Page 218 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“You’re not alone, Cassandra.” My voice was low, meant only for her. “There’s someone who loves you. Who cares about you. Who’s been here the whole time. You just have to let him in.”

She pulled her hands from her face. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks wet. She looked to her side, and there was Liam, already kneeling beside her, waiting.

A sob broke through her—raw, childlike. She threw her arms around her brother and held on like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

Liam’s breath shuddered out of him. His arms came around her, tight and fierce, and he closed his eyes. Over her shoulder, he mouthed two words: Thank you.

I mouthed back: I want a million dollars.

A hand appeared in front of my face. I looked up. Cassian was smiling down at me, his palm open, waiting. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet.

We walked toward the door, his hand still in mine. Behind us, Liam was murmuring something to Cassandra.

“You weren’t this sweet when you proposed to me,” Cassian said, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand.

I squeezed his fingers. “Give me a million dollars, and we’ll talk.”

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Deal.”

“I’ve wanted to show you this for so long.” Cassian’s hand was warm around mine, pulling me forward, his steps quick with barely contained excitement.

The restaurant had been up and running for a few weeks now, and Mrs. Garcia had insisted on inviting everyone for a little get-together. Nothing formal. Everyone except Liam was here. He’d been spending most of his time with his sister.

The second I arrived, Cassian was there. “Come with me,” he said, already reaching for my hand. “I want to show you the garden. Everything I’ve done.”

He’d wanted to drive together. I told him I’d meet him there—I had a surprise for him, something I wanted to give him when I walked in. But he was so excited, so eager, so full of whatever he was about to show me, that I managed to hide it. Slipped it to Naija before he grabbed my hand and pulled me away.

He led me to a corner near the back, where the sun hit differently, where the soil was darker, where stakes had been driven into the earth and vines had been trained to climb them.

And at the end of it, nestled between broad green leaves, were the tomatoes.

He stopped in front of them, his hand still holding mine, his whole face lit up. “I grew them.”

They were small. Some still green, some blushing toward red, clustered together on vines he’d tied carefully to stakes. The leaves were full.

He had been growing tomatoes.

I stood there, looking at the small red fruit he had coaxed out of the ground with his own hands, and felt something loosen in my chest.

“When I started coming here,” he said, quieter now, “I didn’t know what I was doing. Mr. Garcia gave me a corner and told me to figure it out. I killed the first batch. Overwatered them.” He smiled, sheepish. “The second batch almost made it. Then a rabbit got to them. Mr. Garcia said that was part of it. That you don’t get to grow something without losing some of it along the way.”

He let go of my hand and crouched down, his fingers brushing the nearest vine. “These are the third batch.”

I watched him. His fingers brushed the leaves, gentle, like they might break if he pressed too hard. His gaze moved over the small red fruit. There was something soft in his face. Something proud. Something that looked like he couldn’t quite believe he’d made this.

“I wanted to show you,” he said, looking up at me. “When they were ready. I wanted you to see.”

I looked at the tomatoes again. At Cassian, kneeling in the dirt beside them. At this thing he had grown from nothing—tended and waited for, lost and started again.

I crouched down beside him. “They’re beautiful.”

He smiled. The sun caught the edges of his hair, lighting the side of his face. He looked absurdly pleased that I was there to see it.

He took my hand, fingers lacing through mine, and pulled me up with him. “It’s yours.” His voice was giddy, almost breathless.

I blinked. “What?”

He gestured at the whole section, the whole row of plants he’d been tending for months. “I’m responsible for this. All of it. This is for you.”