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“It’s not.” He says it softly, but there’s an underlying hint of strain. “You’ve spent the past year helping me feel more comfortable talking about these things, but it’s still not easy.”

I incline my head, wondering how I’ve supposedly helped him.

“It’s my mother’s birth flower,” he says. “I got it when I turned eighteen so I would see it every day and think about her.”

Yet another reference to his mother. Until now, all I’ve known about him is that he was adopted fairly young, when he was only a few years old. “You have a strong connection to her?” I ask.

“No.” He shrugs, though his posture is tense. “I just admire her.”

“You meet up with her sometimes, right?”

“When she’s in a good place.” He leans his head back against the bench, peering up at the gondola’s ceiling. I have the nagging suspicion he’s not used to talking about himself—or maybe he just feels like this is a waste of my time. As if learning more about the boy who apparently made me fall for him would be a waste.

“What do you mean?” I prompt.

“Like…I don’t know. It’s basically up to me to stay connected, otherwise she holes up and forgets about me. She’s got some issues.” His eyes fall shut. “I was a teenage pregnancy. I wouldn’t blame her if the reason she bails on me constantly is because I remind her of…yeah.”

I watch him, fascinated. I’ve never seen him so uneasy—it’s a stark contrast from his suave persona. His fingers are tensing on my shoulder, so I pluck them off and nestle his hand in my lap, working his knuckles like he’s always doing to mine. “You said you admire her,” I whisper, knowing he won’t persist unless I ask him to. “Because she was brave for getting through it?”

“I guess.” As I knead his fingers, his taut muscles slowly relax. I hope I haven’t always been the one on the receiving end of massages. “Though she doesn’t like that word. Life forcing you to tackle something you’re not prepared for, where the choices are deal with it or die…it feels wrong to shave it down to bravery.” His throat bobs with a swallow. “She was fifteen in a low-income family with a barely functional support system tainted by addiction. She didn’t get to choose bravery. It was forced on her. So I think when people say things like Wow, you’re so brave, I could never do what you did, it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.”

He steadies himself with a deep breath. Knowing I somehow make him feel comfortable enough to divulge this sensitive information…it’s more proof that what we had was real.

That for as much as he changed me, maybe I’ve also been changing him.

“I admire her because she found the willpower to let me go,” he says. “She told me once that she only gave birth to me so she could raise me at home out of bitterness. Vengeance. Like punishing me because she couldn’t punish the person who put her in that situation. She thought, Why should this kid I don’t even want have a better life than me?”

He pauses, peering down at me as if to make sure I haven’t fallen asleep. I’m very much awake—though I’m so caught up in his voice, I’ve forgotten to continue massaging his hand. Quickly, I try picking the motion back up, but Aaron merely slides our fingers together, squeezing. Using me as an anchor, I think.

“Anyway, she let her cousin and his husband adopt me,” he says, waving his other hand. “When they found out how bad her situation was, they dragged us both across the country to live with them. I don’t remember any of it. But my dads say she finished school and started looking for jobs. I think I was six when she left? She stayed in the area, but she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“But something changed,” I say. We’re descending from the peak of the Ferris wheel for the second time—I doubt we’ll get a third go-around, so I’ll make the most of these minutes. Thankfully, the couple across from us is locked in conversation as well, so I don’t fear them overhearing.

“When I got old enough, my dads gave me her contact information,” Aaron says. “She didn’t respond to my texts until I was a teenager, and we’ve made it to a point where we meet up occasionally. It wasn’t a great feeling, being ignored.” His eyes settle on my lap. “I spent a long time feeling guilty for being born. I still do sometimes. But whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” I murmur.

“All you did was ask about the tattoo. I shouldn’t have rambled.”

“I want to know.” My voice sharpens. “You know everything about me, apparently, so why shouldn’t I know everything about you?”

Aaron’s lips furl into a brief smile. “So it’s not that you want to know because you’re falling for me,” he says with a melancholic sigh. “It’s just that you think I have an unfair advantage and you’re trying to level the playing field.”

I squawk in horror, ripping my hands away so I can shake them defensively. “That’s not true! I really do want to know more about you!”

“Mm.” Aaron huffs, looking away stubbornly. “Don’t believe you.”

He’s being a brat, trying to lighten the mood by teasing me. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. An attempt to move the subject along so we’re not sitting in seriousness anymore. I won’t allow it.

I reach up, splaying my palm across his cheek and tugging until his gaze is level with my fierce one. “Thank you for telling me,” I say. “I know it’s not easy to explain everything again. I had no idea you were in contact with your mother. Or that you knew who she was.”

I falter, wondering if I should stop here. My instincts tell me to draw away—to not let this moment get deeper than it already is. I ignore them.

“You’ve always been a big question mark,” I admit, my own nerves rising to the surface. My fingertips tremble against his sunburned cheekbone. “All I’ve known about you is that you like getting into bad situations and letting your impulses run wild. Part of me still wants to blame you for ruining Logan’s future.”

I fizzle off again, my jaw grinding through the apprehension.

“But I don’t think that’s fair,” I say. “Logan makes his own decisions. It was easy to pin the blame when I saw you as this one-dimensional villain, but now it’s more than that. You’re more than that. After a few days, all the anger I feel for you has been…melted away, I guess. It’s frustrating because I was so sure I could avoid you the second time. I thought you were a mistake I could erase.”