Found: His Perfect Wife. Marie Ferrarella

If that were the case, this would probably go down as one of the worst vacations on record, just a few lines below booking passage on the Titanic.

      She could tell he wanted her to elaborate. “You hauled that guy out of the cab as if he was some rag doll instead of this stocky pig.” Alison smiled, recalling. “He looked really scared, even though he had a knife and you just had your bare hands.”

      None of this was coming back to him. It was as if she was talking about something that had happened to someone else. “Did I hit him?”

      She laughed. “Into next Sunday. If he hadn’t had a partner skulking in the shadows, he would have been cooling his heels in jail right now.” Her narrative over, her voice softened. “And you would still have your memory. I’m really very sorry about that.”

      He didn’t want her feeling guilty. “It’s not your fault.”

      But she didn’t see it that way. “I should have parked in the street.” One little misstep had caused all this. “It was just that I wanted to avoid getting snarled up in traffic.”

      He dismissed it with a shrug, wanting her to do the same. Leaning over, he picked up her empty plate as well as his own and rose to his feet. “Logical.”

      A smile curved her lips as she watched him. “You do dishes, too?”

      He looked down at the plates and realized that he was bringing them over to the sink. He’d done it automatically, as if he’d been preprogrammed. “I guess I do.”

      The man was single. If she hadn’t decided the matter earlier, this would have convinced her. “Well, memory loss or not, you’re not going to be on the market long.” Getting up, she pushed in her chair. “You cook, clean up after yourself and put yourself on the line to rescue damsels in distress. Most women go to bed every night praying to meet someone like you.”