He takes a swig of his beer. “What about movies?”
“Hmm. I don’t have a favorite, butStranger Thingsis my all-time favorite show.”
“It’s like ifE.T.andClose Encountershad a fourth-dimensional baby that’s crawling with demons!”
“Yes,” I screech.
“Yes!” Stone tosses his arms in the air. People glance over curiously. “Just, um, found out she’s not pregnant.”
I elbow him lightly in the stomach and shake my head, silently telling him,Not pregnant. He takes my arm, slides his hand down it, and entwines his warm fingers in mine.
He is so lusciously warm.
This,I think. This is what real relationships are forged from—likes, dislikes, dreams, hopes, goals. Your heart tugging when you share something in common, and theirs doing the same.
But this is different because every piece of himself that Stone remembers shortens the ticking time bomb ofus.
When people shoot us more curious looks, I add, “He’s joking. No babies.”
Then everyone returns to their conversations.
I look up to see Stone gazing down at me. My throat shrinks.
He squeezes my hand. “I loveStranger Things. Just like I know that I ...” He swallows, and part of me thinks he was going to say,Just like I know I love you.
But that can’t be, because we barelyknowone another, and love takes time to grow and blossom.
But maybe this is what thebeginningof love feels like, and that’s what he was going to say.
I steer the conversation in a different direction. “What else do you know about yourself?”
Ron walks up, holding a tray of hot dogs. “Fresh from the oven,” he says. “Sorry, Coco, we couldn’t get anything fancier on such short notice. Jennifer wouldn’t even unlock the controlled-drug cabinet for us.”
“First, hot dogs are great. Second, I know you’re joking, Ron, because taking prescription medication that isn’t prescribed to you is illegal.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Iamjoking. We wouldn’t do that. Jennifer’s too much of a professional to even kid about it.”
We each take a dog, but once Ron is gone, Stone wrinkles his nose and places his on a nearby table.
I eye the discarded meal. “You’re not hungry?”
“I’m hungry, I just hate hot dogs. Can’t stand them and I have no idea why. Maybe because they’re processed.”
He only took the offer to be polite. It makes me smile. “That’s a small but notable detail.” A shadow passes over his face, and I tug on his sleeve playfully. “What is it?”
“It’s weird I can remember those things—what I like, dislike. But I can’t remember the important stuff—you, my parents, my brother, my sister. And that’s what I want to know. And before you say anything, I want to remember that stuff on my own, just like everything else.”
I squeeze his hand. “You’ll find the answers.”
Before his lips quirk playfully or he gives me a tender look that’s stuffed with trust—both expressions that will make my guilt spiral—I glance away and spot Cristina. She scrunches her face and shoots me a look that says,This is sweet, but we have bigger problems.
“Do you want to know what I’m most proud of?” I ask, ignoring my friend’s look.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “I for sure want to know this.”
“You.” When I say it, he flinches. “I’m proud of you for diving into the project headfirst. For believing in yourself. If this happened to me, if I had”—I drop my voice—“amnesia, I’d be a nervous wreck. But you’re thriving. You’re redoing the resort, and the design is even better. The materials are amazing. The crew is working overtime—foryou. Not for someone else, but because they respect you.”
Stone gently brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. “All I want is to be someone who makes you proud.”
