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Aaron Beckham bends down, his frosty eyes sparkling with mischief. I can smell mint in his exhales and see the shininess in each black lock curling over his forehead. As if wanting to intensify my annoyance, he leans his lanky arm on the doorway over my head.

“What are you doing?” I sputter out.

“Listen—I want to respect you,” Aaron says. He smiles again, but this one is flimsy and tired. He’s not amused as much as he is exhausted. Or hurt. “I know you’re in a lot of pain. I know you want me to disappear. And if it would help you, I would. But I won’t let your family use your amnesia as an excuse to make things go back to how they used to be. I’m going to fight for you. So I can’t always do as you ask.”

Aaron draws my hands into his chest, his eye contact severe enough that I can only stand there and stare at him, transfixed.

“I’m sorry in advance for pushing your boundaries,” he whispers. “I know you must be confused and overwhelmed. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in your position. I want to prove to you that I’m more than the person you remember me being. That I can help you through this. Not that you need it. Not that you’d ever ask for it.”

His gaze flickers with a strange, fond exasperation. The sight settles like a haze over my agitated thoughts, dulling the sharp, angry edges.

“I can’t give up on you just yet, Riley Wilson. I made you fall for me once. I can do it again. Even if I have to start from square one.” He plants a kiss between my knuckles. “So please forgive me for being a brat. For catching you when you push, and forgetting when I’m staring at you, and asking you how you’re feeling too many times, and showing up unannounced, and accidentally being too handsy, and whatever else I’ve gotten used to that may no longer be okay.”

I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to think. Did he prepare this speech before he came here, or is he naturally this charming? Has he always been, and I just didn’t know it?

“I know today has been a lot for you. I’ll give you some space.” With great reluctance, his hands slide away, and he heads to my bedroom window.

“J-just give up,” I order, smearing my palm on my sweatpants so I won’t feel the imprint of his lips against my skin. My head is still spinning with the words he just assailed me with. With the unexpectedly gentle tone of his voice. With the affectionate gleam in his eyes. “This is the last time we’re going to talk, so scheming won’t work.”

Aaron is halfway out the window and pauses to peer over at me, his handsome face lighting with another roguish smirk I can’t stand. “Good night, sunshine,” he says.

Then he’s gone, and all I taste is bitterness.

And the faintest hint of peppermint.

5

I come downstairs the next morning to find my mother pinballing around the kitchen, her dirty-blond hair in disarray, the buttons of her jacket mismatched.

“Late for a client?” I ask from the foot of the stairs.

She whirls around, her hazel eyes brightening. “Riley!” she cries out, sprinting toward me, her heels clacking noisily against the tile. She throws her arms around my shoulders and wrenches me into her chest, then squeezes tight enough that my bones cry in protest. “How was your first night? Did you sleep well? How are you feeling?”

Mom is always shifting from one thing to the next. Her frenetic personality would be fine if it weren’t amplified by her flightiness. Thankfully, I only inherited the first trait, or my life would be in constant chaos. “I’m fine,” I say—a blanket response that makes her click her tongue with dissatisfaction. But she clearly doesn’t have time to try to pull a more accurate answer out of me, because she draws back.

“Make sure you get lots of rest,” she says, bopping my nose. “Logan has class until some time and is working until two or something. Dad and I won’t be home until late. I’ve overbooked myself.”

She laughs with a dismissive wave.

“I thought you were doing better about making sure your appointments don’t overlap,” I say, my brow rising. “What happened to the calendar app I set up for you?”

“The…? Oh, yes.” She nods in recognition of my words. “I must’ve forgotten to upkeep it.”

I swear she and Dad would leave their heads at home if they weren’t permanently attached to their bodies. How Logan and I managed to develop a sense of responsibility under their care is an enigma. But then, I guess we both learned the hard way that we can only rely on ourselves, and sometimes each other. At least they made active attempts to be there for my doctor’s appointments, but beyond that, they’ve always been a bit scatterbrained. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I don’t know why I left.”

“Oh, honey. Why would you apologize for my incompetence? Besides, you’re not to blame for teenage hormones.” She pokes my nose again. That hasn’t changed. Her constant need to fidget with me and tap my face and rumple my hair. “The point is that you’re home and healing. I’m sure your memories will come back in no time.”

Guilt is still bubbling in a pool at the bottom of my stomach.

“Rest up, honey. Oh, and there’s a grocery list on the counter with my card. If you’re up for it, maybe you can swing by the store. Only if you’re comfortable getting behind a wheel, of course.” She’s backing toward the door, her cherry-red lips parted with a toothy smile. “Also, would you whip up dinner, if you’re feeling well enough? It’s been a while since we’ve indulged in your expert cooking.”

“Expert?” I roll my eyes, smirking. The only reason I’m a half-decent cook is because I have to be or eating is a miserable experience. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” She’s nearly sprinting to the door now.

“Wait,” I call. She swivels, then blinks in confusion when I approach her. I undo the bottom buttons of her coat, then correctly match them. “Your lunch?”

“Oh!” She palms her forehead, then jogs to the fridge and seizes a lunch box from the bottom shelf. “My hero. See you tonight!”