Kyle tells me all about his grandfather—an affectionate and helpful man in his seventies who was almost a friend of everyone in town. In his free time, he helped at the orphanage and church by pruning the flowerbeds. He spent time with juveniles in a detention home. He handed out his famous apple strudels to his neighbors and friends.

The cause of his death? A cardiac arrest. When he passed away, many attended his funeral—including me, my mother, and Aunt Abbie.

According to Kyle, we knew his grandfather because he frequently patronized Happynest. Every morning, he would enjoy a cup of freshly brewed black coffee. His favorite item on the menu was Big Ben—scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes and maple-glazed bacon on top of toasts.

As Kyle shares about him, I can tell he adores his grandfather and clearly misses him a lot. His expression is tender, but his head dips and his back hunches forward. A telltale sign of sadness through his body language.

"Dad's always busy with his company and we had schools to attend," he tells me. "But Gramps was stubborn. He refuses to leave his home in Lakeshore to let us take care of him. Mom had to drive him back home every Christmas and New Year. I only came here twice to spend the summer—once when I was seven, and another time when I was eleven."

Kyle is playing with my fingers, weaving between his around mine and studying them. "Strangely enough," he muses, "you and I never crossed paths. Not until the funeral when I saw you playing this song in church to pay tribute to him."

I don't miss the chance to tease him. It's payback for what he did to me earlier. "And then you fell in love with me?"

"Hm..." His brows lift in lighthearted amusement. "You got that half-right. I didn't fall in love with you. I walked right into that one."

This time, I shake my head in both embarrassment and disbelief, laughing. "Would anybody believe me if I tell them you're saying such cute stuff from that sharp tongue of yours?"

He gives me that lazy smile that easily excites the butterflies in my stomach. "Probably not, because I only say such cute things to you, babe."

I gape at him in disbelief, knowing he's trying to win me over with his sweet words. He's determined to make me stay forever and somehow it's working.

At this rate, he's going to be the death of me.

"You don't play fair."

He shrugs. "All's fair in love and war."

I turn back to the piano to hide my flushed cheeks. I play some keys randomly just to keep myself busy. After some time has passed, Kyle breaks the silence in a quiet voice, shooting me a somber question.

"What else do you remember?"

My gaze returns to him. He doesn't look at me, but the downward curve of his lips tells me he isn't completely happy. He's torn between the joy of me remembering how to play the piano and the dreadful possibility that my memory might return soon.

He's just afraid I might leave him if I do.

And so I assure him. "The song is the only thing I remember. If another memory appears in my head, you'll be the first to know."

Nodding, he stands up and pulls me along with him. He flashes a small smile at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's still worried.

"Shall we head home?"

***

The car ride is peaceful as we exchange mild teasing between us. I fiddle with the radio stations, listening to songs that I've never heard of. Some are nice and catchy, but some are just plain bad. The vocals are a mess and to make things worse, Kyle purposely sings along to get on my nerves. He's a tone deaf singer, that's for sure.

When he pulls into our driveway, he turns his head and rests an arm on the headrest behind me.

"Text me later?" he says. "Maybe before you sleep?"

We have done little texting yet. I find myself a rather boring person, but since Kyle wants to continue speaking to me over the phone, it makes me happy. "Sure."

He ruffles my hair gently, caresses my left cheek, and watches as I leave his car. I walk right up to my porch and turn back, but he's still there. It seems like he's only leaving once he sees me entering the house safely.

Giving him one last wave, I head inside.

As I remove my sneakers, something doesn't feel right. Uncle Dave's brogue shoes sit by the doorway, and I can hear his voice coming from the kitchen. Today's a Sunday and because he's a vet, he has to work over the weekends. And now, he's supposed to be doing his shift at this hour.

Trepidation washes away the happiness from my first date. Whatever reason my uncle is home for, it's not a good one.

Aunt Abbie's voice reaches my ears. "Dave, what should we do?" she sniffs. "We barely sent him away, but who knows when he will come back for her again?"

"I know, hon. The next time he comes, we'll call the cops."

I freeze for a second before pushing myself off the wall, wondering who they are talking about. My heart thumps as loud as my footsteps. I rush into the kitchen, seeing Uncle Dave hugging her as she presses a tissue to her slightly red nose. Her eyes glisten with fresh tears.

"What's going on?" I demand. "Why is Aunt Abbie crying?"

They turn to meet my worried gaze before exchanging a look between them. Eventually, my aunt pulls away from her husband to take me into her arms. Her frantic hands cup my cheeks and caresses my hair, as if she's afraid that I might vanish from her sight any second.

She stares into my frightened eyes. "Riley baby, we need to sit down and talk."

I don't say a word. I let her lead us to the dining table. Even Uncle Dave takes up a seat beside her, watching us both in silent concern.

She runs a hand across her face. "I can't believe this is happening. I-I don't even know where to start from."

Her words are scaring me. "It doesn't matter. Just tell me everything you know."

She nods once and clutches my hands in hers tightly. "Listen, Riley. While you were asleep, a lot of things happened. Your mother's funeral was one thing. Your custody was another."

I frown. This is the first time I'm hearing about it. "What about it?"

"According to the law, if one parent passes away, the other parent will get custody of the child. But it was hard to locate your father's whereabouts, especially when your parents separated before you were born. His contact information wasn't updated in the system and none of us knew him. But that wouldn't have mattered, because he doesn't deserve you. I applied to be your legal guardian, and the court naturally granted it."

"But a man dropped by the house earlier today," she reveals. "It's your father. He has appeared and wants to take you home."

I feel my heart plummet to my stomach, the blood in my veins turning cold. The image of the stalker back at the convenience store flashes through my mind again.

Was that him?

"Are you certain that it's him? It's not someone playing a prank on us?"

"No..." Aunt Abbie gives me an apologetic look. "He has grown older, of course, but it's definitely him. I've seen him way too many times back in high school. He was my senior and my sister's ex. After what he did to her, I'll never forget that face of his."

I inhaled sharply, feeling a tightness in my chest. Just when I'm believing that I can live a normal life again, my father—the man who left my mother when she was pregnant at the end of high school—has appeared to take me away from this place? From my family?

From Kyle?

Anger flares in me. "Why now?" I whisper. "Why didn't he show up earlier?"

This time, Uncle Dave speaks up instead. "We don't understand that part either. We demanded a reason for his appearance, but he insisted it was your mother's wish. It makes little sense, does it? After all, they haven't met each other for many years."

Aunt Abbie shakes her head angrily. "I reckon he's after the trust fund that your mother has left for you in her will. It belongs to you after you turn eighteen. He certainly is so full of himself, isn't he? That bastard–"

"Language, hon–"

"–blockhead! Who does he think he is? Walking back into your life as he likes? Doesn't he know that he's not welcome here? I swear if he shows up again, I will pepper spray him myself–"

While Aunt Abbie rattles off the ways she can murder my biological father, I'm still swimming in shock and anger. His appearance has rattled us, leaving us with several questions about his motive.

I'm not thrilled to hear about him, nor do I wish to see him. If he expects me to leave with him, he's going to find himself terribly disappointed.

My life is my own.