"Alex," Grayson chuckled. "I haven't done anything."

     I had scrutinized his every move through every bite of Claire's famous pancakes. My narrowed eyes didn't ease now. His words meant nothing to me. I couldn't be fooled by the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

     "The silent yet behind your words is incredibly alarming."

     Throwing his head back, Grayson laughed in exasperation. "You're being ridiculous," he said. "I know you better than you think; there's no surprise party or extravagant celebration."

     My eyes remained narrowed suspiciously.

     "You're impossible," he laughed again, standing from his chair. "I'm going to get ready."

     "Ready for what?"

     "Alexa!" He exclaimed hopelessly, shaking his head amusedly. "I'm just getting dressed. Is that alright with you?"

     I hummed uncertainly, sipping my orange juice.

     Pausing behind my chair on his way out, he leaned in close to my ear.

     "Please, try to relax." He kissed my check. "And happy birthday."

     Nearly choking on my gulp of juice, the sticky liquid ran down my chin. Cheeks flaring red, I watched him walk away with a stupid look on my face. Hand unconsciously placed against the tingling skin of my cheek; it took many moments to recover from my stupor. I slapped my hand away. There would be no tingling around Grayson Ryder. He was charming, I would give him that much. But I was not falling for his charm. If my skin tingled from his touch, it was because he had messed around with products, he shouldn't have, and I was suffering from an unfortunate chemical reaction.

     Surviving the entire school day with nothing more than brief birthday wishes, I mistakenly let myself believe that Grayson would remain true to his words.

     Guiding me to the couch that night, Grayson forced a party hat on my head. String snapping under my chin, I grumbled dejectedly.

     "Wait here," he requested, guiding his parents towards the second sofa.

     I groaned again.

     "I'm just getting gifts," he said.

     Lips parting to complain, already having told him that I didn't want anything, his voice overpowered mine.

     "Actually, could you give me a hand, dad?"

     "Grayson," I complained, louder this time, mind buzzing with ridiculous possibilities of a gift that required a two-person job.

     "It's too late to take anything back," he said stubbornly. "So, sit back, relax, and appreciate our appreciation of your existence."

     Defeatedly shrinking into the couch cushions, I watched dreadfully as he bounced up the stairs, Calvin on his heels.

     "I don't know if you're still into photography," Claire startled me. I was so caught up in my dreadful imaginings of Grayson's return, that I had nearly forgotten she was there. "But your mother was certainly passionate about it."

     A small box placed in my lap; I met her gaze with a warm smile.

     "Thank you," I said, knowing the woman was as stubborn as Grayson. She wouldn't appreciate "you didn't have to".

     Unraveling an old leather photo album, tears pooled behind my eyelids as I flipped through the full pages. Filled with pictures and writing that I assumed belonged to my mother, my chest was heavy.

     "I have her camera somewhere, if you like, too."

     "That would be great." I smiled broadly, flipping through more pictures. Spotting a photo of my preschool days, my brows drew into my hairline. Pointing to the boy next to me, I grinned in anticipation. "Is that—"

     "Grayson?" Claire smiled. "Yes. That was his superhero phase."

     Nose crinkling as I took in the scrawny boy, one small hand holding mine, and the other holding out his blue cape in display, I couldn't help but laugh.

     "He wore that thing everywhere," Claire laughed. "I couldn't—"

     Listening attentively, my plans to prod more information that could later be used as blackmail were rudely interrupted. Grunts coming from the stairs, I whipped my head around and released a groan of my own.

     "Grayson Ryder!" I protested. "You. Did. Not."

     Nearly tripping, head barely seen over the pile of wrapped boxes and gift bags in both his and Calvin's arms, I slid my hands down my face in utter exasperation.

     "It's no big deal," he grunted; a dozen boxes dropped at my feet. "Honestly, this is more for my own selfish peace of mind. I have gifted you something on every birthday since your fifth, and I'll be damned if you don't remember my consideration."

     I watched him skeptically.

     "Alex," he whined. "Why won't you let people do nice things for you?"

     "It's just a lot of money and time that I'm sure could better be spent."

     "I can assure you there is nothing more important than this," he said dramatically, sinking on the cushion next to me. "And I found most of these looking through your old stuff... I'm quite disappointed, by the way, that you didn't keep all my gifts."

     "Sorry?" I retorted sarcastically. "But, considering I've not been around these past three years to keep an eye on them, I do think I can be forgiven."

     Very slowly he grinned slyly. "So, you think you would have held my gifts a great enough importance to care for them with utmost prudence?"

     "No. I think even then, I knew that their loss would mean for great grievance from your insufferable—"

     "I get it," he interjected, placing a hand over my mouth. "I'm a real pain, but we're on a tight schedule."

     Glowering, I swatted his hand away. "Do that again—"

     "You'll bite me," he finished for me. "Believe me, I know."

     I didn't get to question him; a box was dropped in my lap.

     "Open it," he urged eagerly.

     A box, labelled with a large number ten, placed on my lap, my narrowed features softened. Warily unraveling the princess wrapping paper, I pulled out its content and bit back a laugh. Number ten indicative of my tenth birthday, I retrieved a purple Furby.

     "Don't laugh," Grayson defended. "You loved this thing."

     "I'm sure I did." I nodded, still laughing. "Thank you."

     Though I laughed at many of the gifts to follow, my smiles and gratitude were genuine. I don't think Grayson could ever understand just how much I appreciated the thought he allocated each gift.

     Number six was a princess diary with replicates of my believed childhood thoughts in Grayson's chicken scratch. I did not believe I had ever written anything resembling Grayson is the bestest person ever, but I appreciated the retelling of Grayson's embarrassing chocolate milk mishap.

     Twelve was a t-shirt of a band that I didn't recognize but was assured I used to love.

     Eight was a movie that I also didn't recognize. I had to promise to watch it with him that weekend.

     Nine was a skipping rope.

     Number eleven was a variety of painting supplies of which I held no talents to use.

     Number seven was the ugliest hat that I had ever laid eyes on.

     Thirteen was a skateboard, and by its worn-out wheels, I was surprised to learn that I had been the one to put it to use.

     Much to my heartfelt surprise, he had even bought me gifts for the three birthdays he had missed. Number sixteen was a pair of boots.

     Fifteen was a jean jacket.

     Fourteen was a silver locket, that I imagined at the time had cost young Grayson a good deal of money, and a gift that until now he hadn't been able to give. The before last box, number five, was the only to make me really pause. Quite offended that I hadn't kept this particular gift, Grayson accused me of neglect.

     Twisting the bracelet that was obviously made by a kindergartener, instantly I recognized it as an exact replica of the one I wore on my ankle. Despite its horrid look, and no recollection of where it came, I wore it every day. I had never understood why I was so attached to it, but I remembered awakening without my memory and finding it on my wrist. Small object a part of my past, I had hung onto it dearly. Strangely, it brought me peace in my most troubling times. I wanted to know more about it, but I feared revealing my value of the object. I didn't need Grayson thinking I cared for him more than I did.

     "What is the meaning of graa?" I asked, a question that had taunted me for years.

     "Our initials."

     "You should have used capitals."

     "I was five-years-old," he complained. "You're lucky—"

     "What's the story behind this one?" I interrupted.

     "The year was 1996," he began dramatically.

     Swallowing a groan, I rested my head on the back of the couch. I was in for a long story.

     "Only our second year in school, neither of us thought it would be so chaotic."

     Biting back a smirk, I pinched the bridge of my nose in hope that he believed I was exasperated. We were talking about a plastic beaded bracelet, was the excessive dramatic tone necessary?

     "Kindergarten, usually a stress-free year, but we were too big of a class," he continued. Too big of a class in Stanley? "They split the class in half, and separated us—"

     "I'm starting to regret asking you about it," I interrupted his dramatic retelling.

     My comment earned a laugh from Claire and Calvin, and a narrowing of eyes from Grayson.

     "Just listen," he requested. "The story's quite cute... We were separated, and you didn't take it so well. Even then you disliked most people, believe it or not you were nervous about making friends. You were afraid that someone would annoy you and you'd accidently say something hurtful. Being the nice person, I am, naturally I came to your rescue." Choosing to ignore the rolling of my eyes, he continued. "I made you this bracelet, and claimed it was magical. I told you that with it, you would always hold some part of me, and if desperate times called for it you could borrow some of my patience through it."

     Amusement dancing in my eyes, I studied him silently. I was torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of the story or smiling warmly. Perhaps it was a good thing that I had two bracelets now, maybe I would finally have enough patience to deal with Grayson's absurdities.

     "That was pretty intelligent for a five-year-old," I finally acknowledged.

     "I am a genius."

     Nose crinkling, I watched him skeptically. Grayson huffed indignantly, shoving me lightly before standing. "I'd love to hear your insults of my intelligence, but we've better things to do. It's time to eat."

     Heading for the kitchen without another word, I watched him walk away with a frown. The early time of night, and his determination to retrieve food was concerning.

     Few minutes following his departure, still he hadn't returned. Turning towards the idiot's parents, and noting their smirks, I sighed.

     "I'm expected to follow him, aren't I?"

     Just as Claire and Calvin nodded with smile, my name was shouted from the kitchen. Reluctantly I stood, warily joining the impatient boy.

     Pushing the kitchen door open, my eyes fell on the table, and I froze in my steps. Eyes growing wide, mouth falling open, I shot him an incredulous look.

     "What is this?" I demanded; voice high as I scanned the dozens of cakes. The table's surface could barely be seen underneath it all.

     "Cake," Grayson explained dumbly.

     Counting the number of miniature cakes, I knew these were meant to represent every birthday cake I had ever had.

     "You're taking this way too seriously. I never agreed to you wasting so much time and money—"

     "You're worth it," he said automatically, busying himself with the gathering of plates and utensils.

     Ignoring the unwelcomed flutter in my chest, I forced myself to remain hard-headed. "I remember what cake tastes like."

     "I have my reasons."

     Waiting for him to elaborate, when he didn't, I cocked a brow.

     "We're going to eat it all."

     Laughing sarcastically, I waited for the just kidding. It never came.

     "I meant it." Much to my dismay, his tone was sincere. "We need to finish every cake, to the last crumb."

     Emphasis on the word need and blue eyes suddenly apprehensive, dread sprouted in my chest as I knew there was something, he wasn't telling me. "What did you do?"

     "We had a lot of left-over cake for my thirteenth birthday, and we made the mistake of making a bet with our parents that we could finish it all in one night."

     "Alright..." I said slowly. "But why are you stressed now? What. Did. You. Do?" I repeated, enunciating each word.

     "I made a bet with my mother," he started warily, wincing in anticipation. "Back then the deal was that we would clean both our houses, but my mom thought that was a childish punishment now. So, on top of the cleaning, if we lose the bet, she's requesting our help at work."

     Glare intensifying, arms crossed tightly against my chest, I feared what kind of help she would need. Claire was a party planner, and I had a sinking suspicion that I would not enjoy whatever she had in mind.

     "She's been searching for two people who could dress-up as Beauty and the Beast."

     "Grayson!" I groaned loudly, hands sliding down my face. "You did not."

     "I needed something to motivate you!" he defended. "You look like you want to kill me, so may I remind you that without me you'll have twice the amount of cake to eat."

     Fixing him a glare, silently putting my thoughts together, I shoved the spoon and plate away.

     "Not doing it," I said. "You made the bet. You deal with it."

     "You know I can't eat all of this alone," he said, taking a hold of my wrist before I could stand. Confidently he re-handed me the spoon and plate. "My mother has a lot of respect for you, she'll expect you to remain true to the deal I made on your behalf. If you cheat your way out of this, you risk disappointing her."

     Damn it. I had so much respect for the woman... After everything they had done for me, I wouldn't dare risk disappointing her. But I would not be a party princess.

     "Pass me the damn spoon," I snapped, grudgingly falling into the seat faced to his. "You are going to make sure there's not a single crumb left," I warned. "I will not be the beast to your beauty."

     Once again getting his way, he smiled widely. With determination he took his first spoonful.

     We started off strong. Cakes delicious, it was easy to shovel the sugar between our lips. But there was only so much room. And I had long passed my stomach's maximum capacity.

     "Stop slacking, Adams."

     Mumbling curses, I let my head collapse next to my still very full dish. While I could barely move, Grayson was doing push-ups. I was beginning to think he might not be human.

     "Me, slacking off?" I demanded. "You don't even have a plate in front of you."

     Pausing mid push-up, he lifted his gaze upwards with an unimpressed expression. Biceps tensed as they held his weight, sweat trickling down his forehead, I met the intensity of eyes, and something churned deep in my stomach. I convinced myself it was the sugar overdose. It was hyperglycemia induced nausea, definitely not butterflies.

     "I'm burning calories," he explained. "Making more room to eat."

     "That's not how it works."

     Bitterly standing, he returned to his seat with an eye roll. "You complain a lot for someone who hasn't been doing their part," he remarked, flicking crumbs from my ponytail sprawled across the kitchen table. "I must have eaten twice as much as you have."

     "You got us into this mess," I reminded.

     "I can't even bother arguing with you," he said helplessly, he too letting his head fall to the table before forcing another dreadful spoonful in his mouth.

     Hours passing before we reached the last cake, both our heads still rested lazily on the table, eventually we fell asleep.

     Claire woke us late in the night, and though half of the last cake remained untouched, she considered us victorious. Bless that woman. I suspected that we could have eaten much less than we had, and still she wouldn't have held us to Grayson's stupid agreement. Aching and tired, Grayson and I high-fived, and left the table wordlessly.

     Wobbling to my room, grumpy and stomach achy, I found a box labelled 17 on my bed. Curiosity succeeded to arouse me from sleep. Shaking my head, I smiled fondly. It hadn't even occurred to me, that this birthday's number hadn't appear. It was really unnecessary. All this work he was putting into me, could cover every birthday to come and beyond.

     Wrapped inside a sweater in my favourite shade of blue, a shade awfully similar to his eyes, was a jar. The jar was filled with colored post-its and labelled as Things you might have forgotten. The tender grin on my face, was dangerous. Pushing away affectionate thoughts, I opened a few notes. You lost your two front teeth in the first grade and spent the entire year calling me your best fwiend, Gwayson Wyder, the first note read. Laughing out loud, I jumped on my bed, reading through more forgotten facts. I learned of my dog whom I had cleverly named Pet. Learned of Maddy's passion for singing and juggling, and Grayson's horrific fishing trip with his father and mine. Only when I opened my last note of the night, did my heart twinge with guilt. When you were grumpy for no reason, you'd feel awful for days. I told you, you were being dramatic, but each time, as a sign of forgiveness you made me an origami dove... I have a jar full of colorful doves. Smiling softly at the note, before I knew what I was doing, I was sitting in front of my laptop, searching origami steps.

     Hours later, fingers plastered with papercuts, and floor littered with abandoned balls of paper, I smiled successfully. Writing Sorry, Gwayson on the plain sheet of paper, I left the dove at his bedroom door.