faith in my guys to run the everyday basics of the shop and get a start on this restoration while I got Henley settled back into our life together. Not surprisingly, they did a bang up job while I was gone. I just didn't expect the guy we ordered the parts from to be an imbecile.

I'm patient, but here's the thing. We're three weeks away from promised completion and not even half done. We've still got regular shit to do everyday on top of this project, and the holidays are just around the corner. In order for me to stay caught up with the ownership part of the shop, I'm putting in ten and twelve hour days. That means I'm spending way more time under the bellies of cars and not nearly enough beneath Henley.

So, yeah. I'm irritated.

The shop was an amazing way to channel my issues for four years; I swear I felt every single second pass while Henley was away. I was stuck in a windstorm of emotions, whipping one way, then the next. Worry. Denial. Sadness. Patience. Defenselessness. Rage.

But never acceptance—not even when the doctors told me it was looking grim. Giving up on hope meant giving up on us, and that's something I'll never do. After the initial shock, you better believe I felt a little cocky when they called me to say she'd opened her eyes. That's right. I knew it all along...Didn't I? No one needs to know I spent the next hour sobbing.

So, really. I'm not ungrateful for my work. I just need it to go back to normal so the rest of my life can, too. Sometimes it feels like I only see Henley in bed. Okay, so that's still pretty awesome, especially considering I thought she'd freak when we got home from Mom's. Lucky for me, she hasn't lost her persistence. The guest room's been empty ever since and he hasn't mentioned the friendship status in weeks.

She also hasn't mentioned remembering anything else, and I'm okay with that.

The growing want and intimacy between us is incredible, but I miss the rest of it, too. I swear I haven't sat down at the kitchen table with her since last week. I know she's staying busy while I'm at work. Just a few days ago I came home to her pored over a stack of interior design magazines and a completely redecorated living room. What the hell is Feng Shui anyway?

And now this. A few hours ago I had to fire off another text apologizing to her for staying late at work again. I think she's getting a little to used to it, because she sent one right back with a smiley face and a simple It's okay.

I'm just working myself into a really good pace around my desk when Knox raps once on my open door and pops his head inside my office.

"Yo, James. Your girl's out here with an enormous sandwich," he smirks.

I peer out the window that overlooks the garage and see her standing there in her red peacoat and fuzzy white hat. She's beautiful beneath the overhead lights; easily the brightest part of my life. We make eye contact and she raises one gloved hand to wave. The other is wrapped around a white paper sack labeled Ralph's -my favorite sandwich shop in the world. I toss my phone down on my desk and walk out to meet her. The moment we're close enough to touch, the negative energy buzzes away from my system.

"Have a few minutes? I brought you the King of Sandwiches," She smiles brightly and waves the bag in front of my eyes. That's literally the name, but the way she says it is still adorable. I'm not sure what I'm more excited for right now, Henley or the sandwich. My veins have to to be running with 90% coffee and I could use the food absorb some of these jitters.

"More than a few. We can eat in my office," I gesture toward my door and follow her lead. Once inside, I lower the blinds and move the messy stacks off invoices off my desk so there's room to eat. This is the first time she's been here, so I'm not surprised to see her looking around while I grab her a chair. I wish I'd known she was coming. I would've picked up a bit.

She slips off her coat and pushes up the sleeves of her tight black sweater. Three buttons are undone, revealing a light pink v-neck beneath. She's got on a dark pair of jeans and black leather boots up to her knees. When I catch her pearl earrings, I get a flash of the woman I met in those muddy festival field, and I can't keep the smirk off my face.

"I was out when I got your text and thought you could use a good meal and some company tonight. I know you've had sort of the week from hell," her smile is compassionate, and I feel well cared for. "Was today at least a little better than yesterday?"

"Worse, actually. But I'll spare you the gory details," I unzip my coveralls and step out of them.

Sure, I could complain. I could probably ramble on for hours to her about how shitty things have been lately, and how easy it would be for me to just hand off the keys to Knox or one of the other guys and tell them I'm taking more time off. I know she'd listen, but I don't want to put my stress on her shoulders. She's got enough to worry about as it is. She was sweet to bring me dinner so we could eat together and I'm going to make the best of this moment. I'll take it as a sign that she misses me too.

She releases a breath and a small frown of concern before bouncing up on her tiptoes to give me a soft kiss. Her lips say I'm sorry, baby without a single word, and I don't think can begin to imagine how much it means.

She tries to pull away, but I'm not done. Not even close. My hands push gently into her hips until she's pressed against my desk. I kiss her until we both need air...then I kiss her again. I know she's into it, because her cheeks go pink when I lift her up and set her on top of it. I rest my hands on her thighs and step in closer until I'm between them, then sink my teeth into the sensitive skin on her neck. I think we're getting somewhere when I hear her moan, but she pulls away a few seconds later. Her eyes go wide and she clears her throat as she jumps down off my desk and adjusts her shirt.

"We should wash you up. Unless you like the taste of grease," she says, pressing her fingers to the corner of my lips to wipe away the black gunk. She rubs it between her fingers and sticks her tongue out at me. She's got no idea she's wearing it, too.

"I don't know about me, but you sure seem to," I tease, wiping her off with a clean rag from my cabinet. "Actually, it looks really good on you. I could totally see you as one of my hot little grease monkeys...but I'm pretty sure there are rules against that sort of office behavior. And everything else we just did in here," She blushes scarlet, but there's curiosity in her eyes. That's right, baby. I hope it's just as hot playing out in your mind as it is in mine.

I lead us to the sink to clean up, and in just a few minutes we're back at my desk, unwrapping the sandwiches and ready to dig in. There's a reason it's called the King of Sandwiches. It's piled up with any and every meat imaginable; stacked high with cheese and veggies and topped with an amazing secret sauce that I still can't identify.

This brings me to reason #509 why I love my wife—my woman can wolf down a huge sandwich better than any guy I know. Calories...carbs...what the hell are those? The only way she watches what she eats is as it's halfway to her mouth, ready to hit that perfect little stomach of hers. And let me tell you, I could watch her eat all day.

She takes a huge bite and chases it down with some water. I'm happy she's here, but I'm also starving, so I plan to eat first and ask questions later. I look up at her after a moment of silence, and she's got this giddy look on her face like she's ready to burst. I'd know this look anywhere.

Wait a minute. How exactly did she get here?

I'm trying not to be that overbearing husband but it's the dead of winter and she hasn't been behind the wheel of a car in four years. Now's not the time to stretch those muscles. Still, I've got to know. I swallow my bite of The King, and ask with as much nonchalance as I possibly can.

Then I wait. She's mid-bite when I ask, so she nods her head a few times and puts up one finger to let me know she'll answer in a second. When she takes an abnormally long drink of water, I realize she's stalling.

"I took my car," she says and her eyes sparkle naughtily. It's really hard to be upset with her looking at me that way. Here comes the justification. "The roads are clear and it's above freezing for the first time in a week. I've been out all day,"

My mother says I'm pretty easy to read. I guess she's right, because Henley's cheeks flush under my gaze.

"And now you're pissed," She bites her lip, but doesn't apologize. She sits across from me with a bit of defiance in her eyes and says, "That's okay. You can be pissed. I'm here in one piece and I had fun," she takes another bite of her sandwich and licks her fingers one by one. I can't help but smile, because now she's just torturing me.

"I'm not pissed. I thought we decided I'd take you out on back roads in the spring to make sure you're comfortable behind the wheel before you start really driving on your own again."

"Well, yeah. We did. But something came up and it worked out really nicely. I ran to the market and picked up stuff we needed for the house, plus a few additional things I read about in a magazine. I made a trip to that coffeehouse we went to a few weeks ago and ordered a giant, nerve-numbing latte with at least 1200 calories and didn't regret a sip of it,"

I'm still smiling when she continues. Her enthusiasm is music to my ears.

"And then something really great happened. I found a job," she squeals. "And not just any job. It's one I'm really excited about. It's a perfect way to get my foot in the door with this kind of thing."

She scoots her chair in and leans her arms on my desk to get closer to me. Let me tell you, I never realized how huge this desk is until it became the only thing between us. I'm about ready to spread her out on it and throw a Ryan and Henley celebration party.

In my head.

But the dirty thoughts can wait until later. She's beaming with pride like a kid who just won a spelling bee, and it's beautiful to see her so excited about something. I grip my edge of the desk and lean in close, waiting for more details. All we're missing is the drumroll.

She's got this big, cheesy show-off-every-single-pearly-white smile going on. I wish I could take a picture right now so I could look at it forever. All week she's been actively calling around to places in town to see who's hiring. I suggested she take a little more time to settle in and heal, but she's still the stubborn woman I met all those years ago. I got an eyebrow raise and a hand on that curvy hip of hers. I know she was trying to warn me off of babying her, but shit. Kind of makes me want to misbehave more often.

"Well? Are you going to tell me where it is or not?" I grab her hand and thread our fingers together. "The anticipation is killing me."

"Olivia's Bakery," she finally says, then bites her lip and waits for my reaction. If there's one thing she loves doing, it's baking. Right now, this is her dream job, and I couldn't be happier for her. Even though I was slow to encourage her, I know she needs to stay busy and I hope this gives her a chance to make friends. I can't keep her to myself forever. She's got the ability the light up the whole world.

"A bakery. Now that is awesome," I stand up a bit to lean across the table to pull her into a quick hug. She smells like raspberries, vanilla, and secret sauce. Yes, I'm in heaven. "It's perfect for you. Which part of the shop do you get to work in?" I ask as I settle back into my chair.

"Pastries," her eyes dance. It's like she's just won the lottery or something. Reason #606 why I love my wife—she surprises me every day. "And I didn't just walk into it, either. I dropped in there the other day and filled out an application the best I could. They called me back last night to set up an interview for today. There were a few of us and they set us up with counter space and a pantry and let us go to town. Would you believe they liked mine best?" Our knees are touching below my desk and I can feel her legs bouncing in place.

"Yeah. I can," I say happily. "And I'm really happy you found something you like doing." I love that she couldn't wait to tell me.

"Thank you."

This is what I missed the most. Sharing happiness with the woman I love. I've been wanting to take her out to a nice dinner for awhile now, but this casual night might be just what we needed. I'd really like to take her out on an actual date, so make a mental note to plan a weekend getaway when this car project is finally complete.

We eventually get back to eating, but I can tell she's still buzzing with something. Now that I'm out of my coveralls, I'm sitting in a pair of faded jeans a grey University of Wisconsin T-shirt. Her eyes are stuck on it, and she's got that curious look on her face. A few days ago she asked me how we met, but the questions stopped after I told her she'd been high as a kite.

She frowned, like the truth disappointed her, so I didn't expect her to ask anything else for awhile. That's where I was wrong.

"Have you always wanted to race?"

"As a kid, yes. And enough to leave school and everything else behind. Yes," I answer.

My heart picks up as she shifts her gaze along my office walls. I'm here a lot, so I've tried to make it as much like home as I can. I've got trophies up on shelving. I've got photos up of my car and of my wins, and it's not just me in the photos. She's gorgeous in black and white. She's curled up under my arm. She's on the hood of my car, kissing me in front of a Las Vegas Casino with a new ring on her finger.

"And I really wanted you, didn't I?" She meets my eyes. "Enough to leave school and everything else behind?"

I swallow and smile, because our story is very different than she probably imagines. I have always loved her, but I haven't always been the hero I think she sees now. I've never lied and I've never cheated, but I haven't always done what was best for us.

"I'd like to know what made us run," she asks carefully, not taking her eyes away from the walls. "And about a love so great it could turn the girl I remember into someone worth spending the rest of your life with."

"Baby, you were already running before I met you," I smile sadly. "I'm just lucky you slowed down enough to let me on the ride."

California - 5 years ago

It's midnight and I'm just getting in from a big win. I pop the tab of a Miller and kick back on the couch. As soon as ass meets cushion, I light up a cigarette and take a big drag. My time on the track has been good, but I've been doing a little street racing with some guys I met and I'm bringing in a pretty good bank roll each time I win. I promised Mom I wouldn't touch my inheritance, but with my winnings I've got enough to hit the road again soon. If I want to make a name for myself, I can't stay in one place forever.

That's why I told Henley two nights ago that I don't plan on renewing the lease on my apartment. I dropped out of school to spread my wings and do whatever I want. To make sure I'm living life by my rules. So far, so good. There's just one problem-I think I'm falling in love with Henley. That's why I asked her to come with me.

I've only known her for two months, but I don't want to give her up. Not for the road. Not for a few wins on the other side of the country. Not for my name in big flashing lights.

I can't get her out of my head, or the look on her face when I asked her to leave with me. My baby is hardwired for rebellion. She talks big and walks big, but deep inside, she's still a little girl trying to make her parents love her. She's still a freshman at Stanford, dolled up in fancy clothes while she pledges a sorority her mother was in. But she comes home to me at night in ripped jeans and a shirt so tight the entire world can see her tits. In my arms, she's anything but proper.

She told me no...she won't come  with me, but she won't say why. I'm really sick of thinking about it.

I'm just getting settled into a TV show when I hear a pounding on my apartment door. I answer it carefully these days, as it's not always a friendly face waiting for me on the other side. I see Henley, and it's like I just got socked in the heart.

I unchain the door and turn the bolt so I can let her in. She's carrying two suitcase and when she sets them down inside of my door and reaches for me, I feel her body shaking. I put out my cigarette and get a good look at her. Two black rivers rush down her cheeks and stain her skin. She looks up at me like she never has before. Like she really needs me.

"Henley? What's the matter?" I smooth my hand down the back of her hair. She smells like cigarettes and whiskey, and I want to crawl inside her and rip out whatever it is that's breaking her heart.

"Nothing," she rasps, slamming the door closed. She throws herself on my couch and buries her face in her hands.

"Hey, Hen," I say, sitting down beside her. "Talk to me,"

But she doesn't.

Her warm hands dig into my jeans and her lips descend on my like a firestorm. I'm losing my shit because she feels so good against me. I can't figure out what's going on in my own head, let alone hers. And we've never been the type to heal with words. Warm tears leak down her cheeks and soak into my skin as I kiss her back, and an indelible ache grows in my chest.

This time should probably be different, but it won't be. Even now as I'm trying to talk myself into common sense, I'm falling into our usual routine. Sex instead of talking. A physical connection instead of an emotional one.

When it's over, I feel like an asshole. I did what she asked me to, but Henley's not just a warm body. She's smart and tough and doesn't take shit from anyone. Her cheeks are pink with a happy glow when I carry her to my couch and pull a blanket over us. Because sex is 'I love you' for us right now, and I've just shouted it from the rooftops. Someday, I want more.

"Now tell me. What's the matter, baby?" I say, lighting a cigarette and passing it to her.

"I'm dropping out of