I couldn't get a wink of sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind replayed the kiss repeatedly. How our bodies molded together, and how his lips felt warm and soft. I could still taste him-sinfully sweet, like something I knew I shouldn't want, but couldn't resist.

I've kissed a few boys, sure, but this... this was something else. This was him. Kissing someone is normal, but kissing your crush is on another level, and adding in a guy who knows what he's doing. It's like your brain short-circuits.

It was definitely the alcohol that gave me the courage or else I would have never done that while sober. But the thing I couldn't stop obsessing over was... he kissed me back.

Maybe he was also tipsy and got caught in the moment. A little too swept away, and now he'd wake up pretending it never happened. That was the most logical explanation.

The only one that made sense.

My head throbbed from overthinking, and the confusion swirling inside me like a storm I couldn't control. I was sure I'd spend the entire week of my breaks driving myself mad over it, so I needed to do something. Anything. Keep myself busy, or else I'd go completely insane.

I dialed Daphne's number without thinking, praying she'd have a plan to distract me. Sophia had already left for the weekend to visit her boyfriend, which meant it was just me and Daphne.

Turned out Daphne was volunteering at the elderly care home again. I told her I'd join her, but she said she'd check with the administration to see if they had space for me. I told her not to bother since nursing homes were always short on people. Daphne didn't argue, and we hung up.

Next day, I was standing outside the old house, a faded brick building with windows that had seen better days. The heavy door creaked as I pushed it open, the smell of coffee and something faintly medicinal wafting into my senses. The place had an odd charm to it like it was holding onto stories that could fill a thousand books.

I followed Daphne towards the front desk, where she approached a woman who seemed to be in her late twenties. She was scribbling something on a piece of paper, absorbed in her task.

"Good morning, Miss Linda." Daphne greeted, her voice light and warm as always.

"Oh, Daphne!" Miss Linda looked up, her face breaking into a wide grin. "It's so good to see you again, and...?" She trailed off as her eyes shifted to me, and her brow quirked.

"Cara," I answered with a grin that felt a little too wide. "I'm here to help with... whatever you need."

Linda's face lit up. "Well, we can always use more hands around here. Daphne, you'll be helping with meals and some gardening like last time. And you, Cara..." She gave me a knowing smile. "You're perfect for companionship and activities. You seem... very talkative. I'm sure the residents will love you."

I shot Daphne a teasing glance, and she rolled her eyes, smiling as she slipped off toward the kitchen.

Miss Linda handed me a blue button-up shirt with 'Volunteer' printed on the back and led me down a long hallway. The walls were lined with mismatched paintings and old photographs. As we walked, she told me the story of how her grandfather built the elderly home because he was passionate about charity work, and after his passing, her father took over the management, and now it was her turn.

The air was warm, a little too warm, but the sound of old voices chatting in the distance made it feel alive.

I walked into the activity room, trying to look confident, but it was clear I had no idea what I was doing. There were maybe twenty residents in there, all sitting at tables, chatting in low voices or staring off into space. The room was soft and cozy, but with an edge of sadness that I couldn't shake.

"Go on, make yourself at home." She gave me a gentle push. "Just talk to them. It's what they need."

Other volunteers were mingling with the residents, laughing and chatting, and it seemed so natural to them.

"Why don't you start with Hailey?" Linda suggested, pointing to an elderly woman sitting alone near the window, staring outside. "She's waiting for her grandson to show up. Keep her company until he arrives."

"Okay." I nodded my head and her grin stretched.

"Great! Just a heads up." She leaned into my ear. "She has amnesia."

She gave me a thumbs-up as I stepped into the room and took a deep breath. I wasn't sure what I expected, but the realness of it all hit me harder than I imagined. This wasn't a community service project-it felt like something deeper. I smiled and started walking towards her.

"Hi, Hailey!" I greeted brightly, my voice maybe a little too eager. "I'm Cara. It's my first day of volunteering here. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Hailey turned toward me, a warm smile spreading across her face, and something in me tugged at the sight. She looked to be in her mid-seventies, with silver hair pulled back into a neat bun and a face full of wrinkles, but her eyes were still bright.

"Not at all, dear."

I glanced at the yarn she was crocheting and asked. "What are you making?"

"I'm making a sweater for my son," she said with a proud smile. "Winters are coming soon."

"That's amazing!" I said, genuinely impressed. "Where did you learn to crochet?"

"My mother taught me when I was your age," she replied. "She used to crochet for me, and one day, I promised myself I'd do the same for my children."

I smiled, warmed by her story. "Can you teach me?"

She nodded, her hands deftly working the yarn as she explained the stitches, though some of her instructions went over my head. But I kept my smile, absorbing every word.

"That's so cool! I'll ask my mom if she knows how to crochet," I grinned. "Then I'll ask her to make me a sweater, too."

"What sweater?" she looked at me puzzled.

"Uh, this sweater." I pointed at her lap, at the sweater she was working on.

She chuckled. "Oh, this... I'm making this sweater for my son, Vicky. Winters are coming soon."

I was taken aback for a moment, and my brows furrowed in confusion. But then, the words Linda had said to me earlier clicked into place.

"That's-uh-great!"

Hailey's smile faded as she looked at me her eyes narrowing slightly. "Who are you, my dear?"

"I'm Cara." I let out a forced laugh, not sure how to handle the situation. "I'm a new volunteer here."

"It's nice to meet you." Her face softened, almost as if searching for a familiar face in mine. "My son is a volunteer here, too. Are you his friend?"

Her son?

She was talking about someone who was probably of my dad's age, with a family of his own.

Why would he volunteer here?

"Uh... Yes."

"How long have you known him?" I gulped, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under her gaze.

Just say something... anything!

"Vicky... Uh... He and I go way back. We go to the same high school and... and... we play basketball together-"

"What are you doing here?" I tensed at the familiar voice and slowly turned my head to see Blake standing beside me with an unreadable expression.

What the heck is he doing here?

Before I could answer, my mind flashed back to the kiss. The way our lips moved together, how our bodies had melted against one another. I couldn't forget the feeling of his lips against mine-intense, and completely captivating.

I was lost in the memory until Hailey came to my rescue. "Vicky! I've been waiting for you."

Wait-what?

I glanced between Blake and Hailey in confusion.

Did she just call him Vicky?

"Hey, Ma," Blake said, his expression softening instantly as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "How've you been?"

She beamed at him proudly. "I'm making you a sweater. Winters are coming soon."

Blake grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Thank you, Ma. I brought you your favorite lilies."

My eyes went to the flower bouquet in his hands as he passed it to Hailey, and a memory of him buying the flowers flashed back into my brain.

That day, he must have been buying the flowers for her, and I was jealous of a woman twice my age.

Pathetic.

But before I could wallow in my humiliation, Hailey's voice cut through again. "Lily's aren't my favorite. I like roses. The pink ones."

"My bad." He pouted. "Next time I'll bring you the roses."

"Pink roses." Hailey corrected, making him chuckle.

"Yes, Ma. Pink ones."

"I'll put these in the vase." She got up from the seat. Blake tried to stop her, but she refused. "Oh no, I'll do it myself. Keep Cindy company till I'm back." She glanced at me. "She's new here."

Cindy? Who? Me?

Hailey wandered off, proudly showing the flowers to the other residents, and I turned back to Blake, who was looking at me with a dull expression.

"You're volunteering here?"

"Yeah." I tried to sound casual, though I was anything but. "Linda told me to keep her company until her grandson arrives."

"I'm here, so you can leave her now." He replied and my eyes widened when I realized he was wearing the same volunteering shirt Linda gave me.

Wait a second... He's the grandson?!

"If you're her grandson and your name is obviously not Vicky..." My head tilted in confusion. "Who's Vicky?"

"Vick Amore." He answered, and that was enough for me to join the dots.

Vicky is his dad!

"Oh." I scratched the back of my head, awkwardly stepping back. "Make sense. You must look like your dad and since she has amnesia, she thinks you're her son, not grandson." I stopped my ranting when I saw him silently staring at me. "I... uh I'll go do something else."

I spun on my heels to run away but halted when he asked again. "What are you doing here, Cara?"

To get myself distracted from you!

"Public service." I gave him a tight smile and dashed out of the room.

I rushed back to Linda, desperately begging her to change my task, but she only pushed me back into the room, assuring me everything would be fine once I got used to it.

But she didn't know the reason I came here was in the same room and I wanted to distract myself from him, not wanting him in front of me.

Can't I just quit?

I thought as I stood at the center of a whirlwind of confusion and emotions that I couldn't escape.

No, I can't quit. It's my first day!

And Linda said they needed more volunteers.

My gaze flickered at Blake, and I saw him engrossed in talking to his grandmother. It won't be a problem as long as I stay away from it. With that thought, I took a deep breath and looked around the room for another resident.

It was supposed to be simple: chat with the residents, make them feel comfortable, and maybe win them over with my dazzling personality. Instead, I stood awkwardly by a table where an older man was setting up a chessboard.

He looked up at me through thick glasses, his face crinkled with age but still sharp as a tack. "You know how to play, my dear?" he asked, his voice raspy but warm.

I swallowed hard as my brain did a quick inventory of my chess knowledge.

Pawns are at the front? Kings are the big ones? And... no idea what a bishop actually does.

"Uh, sure, I can... play," I said, trying to sound confident as I took a seat opposite to him.

"Alright then, my dear." He gave me a slow nod and moved a pawn forward with his shaking hand. "Let's begin."

I mirrored his move, unsure if I'd done the right thing. The pieces stared at each other, and for a moment, I considered just flipping the board over and pretending I had to go use the bathroom. But then the old guy, Mr. Turner, leaned towards me like he was about to share the secret to world peace.

"You see, the queen can move in any direction but you must remember the rules of engagement. The delicate balance between the knight and the rook." He babbled. "Oh, the rook, dear. He's strong, but can't move diagonally. So, don't let your rook get trapped in the corner, or it's as good as dead."

I nodded, pretending to follow along, even though I wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about. I moved another piece randomly, hoping I looked like I had a plan. But then-then-as Mr. Turner was mid-sentence about the strategic brilliance of the bishop, I noticed something strange.

His hand, which had been gliding over the board with precision, halted. His head lowered, and his body went slack. As his breathing grew shallow, the soft rasping sound from his nostrils froze me in place.

And then the terrifying thought hit me.

Oh my God, he's dying!

My heart jumped into my throat, and I quickly stood up in alarm. "Mr. Turner?" I said, a little too loud. "Mr. Turner?!"

There was no response.

I leaned in closer, my breath catching in my chest. "Mr. Turner?!"

Still nothing.

In my absolute panic, I forgot everything I knew about CPR or first aid, which was practically nothing, and I just stared at him.

What do I do? Should I call for help? Does this count as an emergency?

Should I... should I cry?

Just then, I noticed a subtle rise and fall of his chest, a slow, but steady breath. I blinked, unsure if I was seeing things.

Oh. My. God. He's still alive!

My brain caught up, and I let out the biggest sigh of relief I've ever had in my entire life. "Okay, Cara, calm down," I muttered to myself. "He's not dead. He's... just asleep."

I dropped back in my chair with my body shaking. I really needed to stop watching those true-crime documentaries late at night.

I glanced at Mr. Turner again and couldn't help but laugh. He was snoring softly, completely oblivious to the mini heart attack he'd just given me.

Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a nap.

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