Lily

Present Day

The next morning, the sunlight pushed in past the flimsy curtains, summoning me awake before I was ready. I’d shut myself in the loft after dinner, afraid of what would happen if I spent more time around Rhys. That almost-kiss yesterday had been a problem.

A huge problem.

Because up to this point, I’d been able to deny things. Things like the way his smile made all my nerve endings jump to attention. Things like the way I used to drive the long way home from the grocery store, hoping that maybe I’d see him outside his house.

Things like how I used to stay up late senior year, hanging out at the coffeehouse, hoping to run into him. I’ve always been more of a morning person, but Rhys had me approaching midnight back in the day.

And years later, here I was, still up late because of him.

Thinking about him.

I took a deep breath and threw off my covers. I was not doing this again. I was a grown-up now. Rhys Conner did not own my life. Maybe if I was clever and developed chronic bronchitis, I could avoid seeing him at future family functions. Hell, maybe I could even move abroad after graduation and avoid him for the rest of my life. In any case, I could come up with that plan soon enough. For now, I just had to get through this week.

I normally walked around the cabin in what I’d slept in, just a tank and shorts, but in order to survive in a house with Rhys, I needed armor. I put on my sweatpants, some thick socks, and my oversized burgundy Henning hoodie. I even debated brushing my teeth, thinking morning breath might serve as a deterrent to keep me from talking to him, but my sense of decorum won out.

As I wandered downstairs, a familiar scent hit my senses. I only allowed myself to be excited about it once I saw Rhys wasn’t around.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked carefully.

“Cinnamon rolls!” My mom beamed. “Extra icing, just for you.”

“Oh, hell, yeah.” I sidled up to the table as Mom served me up a plate. “You know, you are my favorite mom. I don’t think I tell you that enough.” I picked up one of the gooey, cinnamon-scented buns.

“It’s a good thing she makes them only on special occasions,” Lance added. “Those are a heart attack waiting to happen.”

My mom rolled her eyes as Lance kissed her on the cheek.

“Tree looks good,” I said as I took a big bite, ignoring Lance’s comments.

My mom smiled. “Lance insisted on putting it up last night.”

“No sense in buying a tree and letting it go to waste.”

“I still wonder if it’s too big?” My mom tilted her head.

“That’s what she said,” I muttered under my breath.

“What, dear?”

“Nothing, uh, just wondering if we have coffee?”

“Over on the counter. Just brewed a fresh pot,” Lance offered.

My mom raised her eyebrows. “How much coffee are you drinking these days?”

I rolled my eyes as I got up to get a mug. She was always on my case about drinking too much coffee, but I wasn’t going to stop anytime soon since it was my most favorite beverage in the whole wide world. “Mom, I finished growing a long time ago. Relax.”

She grumbled, but only for a second before changing the subject. “I was thinking maybe we could decorate the tree today. What do you think, Lily? Maybe make some hot cider?”

“You know, honey,” Lance interrupted, turning to my mom. “Before you do that, I think there’s something under the tree.”

“What?”

“Over there, under the tree. Do you see it?”

My mom glanced at me.

I took a long sip of coffee and shrugged.

She got up and walked over to the tree. Sure enough, a red envelope was sitting under it.

“Lance,” my mom admonished. “What is this?”

‘It’ was a gift certificate to The Spa at the Lake Tahoe Hyatt.

“Consider it an early Christmas gift. I also have reservations at the restaurant and a suite booked.”

My mom’s mouth gaped. “Lance, this - this is too much.”

“Too bad. It’s not optional,” he teased.

“What’s not optional?”

Our heads collectively swiveled towards the stairs where Rhys had appeared, looking all sexy in a T-shirt and pajama pants, with his dark, wavy hair poking out in different directions.

“I’m taking Gail to the Hyatt as an early Christmas present. I trust that’s all right with you?”

Rhys shrugged dismissively. “Whatever.”

“Well, then,” Lance continued, unfazed by Rhys’ rudeness. “Pack a bag, darling. They’re expecting us.”

 

I went back to the loft and tried to read, but a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I sat up and ran my hands over my hair before answering. “Yes?”

The door opened a bit, and my mom stuck her head in. “Hey, honey, mind if I come in?”

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. In any case, I scooted toward the edge of the bed and nodded.

She came in and sat down next to me. “I just wanted to apologize. We came up here to spend time as a family. I’m going to tell Lance we can go another time.”

I frowned at her. “Mom, no. Come on, I appreciate that, but it’s fine. Really.”

“No, no, I got caught up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He planned this big romantic getaway for you; you have to go.”

“I know, but it’s not worth it if you are going to be mad at me.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m not mad, Mom. Trust me.”

She brushed a lock of hair out of my face. “Are you sure? You left the kitchen pretty quickly.”

Yeah, cause Rhys showed up.

She paused. “Is it Rhys?”

My heart stopped. I’d always secretly suspected moms could read minds. Why was she suggesting Rhys? Had she noticed something?

She continued. “I know you two aren’t really used to being around each other yet, but the whole point of inviting him was so that you guys could get to know each other. However, I don’t have to go, if you aren’t comfortable.”

Not comfortable? Being uncomfortable had nothing to do with it. Being uncomfortable barely covered the gamut of emotions I felt around Rhys, which in turn fed my feelings of guilt. “No, Mom, it’s fine, really. Please, go on the trip. Lance obviously put a lot of thought into planning it.”

My mom hugged me. “Thanks, baby. I appreciate your understanding.”

“So,” I said carefully. “You really think he’s getting close?”

“To a proposal?”

I tried not to gag. “Yeah.”

My mom attempted to hide her grin and failed. “I think maybe. He was trying to be all sneaky the other day and was asking my ring size.”

Wow. This really was serious. I’d been able to stay in denial about it up to a point, but a ring meant business. If she and Lance got married, that would mean Rhys would be my stepbrother.

That was too weird.

“What’s that face, baby?”

I let out a sigh and leaned my head against her shoulder. “Nothing. I just want you to be happy, Mom. Really. I’m glad you found Lance.”

My mom smiled and put her arm around me. “Thanks. I have to admit, it’s nice having a man around. I think I’d forgotten how nice. Plus, you never had a sibling, and I always felt guilty about that. It could be nice for you to have Rhys around.”

I almost snorted. Right. That’s it. Nice.

“Well, I should get packing.” She got up and brushed some invisible lint off her jeans. “There’s food in the fridge, and you have your credit card if you need anything at all, but don’t try to drive if it’s snowing, okay? Just order pizza or something.”

“Yes, Mom. Go.” I got up to walk her out.

“And don’t forget to lock the back door at night.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, hun?”

“Go! Have fun. And stop worrying. We’ll be fine.”

I shut the door. Now, if I could only follow my own advice. I was going to be alone in the cabin with Rhys Conner for twenty-four hours.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

I immediately decided I had two options. Option one: I could hole up in the loft. But somehow that felt like retreating, almost like letting Rhys win by showing him he’d gotten to me.

So I went with option two and decided to stake my claim to the living room. I arranged the crafting supplies on our giant wooden coffee table, made myself a mug of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, popped The Holiday into the DVD player, and got comfortable on the rug, feeling confident that the girlie-fest would keep Rhys at bay.

As I opened the Tupperware organizers, I felt little taps of nostalgia. When I was younger, Mom and I did simple things, like make green and red felt hearts and reindeer made out of wine corks. But once I’d gotten older, the techniques had evolved. Little brass cross-stitch rings with wreaths and angels and Christmas trees made from ribbons. The one rule was that we made them during our time up at the cabin. One year in particular was the year of glitter. Martha Stewart had just come out with a line of designer glitter at the craft stores, and mom and I may have gone a little bananas. We coated everything we could get our hands on in it: little fake trees, plastic snowflakes, those cheesy resin Santas they sell at the dollar store. Everything got a coat of finely milled, iridescent glitter. And just like snow, it seemed to make everything better.

This year, we’d bought out the bead section of the craft store, which was perfect because beading was detail-oriented, and I needed a complicated project to distract me from thinking about kissing Rhys.

Which, yes, I still was. But we’re not going to talk about that or the fact that my clit was still throbbing even though it was more than fifteen hours later.

So, yes, back to the beading. Mom had prepared a bunch of stuffed, felted rounds so that we could decorate the surface with colored embroidery floss and beads of all shapes and sizes. It sounds kind of strange, but theoretically, we’d end up with a bunch of super cool, bohemian-chic ornaments.

Trust me, there was a Pinterest page that had inspired her. It looked better than it sounds.

I wondered absently if my mom had thought about Lance while she’d planned this. Lance didn’t strike me as a bohemian-chic type of guy. In fact, if I was to characterize him as an ornament, I’d say he was more of a glass ball. The plain, clear kind that most people fill up with stuff like feathers or ribbon. But Lance’s would be empty. Nothing really wrong with it, just...simple.

And also very different from what we were making.

Rhys, on the other hand, might be into these things. He’d always been good at art, even though he’d tried to play it off like the class was lame. And he was pretty good with color and detail-oriented projects.

Annnd, there I was, thinking about him again.

I forced an exhale, located my needle, and set about planning my first design. Rather than try to do a figure or anything representational, I decided to do the first few as studies in red. Red was my favorite color, holidays or not, because it was just so festive. Red felt alive and vibrant, like happiness.

I mindlessly went to work, running my needle through the felt, adding beads in a rhythmic motion.

I was in the zone. That perfect, happy, numb zone only crafting can create. Kate and Cameron had just switched homes on the screen, and my cocoa had cooled to the perfect temperature.

Then Rhys had to show up.

His steps were loud and forceful as he came down the stairs and beelined for the kitchen, nary a hello or good morning. Cupboards started to open and then slam shut. Over and over and over.

I swear to God, I think he’s doing it on purpose to annoy me.

“Do you need something?” I finally yelled over.

“Is there more coffee somewhere?”

“Pantry, middle shelf.”

The slamming stopped. I heard the pantry door creak open and then slam shut.

My shoulders tensed. “Can you be a little quieter? I’m trying to watch a movie.”

Rhys didn’t respond, so I tried to ignore him and went back to my beadwork.

A few minutes later, I smelled coffee. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys glance out the front window.

“They gone?”

I hit pause on the remote and bit my lip before answering. “Yeah, they left almost an hour ago.”

Rhys looked mildly amused. Happy, even. His eyes seemed slightly brighter.

“Awesome,” he said and headed back upstairs. A few seconds later, he re-emerged with a joint tucked between his lips.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m going out on the porch. You want to join me?”

I looked back down at my needlework. “I don’t smoke.”

“It’s weed.”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“It’s bad for you.”

“Life is bad for you.” He lit the joint and went out on the deck.

Rhys Conner was bad for me. I just knew it. I debated going out to the porch and making him talk about whatever it was that had happened yesterday, but that felt like giving in. No; I decided I would stay put just where I was and stop thinking about it.

But I couldn’t just stop thinking about it.

Rhys was like those cream-filled dessert cakes made with partially hydrogenated oil. I knew he was bad for me, but he tasted so, so good. Last night felt aggressive, almost like he was on the offense, trying to strike before I could signal one way or another. But at the end of the day, he was still the guy I’d had a crush on for years. The guy who made my stomach flip even when he was being an ass.

I went back to the movie and tried to distract myself with the mindless needlework. It worked for a while, but after half an hour or so, he came back inside. I pretended to ignore him, keeping my eyes on the beading. I’d managed to finish one ornament and was on to the next.

I prayed he’d go back to his room. Please, just leave me alone. Just go.

No such luck. Rhys went to the kitchen, and a few seconds later, I heard him pour himself a mug of coffee. I felt his eyes on me. Sure enough, when I snuck a peek out of the corner of my eye, I saw him leaning against the kitchen island, staring at me.

I looked back down, feeling sick and delirious just from being around him. But it wasn’t a bad feeling - more like all-encompassing. Flooded. Like I was under the surface in a warm saltwater sea. I knew I needed to come up for air, but at the same time, being underwater felt so...good.

I could drown in Rhys Conner if I let myself. And I wasn’t going to let myself.

He stood there, watching for what felt like a long time.

I debated saying anything. If I reacted, he’d know he was getting to me. But if I didn’t, he might assume he could just be a weirdo and I’d take it. Rhys Conner was as unpredictable as a winter storm. If I left any part of me exposed, he’d find it and sear into me like frostbite.

I wasn’t going to let that happen again. I gathered my thoughts, but just as I was about to speak, he beat me to it.

“What are you doing?”

I didn’t look up, trying my best to seem uninterested. “Making ornaments.”

He took another sip of coffee. “Right. I can see that, but why? Why not just buy them?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“It is?”

I shrugged. “My mom and I make them every year.”

“You make ornaments every year?”

“It’s a tradition.”

“There you go with tradition again. Why do you care so much about tradition?”

I put my hands down and looked up at him. He was gorgeous, of course. His dark waves were arranged in a perfectly disheveled way, and even though they were slightly red from the weed, his eyes were sharp and penetrating.

“I don’t know. I just...I just like it. It feels festive and...stuff.” I felt stupid and tongue-tied.

Rhys ambled over in that quietly confident way of his and sat down on the floor not three feet from me. He was wearing dark jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his arms, which were muscular and smooth and looked more like a man’s arms than a boy’s. That’s the thing about being my age: being twenty-one meant nothing. Some guys were still boys. In fact, most were, at least mentally. The rare few seemed like men yet, and Rhys Conner was definitely ahead of the curve physically. Then again, he’d always been. I think that’s part of the reason he’d always been so cocky, so confident.

Mentally, he still had a way to go.

“How do I do this?”

I snapped back to the present. Rhys was picking through my beads.

He wanted to make an ornament? This was weird. So weird it made my tongue catch in my throat. I didn’t know what to say.

So, I showed him.

“And you take the needle and hold the felt like this.” I demonstrated on my own felt round.

Rhys watched my fingers carefully, and I tried not to blush. His face quieted when he was concentrating, any aggression dropping away.

“Then what?” he asked, his needle halfway through the felt.

I got up on my knees so I could get a little closer to him. “Then you take a bead and thread it like this.” I chose a bead and held it so he could slip the needle through. As he did, his fingertip grazed mine in the softest way, and my breathing stopped. We barely touched each other, but that small part of me blazed with prickly heat that spread from the tip of my finger all the way down to my toes, making me dizzy and nervous all at the same time.

I sat back down and watched as Rhys worked his fabric with the needle. His motions were slow and deliberate as he moved the thread up and down and occasionally reached for a bead.

I debated bringing up yesterday. I could, I reasoned, bring it up to let him know I wasn’t interested. But that felt sort of lame. I mean, I still wasn’t sure if he’d been serious or just messing with me. Sure, there was the erection, but didn’t guys get those all the time? I felt completely confused. I decided to point the conversation in another direction.

“So...did you have any traditions growing up?” I asked, keeping the subject neutral.

“No,” he paused. “Not in a long time.”

“But you used to.”

He chose a purple bead from the table. “With my mom, yeah.”

 

Five years ago

“Do you have any indigo?”

I picked up a small metal tube and tossed it across the table. It was finals week. The teacher had left the art room open after school hours so we could finish our final projects before the holidays. The project was to paint an abstract portrait of someone important to you, and I’d been having trouble. Picking someone you admire was a hard topic for kids who had barely experienced life.

I mean, Mikey Chang and Tony Lacosta both picked Beyoncé, for Christ’s sake, and I’m pretty sure it was just because they wanted to stare at a picture of her boobs for three weeks while pretending to paint.

I settled on my mom. A little cliché, but at least it felt honest. I had a hard time getting started, though, and went through several sketches and a couple canvases before finally finding an idea I liked. Hence, I was behind. And with winter break only a few days away, I had to get this project done.

Rhys was behind too, but not because he’d been procrastinating. His canvas kept evolving. At first, it had been a sea of dark red, but he’d been gradually layering shades of blue over it, so there was almost this translucent purple quality to it. It was sad and somber but, at the same time, actually really beautiful.

The hours clicked by, the Beatles playing in the background on the art room stereo. Several students had come and finished their work, but by seven o’clock, Rhys and I were the only two left.

“That’s really good,” I said. “I love the way the colors are layered.”

“Thanks.” He unscrewed the cap and squeezed a drop of dark blue gel onto his Plexiglas palette.

“Who is it?” I asked, finally. We’d both been working on our projects for weeks but hadn’t actually told each other who they were of. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s cool - ”

“Nah,” he interrupted. “It’s okay.” He put his brush down and rolled his neck. “It’s my mom.”

I tilted my head at the painting. It didn’t feel like a mom to me. It felt painful and complex.

“She died when I was ten,” he offered. “Overdose.”

I was shocked. First that he’d also lost a parent, but then that he’d volunteer such a detail. An overdose? Like, drugs? I wasn’t sheltered. I knew people died of drug overdoses all the time, but still, I’d never actually known anyone who had. And his mother? I couldn’t even fathom it. “I’m - I’m sorry, Rhys.” My response felt wholly inadequate.

He shrugged, staring at the painting. I saw a sadness in his eyes but also something else. Anger, like the red in the painting.

“Can I ask what happened?” I said carefully. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me -  Never mind.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I need a fucking cigarette.” He got up and patted his pockets. He looked back at me. “You coming, Hayes?”

I didn’t smoke, but somehow Rhys inviting me to go outside with him made my insides scream with anticipation. I felt like I was being invited into something private, secret.

Leave it to me to flub it.

“You can’t smoke on campus.” I felt like an absolute dork as soon as the words left my mouth.

“It’s after hours. No one’s here. Relax, Liliana,” he returned, unconcerned, his haughty voice grating over my name. No one called me Liliana except my mom and only when I was in trouble. Normally, I hated it. But not now. Not when Rhys said it.

When Rhys said it, I felt electricity shoot through my skin.

Rhys cocked an eyebrow at me.

I hesitated but only for a second. Grabbing my hoodie, I followed him, my heart whooshing rapidly in my chest.

Outside, he led us up past the gym to the concrete planter that overlooked the football field. The football lights weren’t on, but the campus was lit with those dim kind of lights that tinge orange at night.

He went around the front of the planter and used his arms to push himself up to a sitting position on the edge, his legs hanging over the side. The movement was so fluid, so confident and easy. I examined the distance between the top edge of the planter and the ground, trying to figure out how I could get up there.

“You coming?” He looked back at me and patted the concrete spot next to him.

I carefully stepped through the top of the planter, around the hedge, and lowered myself to the rough concrete edge.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth. Then he offered the pack to me.

“No, thanks.”

He chuckled, cupping the cigarette with his hands and flicking a lighter. “Liliana Hayes,” he said slowly, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “Good girl till the end.”

I’d never liked being around smokers; hated it, in fact. But I liked being near Rhys. And his smoking was different, sexy even. We sat there in silence, just looking out at the empty football field, our vision occasionally punctuated by a cone of smoke that would quickly disappear into the dark.

I didn’t know what we were. We weren’t friends. We didn’t hang out; hell, we never even talked outside of class. A few days ago, I’d come to the after-school hours to work on my project, but he was packing up as I arrived. I’d be lying if I said I came today hoping he wouldn’t be there. I hoped he would. Practically prayed for it, in fact. I’d even worn my black jeans and Converse, thinking in some vain way that maybe he’d think I was cool.

I wasn’t cool. I was just normal, and nobody liked normal.

Normal was boring.

Yet, somehow, here I was. Norm-core Liliana Hayes, hanging out with Rhys Conner as he silently smoked in the dark.

I felt tingly all over and wondered if I should make conversation. But what do people talk about? I was more of a listener type. Rhys didn’t seem uncomfortable with the silence, though, so I let it hang for a little while longer.

“It wasn’t coke or anything,” he said suddenly, still staring out at the field.

“What?”

He took one last drag of his cigarette and tossed the butt down to the ground.

“The overdose. It wasn’t cocaine or heroin if that’s what you were picturing.”

“Oh. Right. I wasn’t - ”

“That’s normally what people assume when they hear how she died, but they don’t fucking know.”

He wasn’t angry, exactly, although his words carried an acerbic edge to them.

“Can I ask what happened?” I was careful not to make my tone demanding.

Rhys leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky. The nearby city lights made it impossible to see all but a few stars. The moon was behind us, halfway through its cycle.

“She was in a car accident when I was little. I had a reading delay when I was younger, and she was on her way to pick me up from my tutor when some idiot in a semi blew through a red light. She broke an arm and a leg and fractured her spine.”

I gasped.

“She was lucky though. They said if the fracture had gone a millimeter deeper, she would have been paralyzed.”

“Jesus, Rhys. That’s crazy.”

“Anyway, she was in rehab for, like, over a year, and they put her on some pretty heavy painkillers. She supposedly weaned off them. We didn’t know she was still using. She seemed...normal, I guess.”

“People can be good at hiding things.”

He snorted. “Yeah. I guess so. Still, I don’t see how you cannot know your wife is a drug addict...” he trailed off. “Anyway, one day she OD’d. Dad found her in their bedroom when he got home from work.”

I was horrified.

“I’m so sorry, Rhys. That sounds…terrible.” We sat in silence for a beat.

 “I know it was tough for my mom. But that…it must have been devastating for your dad,” I said, struggling to find words.

Rhys snorted and looked off to the side. “Yeah, well, don’t waste your time worrying too much about him.”

I quirked my head at him.

“All right, that’s enough story time for today.” He jumped down off the planter and offered his hand to me. “Come on. You don’t want to get in trouble for smoking on campus.”

I made a face at him as he helped me down. “What? But I didn’t - ”

His eyes lowered to mine. “I’m just kidding, Hayes. God, learn to take a joke, would you? Come on, let’s go clean up.”

 

After graduation, I was pretty sure I’d never see Rhys again, but my attraction to him was unrivaled. I’d hung out with a few different guys in college, but none of them had made my stomach flip and my heart seize like he did. Maybe that’s why I was still a virgin. Maybe deep down I wanted that feeling he gave me. Maybe I needed it. It was a measuring stick I hadn’t even realized I’d been using. And now, here we were, years later, and my mom was dating his dad.

Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

“So,” I said carefully, keeping my eyes on my ornament. “What’s Chicago like?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. School is boring, but the city is cool. Lots of galleries and museums.”

I stopped beading for a second and looked up at him. “I still think you should be doing art.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t always get what we want, right?”

My eyes caught his, and my heart slowed. “You, uh, have a girlfriend out there?”

He chuckled. “Nope.” He grabbed another bead.

I felt his eyes study me for a long minute, and I could barely look up at him.

Finally, he shifted and spoke. “You really aren’t going to admit it, are you?”

I frowned. “Admit what?”

He shifted again. “Did you like me, Liliana?”

“What?” My voice dripped with incredulity while my heart clenched in my chest.

“Did. You. Like. Me?” He paused. “In high school. You did, didn’t you?”

I felt my skin blister as my body admitted what my mouth couldn’t. “Rhys, I - ” I flamed up inside. This wasn’t happening. He was making this so weird! What was I supposed to do? Say yes? It was so long ago. And now the way he was looking at me -  if I said yes, what would that even mean? Would it just be something for him to gloat over? Because this was Rhys Conner we were talking about.

I kept my eyes on my project as he continued.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Why didn’t I say something? Wasn’t it obvious? My face started to heat with something else, an anger I’d buried a long time ago. The question actually made me sort of mad, as if he were oblivious. I knew he couldn’t be that stupid. “I don’t know, Rhys. Maybe because I was seventeen. Maybe because you left.”

He stilled. “That wasn’t because of you.”

I shrugged. “Sure seemed like it.”

He exhaled and stared up at the ceiling. “Hayes, I swear. Would you please just believe me that I wouldn’t have done that if -  ugh. Never mind.”

We both went silent.

 “I was seventeen,” he said, throwing my defense back at me. Then after a long pause, he added, “I’m sorry. That was shitty.”

Wow. He actually apologized. Out of all the things I’d expected to come out of his mouth, that was the last. I dropped my hands, needle still between my fingers. “I thought you hated me.”

Rhys ignored me and stood up from the coffee table. “All right. I need some air. I’m going for a walk. You wanna come?”

I hesitated. If I went, what was I agreeing to? No, I needed time to process what he’d just said. I mean he basically just confessed he’d had a crush on me all those years and knew that I liked him. No. This was way too much info and made what happened last night all the more confusing. I needed some alone time.

“I think I’ll stay here. I have a lot of ornaments to make.”

His eyes squinted a bit, but he nodded. “Have it your way.” He tossed me the ornament he’d been working on, grabbed his jacket, and headed out the door.

After he was gone, I looked down at the ornament and gasped. He’d edged the felt in red and white beads and across the center, in blocky and somewhat misshapen letters, was my name with something stitched right below it. It was crude, but I could definitely tell what it was.

A purple butterfly.

Just liked the collage I’d made in school.

He remembered that?

Rhys Conner was a mystery. Now more than ever.