A/N I know it's taken me longer than usual to update, and I apologize. Spring Break is over and school is starting up again. My updates will become less frequent, but I promise I won't forget to update regularly. Because it'll be my last update for a few days, I've made this chapter extra long. Enjoy. Review!

Ezra had been ready to make his move when, three days later on August 25, 2011, Alison's body was unearthed. The whole town seemed go into mourning, their grief at a life lost too early seemed to penetrate everything around them. Aria's journal entry for that day read "there's no coming back from death."

The funeral, held two days later on August 27, 2011, was an enormous affair. Everyone showed up. Even, Aria and her friends noted, Jenna Marshall, who had been away at boarding school. Ezra was there too although he could not recall meeting Ali, even though he was sure he must have seen her in the halls of Rosewood High.

He followed the stairs of the funeral home to a secluded corner, suspecting that Aria would want some time to herself before the service started. He found her staring at a large stained glass window.

"She was one of your friends, wasn't she?" asked Ezra coming up behind.

Aria looked at where he stood beside her, and answered "Yeah, she was one of my best friends." She looked away.

He knew what she was waiting for, so he said it. "I don't know what I feel worse about—ending things with you or being a jerk about it." He paused. "I'm sorry."

She turned to him, "For Alison or for being a jerk?"

He met her eyes. "Both."

She nodded her head. "Thank you." She looked down and then back up. "I never wanted to do anything that would get you into trouble." He blinked and swallowed at her words. She reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek, and Ezra noticed that with her heels on, she didn't have to tiptoe to do it anymore. "Good-bye, Ezra," she whispered.

She began to walk away, but he reached out for her hand, pulling her close. Her body pressed against his and he began to kiss her, she could feel his desire and his need to explore what this was before he ended it. She kissed him back with just as much fervor. That night on August 27 her journal read "there's no coming back from love either."

Something had changed between them, permanently changed between them. At Wednesday dinners he held her hand under the table when he could get away with it, and at school they exchanged glances in the hallway. Aria felt that a smile had been permanently engraved on her face.

On September 10, a Saturday, her journal was stained and wrinkled from droplets that fell from her soaking wet hair. "Dancing in the rain," her entry read. She had been walking home from the old movie theater downtown when suddenly the rain started to pour down. She had no jacket or umbrella, nothing. She had been walking in the cold wetness for approximately two minutes when a familiar silver Camry drove up beside her. He parked about twenty feet from where she was, opening the passenger door to let her in. She climbed into the passenger's seat and he drove into an alley where he parked the car.

He looked at her, and she at him and within two seconds their lips came together furiously. They held on to each other as if by their closeness they were giving each other life. Aria wasn't sure how long they stayed there like that. She didn't care, and she suspected Ezra didn't either. It seemed like hours later although it must have been only a few minutes when he pulled into his driveway. They looked at each other before exiting the car, no words needed for message they shared.

She made her way to her house, ringing the wetness out of her hair and taking off her soaking sweater. He stared at her as she walked his eyes on the front door long after she had opened and closed it. He sighed and walked into his own house. It was later that night when he sat on his bed and looked at the dream catcher that rested on his bedpost that he realized that he and Aria still had never talked. Not really. They had spoken as neighbors, as friends, and even siblings, but they had never had a discussion as equals. It was high time he rectified that.

Two days later, on September 12, she came visit him during his off-period. "My friends and I saw you yesterday at the park," she stated, without preamble. "You were riding your bike. They thought you had nice legs."

He was intrigued. "What did you think?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know her answer.

She looked away. "I was embarrassed they thought you had nice legs."

He looked away too. "I guess you weren't the only one who grew up this last year."

"I guess not," she answered.

He sighed. It was either now or never. "There are things we need to talk about, things we need to cover that we can't between classes or at dinner at your parents' house. Come over tonight?"

She looked at him carefully before answering. "What time?" she asked softly.

"Seven," he replied.

She nodded her head. "I'll be there." The bell cut off their conversation, and she walked out of his classroom.

Her journal entry for September 12, 2011 was long and detailed, but it was written in riddle and rhyme, confusing even to her when she read it years later. "I was upset, angry, and hopeful," she said years later. "All at the same time."

She showed up at his house promptly at seven o'clock. He opened the door, hair slightly disheveled, a towel over his shoulder.

"What did you tell your parents?" he asked.

"They are at the art gallery downtown that Mom has pieces at. Some new artist is showing his work. Mike's across the street with Gavin."

He gestured her towards the kitchen. "I tried making your grandmother's ravioli, but I don't think mine turned out as well as your mother's."

When she entered the dining room area, she saw that he had set the table with Mrs. Springer's nice china and a white candle was lit in the center of the table.

"I think food is going to be the last thing on my mind tonight," she said after stumbling upon the scene. She leaned up to give a thank-you kiss, but he leaned away, avoiding. She stopped her advance, confused.

She sat down across the table from Ezra and waited for him to speak before she dug into her food.

"Do you know that we've ever really talked," he began.

"What you mean?" Aria asked, raising an eyebrow. "We've known each other for years."

"I read your essay the other day, and I realized just how little we know about each other," he tried again.

"What do you want to know?" she asked. She was less interested in her dinner than she was intrigued by their conversation.

"What do you want to tell me?" he replied.

She cocked her head to the side. "You know how I met your grandparents."

He nodded. "Is there anymore to the story?"

"I loved them," she breathed softly. "My own grandparents died before I was born. The closest I ever got to them was a run-down cottage in the middle of nowhere in Italy. Mr. and Mrs. Springer were like grandparents to me."

He looked at the white table cloth and brushed off a piece of invisible lint before asking, "Do you blame me for not being there?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Springer didn't, and if they didn't why should I?" she countered.

"You do," he state simply looking at her. "I've known you for a long time, and I can tell when you're upset about something."

Aria felt her anger rising. "Fine. But don't tell me what I do and don't feel. You weren't there, Ezra," she spat out. "You weren't there when Mr. Springer looked at your picture and wondered why you decided not to visit. You weren't there when Mrs. Springer looked at me and said. 'I hope he marries a nice girl one day, like Aria, so we could see him more often.' You weren't there." She finished flatly.

"How can you know?" he was coldly angry and she knew she had provoked him. "You're just a child."

"Well if I'm such a child, then why did you invite me here tonight?" she yelled. She got up from her chair and walked out the door. He did nothing to stop her.

On September 15, 2011, Aria turned seventeen. She was given the usual chocolate-chip pancakes and her mother sand a rendition of Happy Birthday, but her birthday didn't feel very cheerful. Ezra ignored her in class, and she refused to look at him.

"Aria, are you okay?" asked Emily during lunch.

"Yeah, Ar," echoed Spencer, "You don't look very happy. It's your birthday," she said suggestively. "It's supposed to be the one day out of the year where you get everything you want."

"Sorry, guys," said Aria picking at her food. "I guess I don't feel very festive. This time last year I was freezing up in Iceland and the only birthday present I got was a tacky sweater my dad thought was cute."

"Well, your home now. You should live it up, make your parents make up for last year," said Hanna munching on her salad.

"Hanna," exclaimed Spencer.

"What?" She asked, rolling her eyes.

"Thanks, Han," said Aria, half-smiling. "But it's more than that. Alison too. She didn't live to turn seventeen, much less sixteen."

"They still haven't found her killer, have they?" asked Emily

"No," muttered Spencer. "But I have a few names I would like to suggest to the police."

"Spence?" asked Hanna.

"What's going on?" asked Aria.

"Nothing," said Spencer. "Forget it. It's Aria's birthday, we should focus on her."

"Is everything going to be okay?" Emily asked Aria.

"I hope so," Aria breathed, ending the conversation. She didn't tell them that Ezra felt closer last year, ten thousand miles away, then he did this year, right next door.

It was Saturday, September 16, when Ezra finally talked to her. She used the gate to get to the tree house. She knew that she was testing him to see if he would stop her, to see if he would speak to her again. She wanted to know what he would do.

She took a book and sat in the corner of the creaky old tree house. She had read eighty pages before she heard a sound below her, and the house shook as she felt someone climb up the rope ladder. Ezra poked his head through.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," she answered quietly. She set the black and red book down next to her and looked at him.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"Love in the Time of Cholera," she responded. "By Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It's about a man who's waited decades to be with the woman he loves."

He nodded and sat down next to her. "I know. I've read it." He brushed her out of her face, caressing her cheek in the process. "What really happened in Iceland, Aria? What aren't you telling me?"

She looked out the cutout window and saw the sun shining and faintest hint of orange on the oak leaves. She swallowed and looked back. "It's not what happened in Iceland. It's what happened before." She paused a minute, thinking carefully about what she would say. "Do remember that day you took me to school? The one where you gave me The Scarlet Letter to read?" he nodded in response. "You didn't realize at the time how ironic it was. I had caught my dad the day before in his car, making out with one of his students. I was walking home with my friend Alison, and we just saw him there in the alley. He knew I had seen him and while Mom and Mike were out of the house, he came to my room and asked me not to say anything. And I didn't until now." She looked at her fingernails.

"And the other night?" he pushed her.

She looked back up at him before responding. "I stopped by my dad's office on the way home from school. She was there. Meredith. He told me it was nothing, that she worked there now. I was looking for someone to blame, and I blamed you for not being there." Aria's eyes slowly began to fill with tears.

"I felt lost the year you were gone," he started, picking up where she left off. "I remodeled the house, I planted a garden, I traveled. I don't know if I was losing myself or finding myself." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I went to Ireland over Christmas break. I had started to read Ulysses and I thought that if I walked the same places Joyce had walked and saw the same things he had seen, it would help."

"Why didn't you come visit us?" she asked. "You were so close, only a plane ride away."

"I did," he responded, startling her. Her eyes grew big as she looked at him. "I made it to Reykjavik and I even figured out where you guys were staying from Byron's emails. But," he sighed. "I heard your voices. Mike was laughing and Ella was talking to Byron. I realized then that you guys weren't my family. As much as I wanted it to be, you weren't my family. You guys had gone to Iceland to rebuild your relationship, and it wasn't until I was on your front stoop that I realized I didn't belong there. I took the next flight to New York and came home."

He looked at Aria carefully after his confession. She reached for his hand. "Thank you," she said eventually.

His response was nothing but a kiss on the lips that evolved into more kisses and more kisses until they were on the floor of the tree house, locked in a passionate embrace.

That night, Aria didn't write anything in her journal. There were some memories that just didn't need to be recorded.

Meanwhile, while Aria and Ezra were in the tree house, Ella and Byron were looking towards Ezra's yard.

"What do you think is happening up there?" asked Byron, wrapping his arm around his wife.

"I'm sure they're getting reacquainted. We've been gone a year. I'm sure they have a lot of catching up to do, they've always been close," answered Ella.

"Hmm," answered Byron. "Does it bother you that Aria still goes over there, now that he's her teacher?"

"I hadn't thought about it that way," admitted Ella. "With our jobs Aria's always been around teachers and professors, and Ezra's been our neighbor for years."

"Still," said Byron, "maybe we should talk to her about it, explain to her that things are different now."

"Maybe," responded Ella. "Maybe she won't listen, either."

It was Monday night, September19, when Byron came into her room.

"Aria?" he asked tapping at the open door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, Dad," she responded, setting her journal on the bed next to her. "What's up?"

Byron cleared his throat. "I know you and Ezra have always been close, but he's your teacher now, maybe you guys should distance yourselves a little," he suggested.

"Dad," asked Aria, taken aback. "Are you saying I shouldn't be friends with Ezra anymore? It's not like he's going to give me better grades or anything because I'm the girl next door."

"I know," sighed Byron, "But maybe you should be a little more respectful of his position?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Dad," said an exasperated Aria. "I'm not going to stop talking to Ezra because suddenly he's my teacher.

Byron hung his head in defeat. "Just think about it, okay?" He left her bedroom, the question open between them.

At the bottom of the page for September 19, the words relationship and teacher were underlined and there were question marks next to them.