I blink at him. “I—How do you remember that?”

He arches a brow. “Because I used to go to great lengths to feed your habit.”

A memory rises to the surface with such force it nearly sends me toppling over.

Valentine’s Day.

Will ditching Kasey Jones to hang out with me after school.

A brown bag of chocolate hearts and lollipops.

“I have enough at home. Grams got a box of chocolates from her friend, Mary Beth, and I got a bag of Skittles.”

I try to blink away the image of eleven-year-old Will on his knees in the dirt, a lollipop held against the inside of his cheek. Candy piled up between us.

I see myself, sitting against the old oak tree behind the swing set. I’m ten years old and too skinny. Too pale. In my hands, there’s a heap of folded up Valentine’s cards. A Star Wars one, a Superman one, a Care Bears one, and even a Princess one. I don’t have to see who signed each one.

“I didn’t know which to give you, so I gave you one from each box.”

My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest as that voice echoes through my ears. Soft and high-pitched, then lower, warping itself into the deep voice of the guy before me as he continues talking.

“—that chocolate cake I messed up when we had that random baking lesson in Math class? God, how did you not go into a sugar coma from that?”

I try to catch up as memories I haven’t thought about for years converge on me, threatening to pull me under until I’m no longer sure I could find my way back out. Snapshots of moments that should be completely fucking meaningless—inconsequential—but are now suddenly bright and vivid in a way that makes me wonder how I ever forgot. How I ever convinced myself they meant nothing.

“Waylon?”

I snap my head up. Will’s no longer rambling on; in fact, I can’t be certain when he stopped. I’ve the feeling this isn’t the first time he called my name.

“You good?” he asks, voice tight and unreadable. Something passes behind his eyes, too quick for me to make out, before a weary sort of smile lifts his face.

“I forgot about that,” I say under my breath. He clearly hears me though, but I break eye contact before I can see his reaction. I stare down at my coffee in between careful sips.

He clears his throat and I feel more than see him wave me off. “My mom always said I have the memory of an elephant.”

I nod slowly. “You do have a pretty big head.”

Will barks out a laugh, and my mouth twists into a reluctant smile as I glance up at him through my lashes.