Logan stood there, staring at Paris, his heart pounding inside his chest, everything else forgotten except her.

The older version of everyone looked a lot different, and she was no exception, but she was still beautiful. She had the same aqua-green eyes and same long, red hair. She wore more makeup than she used to. She stood in a T-shirt and shorts, her skin like porcelain. Every part of him wanted to kiss her, like he’d always wanted to kiss her. Tears glittered in her eyes.

Neither of them spoke. For how long, he didn’t know—it could have been a second, it could have been an eternity. Her cheeks weren’t as round, and she looked like a woman. Grown up. Breathtaking.

“Pear …” he began.

She shut the door in his face. “Go away, Logan!”

He stood there, shocked. He remembered when he’d helped her grandfather build this cabin. It had been the summer he’d turned ten and he had come to play with Paris, but he’d ended up swinging a hammer. They both had helped and laughed through it, her grandfather promising them if they worked the morning he would take them out water-skiing in the afternoon. It had been the first time he’d ever had a chance to water-ski and wakeboard, and it ended up being one of the best days of his life.

It shocked him that Paris was no longer part of this futuristic life, that they weren’t even friends. A gaping hole opened up in his chest. “Pear, please.” He’d called her Pear since the third grade. She and Shane had always called him hotshot, ever since kickball, where he dominated. The memories assaulted him. Putting a hand on the door, he leaned into the space where the doorbell was. “Pear, I need to talk. Please.”

Waiting, once again, felt like it lasted a million years. Finally, she opened the door.

He noticed her feet were bare and her toes were painted a simple red. His eyes trailed up her body. Granted, she looked different. She actually looked slimmer than in high school. Not that she’d ever been heavy, but now she looked even better. His mind flashed to the fact she had a kid, that she was a mom. For some reason, he grinned.

Glaring at him, she crossed her arms. “What are you doing? What game are you playing?”

Having nothing but the truth to give her, he copied her stance, feeling stronger than he had since he’d woken up. Being here, with Paris, made sense to him. Being in her proximity had been the plan for what felt like his whole life. Well, the life he remembered. “There’s no game.” His voice faltered. “I woke up in a hospital and I don’t remember the last eight years of my life.” He said it simply, even though it didn’t feel that way.

Her eyes narrowed. “You were in a coma. How are you even standing here?”

Shrugging, he uncrossed his arms and let out a breath. Why was he here? He didn’t even know if she would be here for sure. Logan had driven around Jackson for a couple of hours, trying to process everything Shane had told him. Shane had married Paris? Shane had divorced Paris? They had a kid together?

He’d slammed his hand against the steering wheel over and over, wishing he could find out something more. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that crazy woman, Kim, who he was supposed to be marrying, was looking for him.

Finally, he’d had an idea and stopped at a public library he used to go to in high school when he needed a computer. The librarian’s eyes had widened when she’d seen him and he knew she recognized him. He pulled out his wallet and one of the crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Can I please have access to a computer for half an hour, please?”

The librarian had treated him like royalty. “No, no.” She looked embarrassed. “You’ve already donated quite a bit of money to the library.” She ushered him to a private room. “Here, use my office for a while. Have you really lost your memory? I’ve been following Kim’s vlog.”

There was that word again: “vlog.” He frowned. “I don’t remember, no.”

She sat him down at her computer, opened up a search engine, and winked at him. “Well, if you need help, let me know.”

He began by searching himself, which, to his delight and horror, was a complicated mess of Internet life. He saw pictures of himself and Kim everywhere.

He read his bio on Wikipedia, which told a brief version story of his life. His mother had passed when he was twelve and his father raised him, and then his father died of alcohol poisoning. Not surprising. He’d had a complicated relationship with his father. To his amazement, there were pictures of him and his father together, one at a game that looked like from college.

After a couple more minutes of trying to figure out his life, he searched Paris Ford. There was hardly any coverage, except an announcement of her business in Jackson, and he saw pictures from what looked like the All-Stars Shane had mentioned. He was shocked to see pictures of himself with those who the article said were pro athletes, movie stars, country music stars, and other billionaires around Jackson. Apparently, Logan was the one who organized the event—or, more accurately, paid Paris’s company to.

He found a picture of her and Shane together, announcing their wedding. Hand shaking with anger, he skimmed past a baby announcement and saw a picture of him and Paris. The headline read, “Logan Slade’s Ex-Girlfriend’s Mother’s Funeral.”

Pain stabbed through his chest. He couldn’t believe Paris’s mother had died from cancer. She had been like a mother to him. Gently putting his hand on the screen, he touched a picture of him and Paris at the funeral. They looked … it looked like something important had happened. And that had only been two years ago. What had happened between them?

When he’d left the library, he felt like he should come to the cabin. She would be here. He just knew it.

“Logan!” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

Coming back to the present, he shrugged. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Is this for real? I can’t decide if this is true or if it’s some vlog piece for you and Kim. Some blast-from-the-past piece for the media?” Her aqua-green eyes sparked with anger, and all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and melt her anger with kisses. It was something he did, or used to do. Would she even let him do it now? The funny thing to him was, even knowing she’d married and divorced his best friend, he still wanted to kiss her. Dang, he wanted to kiss her so badly, like thirsting after water on a hot day. He wanted to drink her in, feel her against him, and smell her. Then he wondered the oddest thing: would she still taste like cherry lip gloss and smell like that mint shampoo she used to use?

“Logan!” she demanded, stomping her foot like a two-year-old.

He couldn’t stop himself; he crossed the two steps between them and yanked her into a kiss, their lips slamming hard as her body pressed against his.

He felt her resist him, pushing against his chest, but he held her, a vice grip around her, pulling her into him. Not giving her a chance to break the connection.

She struggled and punched him rather hard in the gut, but he felt it the exact moment when she gave in, yanking on his T-shirt and pulling him closer. He responded by moving a hand into her hair and pulling her flush with his body. She tasted different. At the moment she tasted like … wine?

He’d never drank, swearing he wouldn’t become an alcoholic like his father. From somewhere, that memory of the taste assaulted him. He knew it was liquor. Then his senses shifted and he discovered she smelled like coconut, like suntan lotion. Something tropical.

She gave him a final push hard to the chest.

He yanked back, releasing her.

Both of them sucked in gulps of air, and he burst out laughing. “It might be eight years and a lot of crap, but it’s still there, Pear. It is. It’s—”

A slap to the face cut him off. “It’s not there!” Her eyes were fiery with rage, until she caught her breath and stared down at her hand, looking as shocked as he’d felt when he’d woken up in the hospital. “Go,” she said quietly, stepping back and shutting the door.

“Wait.” He tried to use his strength to keep the door opened. No, no, no. He couldn’t let Paris go. He couldn’t leave. His insides started to tremble.

“Please, Logan.” Her body shook. “Please, just go.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a few awkward seconds and he pulled back, feeling shell-shocked. This must be what soldiers feel like in war when a building next to them is blown to smithereens right in front of their eyes. In one moment it’s there; in the next moment everything has changed.

She shut the door. He stood there, putting a hand to his lips and thinking about tasting her, smelling her. She was supposed to be his. He’d had a ring. He was going to ask her after the bonfire their senior year. He’d had a plan. After graduation, at the senior bonfire, he would ask her—with all their friends! He’d already kind of asked her father. Told him he intended to marry her and he needed his permission. Her father had given him a serious look and then nodded, telling Logan he trusted him to take care of her properly.

The pain pulsed in his head, feeling like it would explode. How had all this happened? His last memory was of being in that championship game, knowing he would win that game and knowing he would ask Paris to marry him afterwards. Waking up to this life couldn’t be happening. He stumbled back as the nausea came back with a vengeance.

She hated him. The woman he loved hated him. He clutched his chest, feeling his whole body shake, and tried not to pass out. Somehow he stumbled back to his car. He leaned against it for a couple of minutes, heaving in a series of deep, deep breaths, but sweat prickled on his forehead and tears burned down his cheeks.

He hadn’t believed things were different with her. How could they be? But his thoughts trailed to seeing the obvious hate and anger in her eyes. Paris.

He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled. He knew he couldn’t drive. He couldn’t function. His whole life was gone. Seeing the dock and the boathouse, Logan knew he’d be staying the night here whether Paris liked it or not.