BEN POV

It’s been a week since we arrived in Italy, and I haven’t noticed a single change in Ambrose’s condition. My efforts to bring back his old memories were going down the drain.

I stood in the kitchen, preparing the dish he taught me back at the cabin when it was just the two of us.

He was bound to remember something.

Alessia walked in front of me and grinned.

“What smells so good?” I asked curiously.

“An Italian dish,” I muttered quietly.

“It’s something ...