“You know,” Kent says, emerging from the kitchen with two steaming mugs, “I really don’t know when I ended up with three children instead of one, but you two are my least favorite, for sure. Waking me up at a time like this, and then scaring me half to death. Prepare to be left out of the will.”

He hands one mug to me and the other to Aiden, frowning deeply.

“What did Margaret say?” I yawn. “Did she answer? Was she mad that you woke her up?”

“She’s a doctor, so she’s used to being woken up at all hours. Unlike me.” Kent sinks down onto the couch that does not have an unconscious stranger on it. He has a hoodie on over his pajamas, sleep still in his eyes. “She said we don’t need to take this lady to the hospital, but that she’ll come by in a bit and check on her.”

Aiden nods, sipping from his mug. “Fine.”

I take a sip, too: it turns out to be hot water with lemon, honey and a cinnamon stick poking out. My numb hands start to get some feeling back where they touch the mug. The rain is still pouring down outside, splashing against Kent’s windows. The sun has risen, but just barely.

“Can someone please explain to me one more time what happened?” Kent asks. “And who exactly this is?”

“We’re not sure who it is,” Aiden mumbles, as I look at her again. She’s sprawled out on her back on Kent’s couch, breathing steadily but still very much out. Her long black hair is shiny and organized at the top, where it didn’t get wet, and a huge tangle at the bottom where it did. Business attire, indisputably: a white collared shirt tucked into her black slacks. “We told you what happened already.”

We told Kent a very abbreviated version of what happened, that is. In Aiden’s version, we happened to be out for a late-night drive on a whim, not searching for an accident that had yet to even occur.

“Yeah, Kent,” I add, “If you have some kind of facial recognition software in your attic you’ve failed to tell us about, do let us know.”

“Isn’t that her purse you grabbed, Jamie?” Kent asks, nodding at the bag I dropped on the floor near the couch.

“Yes.”

“Did either of you two geniuses think to check and see if her wallet is inside? You know, her wallet that might have her ID inside?”

Aiden and I exchange a glance across the room.

“Well - what are we, first responders?” I blurt out, feeling my cheeks heat up. “You try having coherent thoughts at this hour!”

“For fuck’s sake.” Kent reaches down and grabs the purse, then tosses it over to me. It’s a nice leather number, some niche designer brand I’ve never heard of. Probably ruined by the thorough soaking it got in the rain, though the bag is surprisingly dry-ish on the inside.

“Okay, I’m sorry that my instinct isn’t to crack open the personal items of every unconscious person I find!” I hold the bag open and peer inside. There’s a little silver case, tightly closed - a cigarette case, maybe? It looks a little thick for that. There’s also a little bottle of perfume, a travel-sized package of tissues, a granola bar, two notebooks - and a wallet. “Found it.”

Kent is looking at our waterlogged mystery driver, his forehead furrowed, clearly in thought.

“You know what… I actually think she does look familiar.”

“Do you know her, Kent?” Aiden asks tiredly.

“I didn’t think so, but…” Kent presses his finger to his mouth, looking at her like she’s a difficult math problem. “Maybe? I can’t say for sure.”

“Well, no need to guess.” I extract the wallet and open it up. There’s a driver’s license in the little plastic window within. I read the name printed there, and then read it again.

As if this morning could bring any more surprises.

“What’s going on?” Aiden asks, catching the look on my face.

“Who is she?” asks Kent, at the same time.

I turn the wallet around so they can see.

“Gabrielle Soto,” Kent says, reading off the license.

“Aiden,” I murmur, “Isn’t that the name of your boss? The one you hadn’t met because she hadn’t moved into town yet?”

Aiden drops his blanket, sets his mug down, and gets to his feet so he can snatch the wallet out of my hand. He holds it close to his face to examine it in the low dawn light. I know what he’ll be seeing. The picture matches: it’s her.

“Seriously?” Kent’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, Aiden. Hell of a first impression to make on your boss.”

“I had no idea,” Aiden says, handing me back the wallet. I can hear in his voice that he’s telling the truth. “Kent, do you know her?”

“I -” Kent looks at her again, and now he looks as confused as we do. “Gabrielle Soto… Soto kind of rings a bell, but I don’t know from where. Maybe she’s related to someone I know?”

“You two are the same age, Kent.” Aiden says, looking at the license again over my shoulder. “Maybe an old classmate or something?”

“You know what,” I put in tiredly, “We can just, like. Ask her about all this when she wakes up. And then that would be super cool cause we could all go to bed until she’s up.”

“So what’s going to happen, she’s just going to wake up in a stranger’s house alone?” Kent looks troubled. “That sounds like a scary awakening.”

“Would it really be better if she wakes up with three men she doesn’t know?” Aiden asks.

“Yeah, I know enough about the female experience to say that’s not actually better,” I put in. “In fact, that sounds like a horror-scenario.”

“Should we call Angie?” Aiden suggests, and Kent shakes his head.

“I’m not waking up one more person at this hour.”

“Well, we don’t want to scare Gabrielle.”

“I know that, Jamie, of course we don’t!”

“Okay, here’s an idea.” Aiden points to the crayons and paper that Ellen forgot on the table last night. “What if we leave her a note, explaining what happened? None of us in the room. Just the note.”

“Waking up in a stranger’s house with nothing but a note is how 90% of scary video games start, just saying.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with ideas, Jamie!”

“I don’t have any! Maybe we should have just taken her to the hospital?”

“No,” Aiden says firmly. “She’s where she needs to be.”

“Waking up in a hospital sounds scary, anyways,” Kent says, running his hands over his face.

“Why do I have this feeling like we’re gonna have this whole conversation about avoiding scaring her, and she’s going to wake up and turn out to be a blackbelt like Angie? She’s probably going to punch Aiden in the throat.”

“Okay, how about this?” Kent says, before Aiden can respond to my theory. “I’ll wait with her, and I’ll wait all the way over here. That way it’s less stressful, fewer people. I have some croissants in the kitchen, I’ll grab one and a cup of coffee and leave it out for her. Friendly offering. That should do it, right?”

“What do Jamie and I do?”

“You two go to bed and get some rest. I’ll get you when Gabrielle is up. You both look like you’re about to drop.”

“Kent,” Aiden yawns, barely able to keep his eyes open, “Are you sure you don’t mind? Who knows how long it’ll be?”

“Just go.” Kent snatches the wallet out of my hand, closes it back up, and drops it into Gabrielle’s purse. Turning, he scoops another blanket off of the couch and settles it over her. “I’m planting my ass in that armchair and hemming my daughter’s clothes until this stranger you two brought back wakes up. At least if you’re both asleep I know you can’t get into any more trouble.”

“He’s right, let’s go,” Aiden says. I’m so tired that I barely remember setting down the warm mug of lemon-water Kent brewed for me, barely remember the trip up Aiden’s stairs until I realize that we’re in his room and he’s offering me a towel. Showing me where the shower is.

I guess at some point we all just understood that I would be staying over? I don’t remember asking Aiden if I could, or him asking me to.

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” he warns, and then the door is closed and I’m alone in Aiden’s bathroom. I strip my wet things away as quickly as possible and turn the shower on as hot as it goes. Stepping into it feels like heaven: the chill lingering in my bones melts away at last. Twigs and leaves and mud from the river swirl around the drain. Evidence of the strangest night I’ve ever had.

Aiden has body wash and stuff in here. I don’t really need it - if anything I feel like I’ve been showering steadily for the last few hours - but I open up the bottle and take a breath of it. It sort of smells like the way Aiden’s neck does, when he hugs me and I get the chance to be close to him.

The combination of the scent, the heat, the steam, and my own exhaustion makes the shower a hazy affair. I don’t stay in long, and it’s only when I step out that I realize I don’t have any other clothes with me. Pinching the towel around my waist, I peek out into Aiden’s bedroom.

A shirt hits me in the face, and I nearly drop my towel catching it.

“I left you some shorts on the bed,” Aiden says, coasting past me. He closes the bathroom door before any of the steam can escape, leaving me with a t-shirt approximately four sizes too large and a pair of jogger shorts. At least the shorts have a drawstring waistband: I can kinda make them fit.

Aiden’s bed looks really warm. I don’t know if it’s me or him taking the couch, but probably me. This is going to set the record for my worst night of sleep ever.

“What are you doing?” Aiden asks, emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later.

“Rooting around in your closet for an extra blanket so that the sleep-on-the-couch experience doesn’t end my life via hypothermia. It’s supposed to be summer.”

“Don’t be dumb,” Aiden says, and he gives my shoulder a shove. I’m caught by surprise and too tired to properly catch myself and now suddenly here I am in Aiden’s bed. He strides past me to grab a shirt out of the closet. He didn’t even turn around to watch where I landed, or to catch me looking at his bare shoulders, the droplets running out of his hair and down the back of his neck. The taper of his waist. I swallow and turn away.

Well, whatever. I have exactly 0% energy, so this is happening. I burrow under his comforter and snag the bigger pillow for myself. And then the other pillow, too.

I groan in protest when Aiden yanks the other pillow out from under me.

“Make some room,” he says, and I yelp as he digs his knee into my side.

“Jerkface!”

“Twerp.” Aiden settles under the comforter next to me and stretches out on his back. His blue eyes close. He lets out a tired sigh. I can feel the heat radiating off of him from here, and my instinct to curl up against his side is very strong. If I wasn’t half-asleep already my heart would probably be about to pop, being in his bed and in his clothes and with him like this. As it is, I’m too tired to freak out or even think. All I can do is appreciate the warmth, his closeness, the relief of someplace to lay down. The rain is still tumbling down on the windows.

He smells like a mixture of the body wash and the honey-cinnamon of the drinks that Kent fixed us.

“Aiden.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you going to explain what the hell happened tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” he mumbles, his voice drowsy and low. “Tomorrow, okay?”

I open my eyes and let them linger on his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw, the blush in his cheeks from the heat of the shower. The wet curl of brown hair falling down over his eyes.

“Fine. Tomorrow.”

“Cool. Now close your eyes.” He reaches over, his own eyes still closed, and fumbles his hand over my face, apparently trying to shut my eyelids for me. I swat his hand away, and he smiles sleepily. I love his smile, the way it rounds out his cheeks, the way it’s goofy and uncontrolled, so different from the old Aiden. Given so freely.

I’m too exhausted to stop myself from reaching over and smoothing his hair out of his eyes. I realize what I’m doing too late, but it turns out to be fine. He’s already asleep, his breath deep and slow. I could sit here and watch him like this for hours, but my body won’t let me. Soon enough I’m falling asleep, too.

Falling gently into honey-cinnamon dreams.