No longer observed by witnesses, he leaned in, and then he was kissing her to make up for every day they had lost, every week that had been stolen, every month spent torn apart. Just as Rosalind had known that his memories had come back by the tone of his voice, it was clear at once that there was a difference in this, the hum of her skin where there was contact, the sheer familiarity when he touched the back of her neck and she rose to the tip of her toes.
