Oh. Oops.
“Is that what you think of me?” He opens the door for me, still chivalrous even when hurt.
“I mean, look at you.” The words tumble out, sharper than I intend. My lack of filter and exhausted frustration is a terrible combination. “I’ll never keep up. How could any of us plebes?”
He scowls at me. That’s a first.
Whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.
I cringe inwardly.Okay, I see the glaring hypocrisy.
I hate when people treat me differently because of how I look. And I just did that that to him, but with his money.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Can I have a do-over?”
His face relaxes, instantly forgiving. A huge credit to him. “Sure.” His expression turns mischievous. “I know you don’t like to be complimented about your appearance, but may I please have an exception today?”
I half laugh, alarmed that I’m so pleased. “If you must.”
“I see the need to state, for the record, that you always look lovely. Timeless and elegant, understated. Same story today.” Then, with quirked lips, “Emma Watson wants her vibe back.”
I’m giddy, fourth-grade style. A full 180 from my reaction the first time he complimented me. Like the day I found myself brushing my hair to go see him, like the day I put on that white dress, this is oddly revolutionary. His reaction to Ada has freed me, not only to accept how I look, but to want to be beautiful to him. It’s just one part of me. He sees beyond it, just like he trusts me to see past his money. My head spins with the reworking of so many thoughts. Energy zings in my veins. I’ve finally come back around. I’m finally comfortable in my own skin again.
“I love when you wear white or blue,” he adds. “Your eyes …”
“Okay, okay.” I push his backpack.
He checks to see if I mean to stop him, but my stupid smile tells him otherwise.
“So many favorites.” He loops thumbs around his straps. “The white silk tank top you wore in summer. The navy sweater that wraps around. The denim skirt with the white button-down tucked in. Mm. So classic.” He’s fully flirting now and enjoying himself. “My favorite is that white dress—but you knew that already.” His sidelong glance is cheeky, like I might be mad.
“You’re impossible. I fuss at you, and you compliment me?”
He grins, then it softens. “I still remember what you had on when I first saw you.”
My brows shoot up.
“White button-up, sleek gray skirt, black heels,” he says. “Ring a bell?”
“I do have a woman-crush on Rachel Zane fromSuits,” I joke. “That was for my interview with the panel.”
“You looked bummed, in your own world.”
I nod and kick a rock back into its place in the landscaping. “Their last question was what animal I’m most like. I blurted out ‘zebra,’ of all things.”
We chuckle.
“But then the next girl was heading in,” he says. “She looked terrified, like she was about to lose it. You stopped to encourage her, held her arm. Whatever you told her … she walked in there like a new person.” He shakes his head. “I’m still blown away that you’d do that for your direct competition. You’re incredible.”
I study him. He liked me for me—from day one.
“I really wanted to talk to you then, to see you smile. I was so close to coming over there, but I had this feeling I shouldn’t. Now I know that chat would have been a crash and burn.” He grimaces to be funny.
But, actually …that was pre-Aiden, when I was trusting, whole. I would have jumped at the chance to talk to Levi, and anything more than a hard pass would have scared him away. Timing really is everything.
Timing is usually your thing, God. Did you give me that crazy zebra answer to get me here? Did you give me these months with him? Why?
“I prayed that you’d win the scholarship.”
