When we got back to the station and were alone in the side office once again, I was still shivering like holy hell. Pennsylvania winters are no joke. Right as I was about to change into my oversize woolen sweater, Derick noticed my shivering and offered to share the very last piping hot cup of cocoa with me. I thanked him and brought the cup to my mouth. Before I could sip, he tapped my wrist and whispered, “Careful. Don’t burn yourself.”
He blew across the top, his breath ghosting over my lips. Suddenly, I was shivering even more than before. And when I drank, realizing my lips were where his lips had been moments ago, I choked.
“You okay?” he asked. I nodded through my coughing fit. “Here.” He took the cup and patted my back a few times. When I’d calmed, he held me close, tight. “For warmth,” he qualified.
“Yeah,” I said, melting like the marshmallows in our cup. “For warmth.”
But I knew—or IthoughtI knew—it was for so much more.
I really, sincerely thought maybe we could besomethingmore too. But it turned out I was wrong all along—not only didn’t he need me in his life, but he’d never thought of me in it in the first place.
I rip off the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, crack my knuckles, and force myself to type back:
You’re right. It was an accident. I was drunk. I’m sorry. Please forget this ever happened.
Best,
Wren
I’m about to send but then I add:
PS. Thank you. It’s sweet that you remembered.
Click. Boom. Gone.
The kiss quest is officially canceled.
I log out of the computer, discard my latte with its sad, melted whipped-cream topping, and step back out into the May sunshine. Warmth hits my face as I slip off my denim jacket and tie it around my waist.
It’s not until I’m halfway back to the apartment that I think with relief:If the other guys respond, I can handle it. At least the worst is over with.
Chapter 4
The worst is not over with.
Derick
It’s going to be hard to just forget about your email when we’re working together this summer.
That’s it. One text is all it took to ruin what should be a momentous occasion.
The Rosevale College graduation ceremony takes place on the ginormous football field. The turf tickles my toes when I slip my bare feet out of my black loafers. The day is ungodly hot, and the sun beats down on everything, not a cloud in sight. Bleachers on both sides are packed with parents and families, friends and professors. I spot my dad; mom; and younger sister, Claire, up on the far side, fanning themselves with the card-stock programs.
It’s all pomp and very sweaty circumstance.
After four excruciating years, I expected something a little more than a faux-leather folder with a piece of paper typed out in Latin inside. I just hadn’t expected thatmoreto be Derick’s text-delivered bombshell.
Derick was silent all week, and randomly, in the middle of my college graduation, he decides to dig up the distressing hatchet. Next time, I won’t leave a map to where I buried it.
My eyes scan the single sentence repeatedly until the letters blur together into something resembling sense. What does he mean? Earl sent me a list of the new summer recruits. Mateo’s was the only name that stood out to me. Had I missed something?
The girl next to me, Gemma Rollind, gives me a look as I stare obsessively at my phone, likeHow rude can you be?But these matters are too pressing to put on pause. Besides, they’re still only at theW’s, so we’re some ways away from standing and throwing our bedazzled caps up in the air for that extraordinary snapshot moment. The kind I’m sure Derick could exquisitely capture with his camera and his eyes closed.
I left my plain black cap blank. No motivational quote or grad school mascot. I’d like to say it was part of my anti–social media stance (also, arts and crafts aren’t my forte, much to Mom’s chagrin), but I just have no idea what’s next for me. Beyond this summer at Wiley’s, I have no clue what the future holds, and no song lyric or Michelle Obama motivational speech could capture that kind of Gen-Z ennui.
I type back:
What do you mean we’ll be working together?
