“It’s just rain,” I whisper.
He huffs a quiet laugh, and it fogs the space between us. He’s so damn close now. I can feel the heat of him, even through the cold.
“You’re so much trouble, Olivia,” he murmurs, his attention briefly flicking to my lips, and I love it when he does that. I’m not sure if he realizes he does, but having his attention, especially on my mouth, makes me feel wanted and sexy.
I swallow, but don’t move. The way he saystroubledoesn’t sound like a problem, like it has been for so many before. It sounds like something he’s already made peace with. Probably because he’d be right, trouble and I go hand in hand a lot of the time.
I let my own gaze wander all over his face… and he’s beautiful. I’ve always known he was good-looking, but this is something else. There’s a new look to him out here. A kind of quiet heat that makes it hard to look away. The storm suits him. More than I expected.
I’m suddenly aware of every inch of space between us, aware of the way my heart stutters just slightly, the way the rain feels warmer now despite the cold, and I think for one breathless second that he’s going to close the gap. There’s something loaded in the way he looks at me, like he’s weighing it, and I think he wants to lean in but knows exactly what would happen if he did, and somehow, that hesitation feels louder than if he’d actually done it. We just stand there, balanced on that invisible line between familiar and something else entirely. And then, slowly, whatever was there passes like the storm moving on above us. He doesn’t move, but I do… because I have to.
I convince myself for the rest of the night that it’s probably for the best. I would’ve only jeopardized everything I’m building here by doing that.
Because if he had kissed me, I don’t think I would’ve stopped. And I don’t trust myself not to want more. Not from him. Not now. Not when I’m still figuring out who I am without someone else’s mess clinging to me.
But god, I wanted him to.
Chapter eighteen
Liv
Myprofessor’svoiceisstill trailing off, something about symbolism in post-war Italian sculpture. My fingers are stained with pen ink because I refuse to use a laptop in class, I like the idea of handwritten notes. Speaking of, I’ve got three half-finished pages of notes and a doodle of a Roman bust in sunglasses that I’m pretty proud of. When he dismisses us, I stuff everything into my tote, swing it over my shoulder, and follow the slow trickle of students out of the lecture hall into the crisp afternoon.
Outside, I immediately spot Daphne waiting near the art building steps, a blanket tucked under one arm, paper bags in the other, and a smile splits my face at her surprise visit.
“You’re too cute for your own good, you know?” I tell her as I approach.
She turns to face me, smile wide. “I wanted to have lunch with my best friend the way we used to when we were kids, so sue me.”
I chuckle as we walk toward the quad, arms linked together, before settling under a patch of dappled shade beneath one of the big trees by the fountain. It’s cooler today, the storm cleared some of the lingering summer heat, and it’s looking like the perfect fall. Daphne spreads the blanket with practiced flair, and I drop onto it gracelessly, my legs already half-numb from the lecture.
She pulls out two iced teas that I know will be peach flavored, and a brown bag packed with snacks I instantly recognize. PB&J cut into triangles, sliced apples, and popcorn in a Ziploc.
I laugh, taking the sandwich she offers. “We’re eight years old again?”
“Some of our best work happened at eight,” she says, unbothered, biting into her apple.
I lie back on the blanket, letting the light flicker through the leaves overhead, cool air brushing my skin, the familiar rhythm of us settling into something that still feels like home. “Remember when we tried to start a detective agency in your backyard?”
Daphne grins around her apple. “Liv & Daph Investigates. We made business cards with cardboard boxes and gel pens and arrested your neighbor’s dog for eating a popsicle stick.”
“He looked guilty,” I say, closing my eyes against the sun. “And I wanted to keep him.”
“I know, Mr. Knowles was so mad when he found that dog in your house.”
“In my defense, he just came right in.” I shrug.
“You bribed him with sausage,” she chuckles.
I lift a shoulder like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. Daphne knows I have a weakness for animals. I was the girl always rescuing the bird with a broken wing.
She laughs, that real kind that always makes me smile, the one she can’t hold back when she’s completely relaxed. It makesme feel sixteen again. Before life got messy. Before my instincts stopped trusting softness.
She nudges my leg with her foot. “We peaked that summer.”
“I think we just had less to recover from back then.” I don’t say it out loud, but I think about all the things that came after, how growing up felt less like moving forward and more like stitching myself back together in new shapes. I’m proud of who I am, but damn, I can’t deny the heartbreak that has made me who I am.
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. The quiet that settles between us isn’t heavy, it just is what it’s always been, familiar, the kind you only get with people who’ve known all your versions and stayed anyway. I shift up onto my elbows, reaching for my iced tea. It’s warmer now, but still sweet and exactly what I needed today.
