Have you ever felt like the clouds opened up and lowered a gift out into your waiting arms? Like have you ever wanted something, and I mean REALLY wanted something to the deepest part of yourself. Wanted it so deeply that it terrified you and all of a sudden it was yours? That is what it felt like having Aiden look at me and dare me to ask him anything I wanted.

It was like a genie had been dropped into my lap granting me three wishes. The only difference besides the actual magic part, was how many questions would Aiden let me ask him before he decided he was done?

I placed my hand on my hip and stared up at him, combing through the thousands of questions I had. Why didn't you say goodbye? Do you really not remember kissing me? Why did you walk into that restaurant and sit down, throwing yourself into my stupid drama? Why are you here at all? Why can't I seem to get you out of my head?

But I ignored them all and started with what I needed to know first. "Are you okay?"

The question seemed to throw him off. He looked confused like no one had ever asked him that before. Like the question about his physical or emotional well-being was so foreign that he had to process it for a moment because it was a brand new question to him.

"Yes," he answered after a long pause.

"Aiden... I swear if you are secretly ill, or are dying because you dove into that water to save me, you better tell me now because you are freaking me out by how nice you are being."

He blinked, and to my surprise, started laughing, his rich voice filling the room with light.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

He ran his fingers through his hair, smiling. "Sorry. I am just not good at..." he waved his hand between us. "This."

I cocked my head to the side. "Communicating like a human?"

He shook his head. "No. Being normal. It's weird being here with you without having a job to do."

"So you are okay? You aren't hurt?" I pressed.

He shook his head, his eyes gentle. "No." Then after a pause. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

"You better be," I muttered. "You lose consciousness on my bed, cover it in blood, forget what happened, and then disappear for a week." The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Something I should get a trophy for. It happens without fail. And the winner for never shutting up when she should goes to... LALIANA SUMMERS! Cue crowd cheering for the obvious winner.

I turned and darted out of the exhibit and found myself standing in an art gallery. It was a dead end, leaving me with zero chance to get away from Aiden if he picked up on my little 'hey dude, you forgot something that happened in that hotel room, comment.'

"Summers," Aiden said behind me. The sound of my name on his lips was hesitant but that did little to keep a shiver from running up my spine.

I steeled myself before turning around. "Yes."

"You mentioned something about me forgetting—"

"Nope. I get to ask the questions," I countered. He tensed his jaw but didn't protest.

I took in the room filled with paintings of ships trying to survive storms, animals resting in grassy fields, flowers reaching toward sunshine, and women posing in nothing but silk sheets. After a moment I finally landing on my next question.

"So why bodyguarding?"

"It's a good job," he replied vaguely. Gee... so talkative.

"Come on, this isn't an interrogation. It's a conversation. Give me something," I pressed.

"Like what?" he asked, looking uncomfortable.

"How long have you been a bodyguard for? How'd you start?"

He paused, thinking. "I've been guarding people since I was eighteen. My grandfather... the guy you thought was going to be your bodyguard... The seventy-five-year-old man..."

I snorted, the image of Brandon's weathered laughing face coming to mind. "Yeah, yeah. I remember. Wasn't my best day."

"Well when I was younger, I had a tendency to get into fights at school." Aiden shifted, sinking into a memory that left a pained expression on his face.

I whirled to look at him more closely. "You were a bully? You don't seem like the type."

"That's because I'm not. I got into trouble for defending people who got bullied. The bullies always had 'witnesses' on their side. They knew I would never back down from a fight when someone was getting hurt."

That much hasn't changed.

"There was this one fight... It was one fight too many. The person I defended was so afraid of the bullies that when it came time to talk it through in the principles office, he threw me under the bus." Aiden's jaw tensed, emotion flashing in his eyes for a brief moment like a crack of lightning. "He claimed that I started the fight. I got suspended and I never graduated." The words hung in the air, heavy.

We stood in the center of the art gallery, surrounded by swirls of color. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

He blinked, coming back to the present as I reached for his hand and gave it a compassionate squeeze. He offered a sad smile before pulling his hand away. "My mom was upset. It wasn't the first time I had come home covered in bruises. But suspension..." He swallowed. "She looked at me differently. I disappointed her."

It was the first time I saw him look so openly raw. The image of his mother, her bright eyes filling with disappointment was hard to imagine. But must have been even harder for him to forget.

Aiden shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the ceiling, a ghost of a smile crossing his features. "My grandfather, Brandon, took me under his wing and offered me a job at his agency. I took the GED exam, got my diploma, and then joined the airforce."

I imagined Aiden flying airplanes, dressed in a pilot jumpsuit, eyes constantly focused on the horizon as he cut across the sky. It fit. "Do you enjoy flying?"

He nodded. "It's the closest thing to magic that I know of. Silent one moment and then battling against nature or an enemy the next."

I sat down on the lone cushioned bench in the middle of the art gallery. "So why leave?"

Aiden sighed, sitting down next to me. "It was isolating. Hours in a small metal case going hundreds of miles an hour."

He shot me a look reading my mind. "I know. I look like I want nothing more than to live in constant silence." He stretched out his legs, his face thoughtful. "But I don't actually enjoy being alone."

His gaze fell on a nearby painting, eyes analyzing the brushstrokes. "I got my Bachelors of Art, and moved into the secret service after that." I stared at him wide-eyed. I suddenly felt stupid for questioning him at every turn.

I can't believe I tried to ditch a secret service agent by climbing out the window of a movie theater, like an idiot.

"I resigned right before my whole..." he ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated, self-conscious gesture. "...engagement thing backfired and moved back home. Brandon offered me a job at Silver Gate and it has taken me all over the world. I've protected a lot of unstable people. A lot of selfish people and a lot of people who have lost touch with reality."

I laughed nervously. "... Which one of those am I supposed to be?"

He looked at me again, his gaze taking me in with an analyzing scan that went from my boots all the way to the top of my head. His brow furrowed, not saying a word.

"Unstable?" I guessed.

He stayed silent.

"Out of touch with reality?" I muttered torn between irritation and fear.

Aiden continued to stare.

"Oh my gosh... am I all of them?" I asked with wide eyes.

He leaned closer, forcing me to lean back slightly in order to keep my sanity in tacked and not give in to the strange pull to melt into him. The level of attraction I had for him was becoming too much to handle. "You are weird," he answered surprising me. "And messy." His tone took on an irritated edge. "And stubborn. Your eating habits are crazy. But..."

Then his tone transformed, turning gentle. Filling my body with warmth as his words washed over me. "You are also kind." His baritone voice filled the room, the compliment echoing and coming back to settle onto my shoulders. "Creative." His eyes stayed steady on mine. "Funny." I watched his lips twitch upwards and found it hard to breathe. "And care more about what others think than you deserve to waste your time thinking about."

I cleared my throat and looked down, suddenly afraid to look him in the eye. I didn't understand why he was being so open, so kind. It scared me. "And despite your stubbornness, and assistance on making me into a..." he paused, forcing the word out "buddyguard..." his nose wrinkling at his use of the word, "it was an honor to guard you."

The way he used the past tense made my stomach squeeze. It sounded final. Like a goodbye. And I was afraid of what it meant. I knew that soon, once he was no longer bound to my side by a contract he would vanish back into his old life. A silent shadow for someone else. And I would go back to writing stories about boys that would never be quite as good as the one who sat next to me.

It left me feeling hollow. He had found a place in my heart and when he left, I would miss him more than I dared to admit to myself. Denial is my friend. Just pretend it isn't coming. Pretend it doesn't matter.

Desperate to change the subject, I stood up and moved several feet away, focusing on my long list of questions. "Any hobbies? Besides binge-reading young adult novels?" I teased, turning to look at him.

"You are never going to let that go are you?" He said pulling his eyes from a painting and offering me a loaded stare.

I grinned widely. "Never."

He stood and moved closer to a painting of a violent storm, threatening to throw three men overboard. "I like to paint," he said quietly.

"Really?" I replied a little too loudly.

"It relaxes me," he replied.

"May I see?" I asked.

He shot me a glance. "What? You think I just carry large canvases around with me wherever I go, hoping to share?"

I was undeterred. "I mean on your phone. Do you have any pictures of your work?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it without a word. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"Liar," he countered turning to look at me fully.

"Look who's talking." I crossed my arms.

"I never lied. I chose to change the subject."

"And I thought I was the one asking the questions," I pressed. I held out my hand. "Show me."

He made no move to hand over his phone. "Aiden, you've read my work. It's only fair that you let me see yours."

He shook his head. "You chose to share your work with the world. I haven't made any such promises."

I continued to hold out my hand, pretending to pout. "Not even for your fake girlfriend?" He continued to stare, unmoved by my terrible acting.

"Fine. I'll just have to tell the readers who ask about you that I have never seen your work. Watch, they'll turn on you quick. You may end up needing a bodyguard. Fans can be vicious."

I began to walk away and was surprised when Aiden hovered his phone in front of my face, forcing me to stop before I smacked my face against his outstretched hand. "Here."

I took his phone eager to see his work but found myself staring at a locked home screen. "Let's eat first, then I'll show you."

"Tease," I muttered, glaring up at him.

"You can ask me questions while we eat," he offered.

I wasn't ready to leave the museum. "Where are we eating?"

Aiden plucked his phone out of my hand. "You'll see."

...

The museum roof was dark and bare except for a small table with a grey table cloth placed over it. A small candle sat at the center, lit. Food was already on the table. Two bowls of pasta. "Um..." I looked around. "How did this get here?"

"I did it," Aiden said, walking over to the table.

I took in the skyline, bright with stars fighting to be seen over the cityscape. Man-made light and natural starlight filled my vision, erupting into a tapestry of woven sparks of magic. It was breathtaking.

Aiden pulled out a chair. "You going to stand there all night?"

I jolted back to reality. "Oh." I moved over to the chair opposite him, pulling it out and took a seat. Aiden shot me a look, and I registered a second after I sat down that he had pulled out the chair for me. But it was too late to change that. Smooth girl. Real smooth.

I stared down at the food, unable to stop my next question. "Why are you doing this?" I motioned to the table and then waved my arms to emphasize everything else. "Why?"

He poured me a cup of water from a pitcher. "Because... every time you've walked out the door, hoping for a normal date. A normal moment, you've been given nothing but just..."

"Dramatic crap?" I offered.

"Yes," he said pouring water into his own glass. "And I just... I know how little of your own life you get to control. And I just wanted to give something back to you." He shrugged, looking out at the skyline. "It's the least this fake boyfriend can do."

I lifted a fork full of spaghetti up to my face, enjoying the smell of basil and parmesan as I took the first bite. The taste of fresh tomatoes heightened the flavor, allowing me to get lost in the taste of Italy for a moment.

"Now about that 'me forgetting something from that hotel room night,'" he said, eyeing me from over the rim of his glass.

I coughed, downing a large gulp of water, losing all sense of calm as I scrambled to keep the spaghetti from flying out of my mouth. "It was nothing," I sputtered past the food.

"If you think me kissing you was nothing, it must not have been a very good kiss," Aiden answered, looking up at me from under his lashes. His eyes sparked with embers from the candlelight.

My cheeks flamed red and I put down my fork. I didn't trust myself to try and eat like a normal person anymore. Not when the memory of his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, his breath reacting to my touch all flashed into my mind like a battering ram. Loud, perfect, and covering me with goosebumps. It made me want to kiss him again. To get lost in his arms, the smell of citrus and earth.

Oh gosh, please stop the slide show, brain!

"You remember," I answered trying to keep my voice even.

His eyes were unreadable as he continued to look at me. "I remembered once I got more sleep."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" I asked, my voice quiet.

He looked suddenly shy. Worried in a way I had never seen before. "I wasn't sure how you felt about it. I wasn't sure if you regretted it."

I looked down, fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth. "I don't regret it. I just wish..."

"What?" he asked, his voice hardly a whisper.

"Do you regret it?" I asked looking up at him.

He looked away, a muscle working in his jaw. The silence stretched. I felt like a rubberband growing more taught with each heartbeat that passed. I suddenly didn't want him to answer. Nothing that took that long to form into words could be good. "I don't know," he admitted.

And with that one phrase, my world shattered. I wanted to run out of the building. But the moment I did, I would have to kiss him all over again for cameras and I didn't know if I could bear to do that with his words burning me, ringing in my ears. Not when he would add it to his list of regrets.

I don't know, it echoed across my heart. I don't know, it whispered again, sinking deeper and deeper into my chest, promising to make itself a permanent exhibit inside of me.

---

If you could ask your crush anything in the world, what would you ask them?