Two weeks have come and gone, in which time I have spent every night searching the internet for information to fill in my blanks. There's nothing, and I don't know how to accept it all.

I've also done a great job at avoiding Mary's question and Brad, who has been working whenever I'm not working since the bar's shifts are almost every night. I used to crave being alone, having all the space in the world to myself, but now I feel lonely and lost. I feel so many things that I don't know how to cope with, but I will continue moving forward because my life has been hard and I've survived thus far.

It's five-thirty and everyone has left the office already, which gives me the peace and quiet to focus on shutting everything down for the night. I take my coat and purse from the back room and quietly slip out the front door, turning quickly to lock up.

"Hi," I hear.

His voice is soft so it doesn't scare me, especially since I'm most likely one of the only people left in the building at this point.

"Dale? What are you doing here?"

"I found something yesterday and I sat with it for hours debating on whether or not it would hurt you or help you." I can only assume Mary has filled him in on everything I know and don't remember since I left him high and dry the night we went out. In any case, if he has anything to help me recall just a moment before Dad left, I would be grateful to attach a sense of reality to just one small memory.

"What is it?"

"What is your favorite color?" he asks.

I close my eyes and nod my head. "What? Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer me," he says, gently.

"Indigo,"

Dale laughs at my answer and I don't understand what is funny about a color. "Let me ask you something," he says.

"What five-year-old says that their favorite color is indigo?"

I shrug because I don't have an answer but I can assume I was that five-year-old. "I don't know."

"You, Haley. You learned about the color at school and it became your favorite color. Everything had to be the color indigo."

I suppose I don't remember a time when I hadn't given that answer when asked what my favorite color is. "How did you know it was still my favorite color?" I ask him.

"A color that odd doesn't just change, or so I was assuming and took a lucky guess," he says.

"What does indigo have to do with anything?" I ask him.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out something out, but keeps it concealed within his closed hand.

"After your accident, I dragged my mother all over town one morning, in search of a craft shop. She was positive that we didn't have one in our town, but low and behold, I found a tiny fabric store on a side street so I dragged her in there. I must have been in that store an hour or something, but I looked for any type of material that was the color of indigo, which my mother described as a mix of blue and purple. I knew the color had to be exact, whatever the case was. I wouldn't have it any other way. I finally spotted this thick embroidery thread and dragged my mother over to the display of threads. I asked her if the color I spotted was indigo and she laughed before showing me the label. It was indeed Indigo. I made her buy three wrapped chunks of the thread even though I had no clue how I was going to make what I had imagined in my head."

"You went through all that trouble to make me something?" I ask him. It feels like I'm reading about someone else's story while he's telling me one about a part of us I'll never know.

"You were my girl, Haley. I would have done just about anything for you, even after five. Especially at five. You needed me. You said so," he tells me. “I tried to physically hurt your dad after what he did to you, but I walked away with nothing but two bloody fists and the memory of a horrible smile on his face.”

"Mary mentioned some of that to me a couple of weeks ago," I tell him. “Not about the part that you tried to fight my dad, though.”

“No one knew I tried to fight a grown man. I was embarrassed after I got nowhere with my attempt. I told everyone I fell on the pavement so my mother didn’t think anything of my torn up fists.” He reaches his closed fist over to me. "Anyway, this tiny little thing took me a week to make. I begged my mother to teach me how to make a braid, but one braid wasn't going to be enough so I had to get creative."

I feel my brows furrow in response to his description of whatever is in his hand. I lift my arm and open my palm under his. He drops a weightless object into my hand and I look down at threaded ring made up of four braids that are tied together by two little strings of the same material. I stare at it for a long minute, feeling it—the silky material. "You asked me to marry you with this ring. We were behind the oak tree in Mary's backyard." I remember. It's so hazy, but I remember.

Dale looks into my eyes with the same dark gaze he had the first day he came back here as if he were trying to read my thoughts. "I don't want to scare you again or push you to feel something you wouldn't naturally feel for a stranger, but I've lived my entire life wondering if you were okay. I see now that you're hanging in there, at least, and if I'm not a good person to have in your life, I would never insert myself, in fear of hurting you. However, if you wanted me to be in your life, I would feel like the luckiest man in the world because I think we were supposed to be connected in some way."

His words are comforting in a way I haven't felt before. A familiarity I can't quite put my finger on, but yet, it's within reach. I can't see the memories but I can feel them, the good one, even if it's just one. My mind was smart enough to block out the bad when I was a child and I want to trust that it would be smart enough to know what was good too.

I take the little ring and slide it onto my pinky finger, pressing it over my knuckle. "So, does this mean we've had a twenty-two-year engagement because that's a long time to be engaged?" I try to make a light joke so he knows I'm not thinking he's so crazy anymore.

"I'd like to think there's a reason I've had such horrible luck in the dating world. I probably shouldn't have told the women I've dated that I was already engaged. That probably wasn't a good move," he says, joking with laughter.

"I guess nothing would have ever worked out too well for me either if a man found out I had already promised myself to someone else."

"I won't call you mine yet, Haley, but do you think we could start from the beginning and see if maybe someday we could find an indigo ring that fits on your ring finger?"

"That's a lot of pressure," I tell him, though, not feeling that way exactly.

"I work better under pressure," he says.

"What about me?" I respond.

"You're a hygienist. Pressure is your thing."

"True."

"Haley, can I take you for dinner?"

I look down between us at the ring on my pinky. "I'd love that."

We had been standing still for so long that motion sensor lights in the hallway go dark, leaving us with only the glow from the emergency exit lights.

I don't like the dark, but his hand sweeps across my cheek and just as my eyes adjust to the little amount of light left, I watch as his eyes study mine for a few seconds. Flutters erupt in my stomach and my body feels numb as he leans toward me. Just before his lips touch mine, a certain look in his eyes triggers a memory of a small dark-haired boy with big blue eyes leaning in to kiss my cheek. The feeling is the same, but much greater. His lips press against mine and the scent of mint and sensation is warm and plush. I lose every thought floating through my head, focusing solely on his mouth and his fingertips sweeping through my hair.

"I remember you," I whisper against his lips.

"Kisses don't work like that," he responds.

"Maybe you need to take some more psychology classes." He leans back and smiles at me with a raised brow before returning to my lips.