She finished summarizing a study done on happiness and friendship, and stretched out her back with a yawn. Out of habit, she pulled up her social media to check the stats on her latest videos and posts.
To her shock, she saw that the post she’d shared from Grandma’s page—the one about how she met Grandpa—had gone viral. People loved it. There were over ten thousand comments, most of them some variation of “AW!” and “I want something like this someday” and “Reminds me of how I met my partner.”
She texted Grandma Winnie.
Eliana:You went viral!!
Grandma:What? No, I’m feeling fine. Are you sick again? How’s Cameron?
Eliana:I’m fine and Cam is feeling a lot better, but Dad is sick now.
Eliana:But that’s not what I meant. Viral means that a social media post got a lot of views and shares. The post you made of you and Grandpa is SUPER popular. Everyone is reading it and loving it.
Grandma:Wow. That’s something.
Eliana:Congrats, Grandma! You achieved something many people aspire to and work toward for years.
Grandma:Leave it to me to do it accidentally.
Grandma:And not be one hundred percent sure of what you’re talking about.
Grandma:*GIF of a confused person walking into walls*
Eliana laughed. When had her grandma learned how to use GIFs? She’d have to go over later and show Grandma what it meant for a post to go viral. It was a surprise that the local news hadn’t reached out to her for an interview yet, but probably for the best. Grandma Winnie would hate the attention.
Boxes clattered to the ground, followed by Asher cursing under his breath. She grinned and turned to Louisa, who she’d propped on the table beside her.
“It sounds like he’s struggling. Should I go help him?” she whispered. Louisa’s head moved in what could have been a nod of agreement or an attempt to reach another part of her lettuce snack.
“You’re right. He needs help.” It was a good time for a break anyway. She popped out of her seat and headed to the living room to find boxes strewn everywhere. This wasn’t an organized attempt to systematically go through all the boxes, but rather like someone bursting a confetti tube all over the room, Asher in the middle of the mess.
“What are you doing?” She took him in. Dust from the boxes and belongings coated his hair and beard like snow. A pile of notebooks sat in his lap.
A smile creased his face as he saw her. She’d never get used to that—or how wrong she was about him. He’d seemed so grumpy, so unapproachable when she’d first met him. But underneath that protective layer of stay-away, he was a huge softie. “That box of secrets is really bugging me.”
“What about it?” She cleared off a spot to sit by him. The space was so limited, that as they sat cross-legged facing each other, her knees pressed against his.
Her mind was drawn to the games last weekend, how it had felt when he’d whispered teasingly into her ear, his lips just grazing her skin. Hot. The room was suddenly very hot. She fanned her shirt away from her body to get some fresh air circulating.
“Why he’d be so invasive.” His expression was perplexed as he rested his elbows on a box behind him. “He must have spent so much time investigating everyone and pulling these files together.”
“What are you looking for? I’ll help.” Her looming deadline nagged at her, but she couldn’t leave Asher to go through this pile of emotional wreckage alone.
“He kept a journal, and I have this Hail Mary hope that he wrote an entire confessional about why and how he did it,” he said wryly.
“That would be convenient.” She reached across to him and took half of the notebooks from his lap, attempting, but not quite succeeding, to ignore how her fingers brushed against his hard stomach as she did.
Of course she was aware of him; they were in a very small space together. And he was an extremely handsome man.
She’d taken an internet vow of singleness. Not of never noticing a hot guy and/or his tight line of abs again in her life. She was only human after all. It was fine. Completely, totally fine.
Her phone buzzed recklessly in her back pocket with messages, but she ignored it in favor of combing through old notebooks filled with everything from grocery lists to calendar reminders. Asher finished going through the notebooks on his lap, and moved on to a stack of mail—nearly all of which was junk.
She grabbed another box—staying far away from the abs this time. Car warranty renewal notices, grocery store deals, credit card applications … A handwritten envelope caught her eye and she slipped it from the pile.
It was addressed to someone named Michael, but it wasn’t stamped, and it looked like the envelope had never been sealed. She pulled the lined notebook paper out and noted the date in the corner. Ten years ago. The handwriting was messy and angular, but she was able to make out most of it.
Michael—
