“When?” I say quickly. “What kind of phase? What kind of earring did you wear? Are there pictures? Can I—” “There are probably a few photos buried at my parents’ place,” he says musingly. Then he looks up from his book, his gaze finding mine. “But you’ll never see them.” I will see those pictures if it is the last thing I do. I will run a long con on his mother if it means I get a glimpse of straight-laced Aiden wearing an earring. “I can hear the wheels turning in that brain of yours,” he says, sounding distracted once more as he looks back down at his book. “The earring isn’t even the best
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