I woke to find Grayson sleeping on the hallway floor. Body sprawled in front of my door, quietly I stepped over him. Tiptoeing down the hall, I was few steps short of the stairs when a pillow was hurdled at my head.

     "Damn," I swore under my breath. So much for having a quiet breakfast.

     "Did you really think you could sneak past me with that elephant stomping?" he mumbled sleepily.

     "I was not stomping." I crossed my arms over my chest.

     "It's almost like you wanted to wake me... wanted my presence."

      I huffed ludicrously. "I most certainly did not."

     "You can continue to voice your delusions, but I know the truth."

     Nose crinkling, I narrowed my eyes at him. No disagreement escaping my lips, Grayson smirked. I needed a moment to think; not because I was distracted, but because it was early. Arms thrown above his head as he stretched, blanket slipping to uncover his torso, there was no hope of forming a fitting reply.

     "I'm getting food," I blurted. Spinning on my heels, I escaped towards the kitchen before I could make a fool of myself.

     Wresting to disentangle himself from his blankets, I ignored his strange protests.

     I made it half-way down the stairs before I was attacked. Startled by the arm on my waist, I'd have tumbled forward if not for his hold.

     "Grayson!" I protested, struggling to free myself from his grip. I had no interest in experiencing the warmth or silkiness of his skin. None at all.

     "I asked you to wait."

     "You ask a lot that I don't want to do."

     He let me go with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "No breakfast."

     Initially affronted, I recalled the last time he had deprived me of breakfast and moaned. "If you intend on forcing Effingson food in my mouth again, be warned that you'll be in for a long day."

      "Been there, done that. I wouldn't recreate a memory twice." His tone implied that I was foolish for thinking otherwise. "We're having breakfast at Ana's dinner. Town tour starts in five minutes."

     "Five minutes—"

     "No time to waste," he interrupted, ushering me back into my room. "Meet you in the car."

     I didn't even have time to protest, he was out of sight before I could form a reply.

     The diner was tiny and old, including only six tables. The brick was as old as Mrs. Wheeler, greyed from years in the sun. The table wobbled unevenly under our meals and cracks littered the leather booths, but the food was delicious. We took the faraway booth that Grayson labelled as our favourite, and once again he ordered for me. He ordered multiple dishes, ensuring that I got a taste of all my favourite meals.

     I was amid an imperative internal debate, attempting to decide whether I preferred the waffles or crepes when a squeal startled me. Excited and teary eyed when she spotted me across the kitchen, the diner's chef rushed over. In no time, before I could react, she had me in her large arms, holding tightly. I greeted her back as appropriately as I could, but I would never get over being recognized by people I remembered to be strangers.

     The food only kept coming after that. Way too much food brought to our table, I struggled to finish my plates. Halfway through an omelet, I noted the impatient bouncing of Grayson's legs. We were on another strict schedule I guessed. But I didn't eat any faster. I was taking my sweet time.

     The moment I swallowed my last bite, Grayson stood to pay, ignoring my complaints as he guided me out the door.

     "You're pushy," I criticized.

     "Sorry love, we're on a tight schedule."

     "Love?" I scoffed. "You have British heritage you've not informed me of yet?"

     Opening the passenger door, he shushed me with a finger to my lips, hands gesturing my entrance into the car. Cocking my brow at the finger that was at risk of injury, I took my seat.

     "There's no time for your sarcasm." He shut the car door.

     We drove for a few moments before I recognized the road. I frowned as he began to slow, my old home in sight. There was no way, his tour was inclusive of only one stop.

     I made move to question his motives but stopped when he pulled into the driveway next to mine. Car parked; I directed my frown his way.

     "My house," he explained, studying the home with a hint of nostalgia.

     My brows raised marginally. I had forgotten that he claimed to be my neighbor. When he had said neighbour, I hadn't thought the house right next door.

     I studied the grey home curiously, building genuine interest until I spotted the grey van few feet ahead. Right. If the Ryders didn't live there anymore, someone else did.

     "Please tell me you know the people who live there," I pleaded.

     "Nope." Grayson excited the car without a care.

     Watching him manoeuvre around the car, I shot him a crazed look, making no move to unbuckle my seat belt.

     "Come on." He opened the door, wiggling his fingers as though to entice me to follow his lead. The finger wiggling only resulted in another crazed look

     "Absolutely not." I crossed my arms over my chest.

     "Don't be ridiculous," he accused, reaching over my protesting body to unbuckle the seat belt. "I'm sure they're lovely people."

     "No." I held onto the seat with one hand, other hand being pulled out of the car. "This is weird Grayson."

     "Still don't see the problem," he remarked. Successfully pulling me to my feet, he locked the door behind me.

     "Stop," I whined, trying to wiggle out of the firm grip he had on both my shoulders, leading me to the front door. "They're going to be so uncomfortable."

     Grayson shrugged, knocking on the red, wooden surface without hesitation. I groaned.

     It took only a few seconds before the door swung open, revealing an older woman with short grey hair. A blue night gown flowed past her knees, flowery hem falling just short of her red hand-sewn slippers.

     "Hello?"

     "Hello." Grayson greeted her with a wide grin. "My name's Grayson and this is my friend Alexa... I know it'll seem like a strange request, but can we come inside?"

     The woman grimaced, as uncomfortable as I had believed she would be. She held onto the door more tightly, taking a step to the side, in preparation to shut it. I groaned lightly, shutting my eyes in exasperation.

     "I don't know you—"

     "I used to live here," Grayson interjected. "My family owed the home for twenty years, and her family owned the one next door. You must have heard about the Adams. Heartbreaking story... This is Alexa Adams, she lost her memory that night three years ago, and we were kind of hoping that visiting my old home would bring some back."

     I had to admit he was charming. He was certainly convincing, and I could tell he had piqued the woman's curiosity. But had I been in her shoes, I'd have long ago shut the door.

     Noting her reluctance, Grayson nudged me lightly. His desire for my intervention was made obvious by his urging eyes and implying cough. He wanted to guilt her into letting us in. Nice. Forget what I said about charming.

     "Don't you think it would make you feel better?" He cued, with another nudge.

     Shooting him a look of annoyance, I played along. I shot her my best pleading look. Only complying because I knew I'd never hear the end of it if we didn't manage to get inside.

     "It's really awful to not remember the first 14 years of my life." I forced a brittle voice. "Getting some, even if little memories, might help heal my broken heart... I'd love to see the house, maybe remember a little part of my past."

     Grimace of discomfort still present, her features softened ever so slightly. I used the hand in my pocket to pinch my thigh, forcing tears to my eyes. In no time she succumbed to my pleas. While I felt guilty, Grayson smiled proudly and dragged my reluctant body into the house.

     The house was nice, overall structure like mine, but the furniture old fashioned and walls dull. Grayson made it clear that the Ryders' choice of decorations had been much different. Scowling in nearly every room he entered, he was evidently not a fan of the changes the Olson's made. He was most mortified when we stepped into the backyard.

     "Where's the tree house?" he questioned outrageously.

     "Tree house?" The woman and I asked.

     "Yes!" he said impatiently, marching deeper into the yard, scrutinising the large bushes. "My childhood—"

     The woman blinked. "You mean the wooden piece of junk in the bush?"

     Now that she mentioned it, I could spot pieces of wood sticking out of the thick green leaves.

     "Piece of junk?" Grayson demanded.

     Swiftly pulling him away from the older woman, I lead us towards the shack. I didn't wish to have the need to explain to the police why my supposed best friend was arguing with an old lady.

     I watched as Grayson muttered under his breath, yanking branches away to make a path to his beloved treehouse.

     "Is this what you're building in the back yard?" I asked, holding back a laugh as I watched his frenzy.

     "Yes," he grunted, unsuccessfully trying to shake the door open. By the intensity and aggression behind his shaking, I was surprised the wood didn't collapse under his effort.

      Giving up, he examined the window, seeming to decide it was his only way in. Stood aback, I was quite enjoying his state of exasperation. I only became worried, when he turned his fixed gaze towards my body, as though mentally measuring my length and width. No chance.

     "This was your idea," I argued immediately. "You enter the creepy shack first."

     "You're smaller. Don't be a chicken."

     "You're not that much bigger than I am," I tried.

     "I'm nearly a foot taller than you are."

     "Your height isn't going to prevent you from entering the window, I'm thinking it can actually be used to your advantage."

     "I am not going to fit," he said matter of factly, speaking as though he thought me an idiot.

     Moving my eyes from the window, back to the width of his shoulders, I swore. There was no chance he'd fit. Damn him and his broad shoulders.

     "Grayson..." I complained, drawing out his name.

     He didn't give in.

     "Can't we just check out the one that you're building at home?"

     He was building an exact replica. What difference would it make?

     "No."

     "Well too bad." I spoke in the same tone of resolution. "It's not your decision to make."

     He couldn't force me to go in... Or so I thought. Just as I had begun walking away, he stole the phone in my back pocket and threw it through the window.

     Look of shock quickly turned to displeasure. Shooting daggers with my eyes, he winced.

     "I'd get it back for you, but I don't fit."

     Groaning loudly into my hands, I stomped back his way.

     "You have got to be the most infuriating person I have ever met!" I grumbled, gesturing with annoyance that he give me a boost. "If I am attacked by an animal or in any way die in there, do be aware that I will come back to haunt you." Grunting, purposely stepping harshly onto his waiting hands, I wiggled my body through the small window.

     "I'd expect nothing less."

     Considering his determination to show me the inside, I had expected to be impressed. There was nothing special about it. It was just a regular wooden tree house with drawings and words littering the boards. I figured the new homeowners had changed the inside, removed the valuable items, but when I let Grayson enter, door working from the inside, he smiled brightly.

     "I dirtied my clothes for this?" I crinkled my nose.

     "Not your best outfit, anyways," he said, and ignored my following indignant gasp. "Now, sit and enjoy. Please."

     Enjoy what? The smell of decaying wood?

     Stood protectively in front of the door, Grayson waited for me to sit. He wouldn't let me out if I tried. Crossing my arms over my chest, I raised my brows.

     "The one at home won't be like this." He tested his luck with his own puppy eyes. "You need to appreciate its originality... It might even spark some memories."

     I sighed, incapable of fighting his soft tone. I took a seat in the corner furthest from where he stood. Though it did not spark any memories, I was oddly relaxed. I stayed longer than the five minutes he had requested. Quietly we read our names, the childish jokes, and games of tic-tac-to we left years ago. Not a board was spared from writing or a drawing. I could almost picture myself, black marker in hand, laughing as we filled the boards with ink.

     "You definitely wrote this one." I smiled in spite of myself, reading a corny joke to my left.

     Eyes shooting up as though surprised to hear my voice, Grayson followed my gaze towards the horribly written joke.

     "That might be my chicken scratch, but I definitely didn't write that without being asked too."

     "You must have brought many girls here, then."

     He scoffed. "No chance. I'm too awkward for that."

     "You're not awkward. Annoying on the other hand..."

     Narrowing his eyes playfully, he stuck his tongue out. "You know, I blame you for my awkwardness," he accused.

     "Me?"

     "I've only ever really had one friend, didn't really need to socialize, but then you went and ditched me."

     "Ditched you? I didn't exactly leave voluntarily."

     Grayson's lips twitched upwards. "I'll still find a way to blame you."

     "I'd expect nothing less."

     The full Stanley tour was rather short. There wasn't much to see, but I genuinely enjoyed it. I hated to admit that Grayson could be more than tolerable. Appreciating his planning of the weekend and having a heart despite being raised by murderers, before I could stop them, my lips were moving.

     "Are you going to sleep on the floor, again?" I asked, lingering in my bedroom doorway.

     He had been heading for the guest room, but I doubted he planned on staying there.

     No response, I turned to discover his shy smile. That answered my question. Shutting my eyes, already I regretted the words that would escape my lips.

     "Would it make you feel better if we both slept in the living room?" I asked. "There's plenty of room for both mattresses"

     "You'd be okay with that?" His eyes lit up instantly.

     "I wouldn't have offered, if I wasn't okay with it."

     Tension relieved from his shoulders, he breathed out. "Thank you."

     Rearranging our beds, laying in the darkness of the living room, I hoped to make something clear.

     "This doesn't mean anything," I informed him, tone light. "This is an act of pity, not tolerance."

     Grayson laughed, head turning my way. Through the darkness, I could just make out the shape of his silhouette. "Good night, Alex."

     "Good night, Grayson," I returned, voice just above a whisper.

     I fell asleep, head involuntarily turned his way.