“If someone told you that you only get one great love in your life,” I continue, “then what? When they die, you’re done? You just… stop loving because your ‘one’ is gone?” I shake my head. “People heal. They move on. They fall again. That alone proves we’re not wired for just one connection.”
Talon drums his fingers on the table, thoughtful. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Guess?”
He shrugs, smiling. “I mean, I couldtryto share a woman. But I’m not touching a cock, though.”
I choke on my latte and burst out laughing. “NEVER?”
“Never,” he says, grinning wide. “I’ve got limits, sweetheart.”
“Good to know,” I manage between laughs. “We’ll file that under ‘no sword fights.’”
He groans, covering his face, but he’s laughing too. The barista glances over, smiling like she’s seen this kind of chaos before.
When I finally catch my breath, he’s still watching me, eyes soft around the edges now. “You know,” he says, “you make it hard not to like you.”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “I get that a lot.”
We finish the worksheet after that—well,Ifinish it while he keeps trying to make me laugh. The sun outside dips lower, spilling amber light across the windowpane. The shop’s crowd thins until it’s just us and a few stragglers typing essays they’ll hate in the morning.
I pack up my notes and stretch, feeling the satisfying crack of my spine.
“So,” he says, gathering his things. “When’s our next study date?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think you survived this one?”
“Barely.”
“Then maybe let’s not test your luck.”
He smirks, standing as I pull on my coat. “What if I bribe you with dinner next time?”
“Still no.”
“Steak?”
“Tempting,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder, “but no.”
He falls into step beside me as we head for the door, the late autumn light painting his hair gold. “You know,” he says, “I like a challenge.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Because I am one.”
He laughs, holding the door open for me. “Yeah,” he says as I step outside into the cool evening air. “I figured that out on day one.”
I grin, tugging my coat tighter against the chill. “Then maybe you’re smarter than your worksheet suggests.”
He mock-bows. “Progress.”
“Barely,” I shoot back, already walking toward the parking lot.
Behind me, his voice carries on the breeze—warm, cocky, a little too confident. “Don’t pretend you don’t like me, Penelope!”
I glance over my shoulder, smirking. “Oh, I like you, Talon.”
He freezes for half a second, surprised.
“I just like other people more.”
