Aaron stared at the endless walls of stickers in the craft store, amending his earlier thought. How was he supposed to know what to get? It was beneath his dignity to ask for help, but the only other option was buying the entire store. He would have, if Keeley’s three-bedroom apartment could accommodate it.

He pulled out his phone and dialed his driver. "Carlton, do you know anything about scrapbooking?"

"Is that why I'm parked outside a craft store?" Carlton asked, his voice clearly smiling. "I know a bit. My sister-in-law is quite fond of it."

That could have gone much worse. He'd asked the right person. He cleared his throat. "Excellent. What sort of things does one need?"

"My sister-in-law uses themed paper for holidays or special events, patterned paper for regular photos, and plain colored paper for accents. Stickers and stencils are also common," Carlton replied.

Aaron was still overwhelmed. Hundreds of options existed for each item. "…Should I get some of each?"

"That's the extent of my knowledge. I'd recommend talking to a store employee. They'd know specifics better, especially since I can't see what's in front of you."

He had a point. Sighing, Aaron swallowed his pride and flagged down a woman in her thirties wearing a store vest, after ending the call. He tried to maintain his usual commanding presence, but it was difficult in such a…feminine environment.

"I need everything conceivably used in starting a scrapbook," he said formally.

The employee looked him up and down in disbelief before smiling.

"Sure thing. I recommend combo packs: Halloween, Christmas, seasonal, and generic patterns and colors. You'll also want a stencil set for captions, fine-tip permanent markers, plenty of alphabet stickers, and themed stickers."

Aaron was fluent in four languages, but not this one. Nothing she said made sense, but he nodded, accepted her recommendations, and ended up clearing only half the scrapbooking aisle.

He considered having the supplies delivered, as with previous gifts, but since those were rejected, he decided to deliver them personally. He gave Carlton Keeley's address, instructing him to wait upstairs; he wasn't sure how long it would take.

If he was lucky, she might even let him inside. His pride was already shattered. What more could happen?

He knocked, and saw a casual Keeley: messy side ponytail, oversized white t-shirt (probably her father's), and flower-patterned leggings. She froze.

"Were you expecting someone?"

"I thought you were my neighbor," she stammered. "What are you doing here?"

He held out the bags, determined to remain aloof. This wasn't embarrassing. He was fine.

"I overheard your conversation about scrapbook materials at lunch. Here."

Keeley peered inside, then looked at him like he was insane.

"You went to a craft store and personally picked these out because you heard I wanted to scrapbook?"

"Yes." He wished it didn't sound like a question.

She ran a hand down her face. "You…I don't understand you."

"What's so hard to understand?"

"You eavesdropped to buy me a present! Normal people don't do that!"

"I never said I was normal," he said haughtily.

"Right, because you're better than everyone else," Keeley muttered angrily.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? I'm tired of trying to figure you out." She rubbed her forehead. "Look, you better get out of here before—"

"Keeley? Who's at the door?"

"Oh great," she muttered, smiling brightly at the middle-aged man behind her.

Aaron hadn't seen Robert Hall in decades and was unprepared. "Dad, this is nobody. And he was leaving. Right?" she asked sternly.

Aaron wouldn't back down, even if it meant seeing the man whose life he'd unintentionally impacted. He held out his hand. "Aaron Hale, Keeley's classmate."

"Nobody, huh?" Robert asked, a knowing look in his eye, before shaking Aaron's hand. "Why don't you come in? Keeley's making dinner."

"Dad!" she protested.

"That would be lovely, thank you, Mr. Hall."

"So polite! What do you have there, son?"

A jolt went through him. Robert used to address him that way—far more affectionately than his own father. His heart constricted.

"I brought Keeley some scrapbooking supplies."

"Well, isn't that nice! Come on in."

Keeley looked cornered as she hurried to the kitchen. Still so resistant. Aaron would change that. He was in her house. She couldn't return the gift now. He should have come sooner.

"Tell me about yourself," Robert said, settling into a chair.

Aaron sat opposite, ensuring Keeley would sit beside him.

"I'm a senior at Westwind Academy, planning to study economics at Harvard and take over the family business."

An MBA would be pointless; he already had forty years of experience. Extra school would keep him away from Keeley.

"Harvard, huh? Impressive. But I was thinking more about hobbies and interests."

He didn't have time for hobbies he enjoyed. The ones his parents forced on him should suffice.

"I fence, play the piano, and speak Spanish, French, and Mandarin. Is that what you're looking for?"

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