Lennox takes one look at me when I arrive and whistles low. "Oh, you're in trouble."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You have beard burn on your neck." She points, and my hand quickly moves to my neck to cover it.
"I do not?—"
"Gotcha. But the fact that you believed me tells me everything." She grins. "How was it?"
"How was what?"
"Don't play dumb. The date. The movie marathon. Whatever happened that has you looking like you forgot how to function." She places her hand on her hip, and waits for me to speak.
I busy myself with opening tasks, but Lennox follows me around like a persistent shadow.
"It was fine," I say eventually.
"Fine? That's all you're giving me?"
"Fine and... complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Before I can answer, the door chimes and Sebastian walks in. He's wearing jeans and a hoodie, I've never seen him in a hoodie and carrying my scarf and two coffee cups.
"Good morning," he says, walking straight to the counter. "One medium latte for Isla, and—" he looks at Lennox "—what would you like? It's on me."
Lennox blinks. "I'm sorry, who are you and what have you done with Sebastian Thornhill?"
"I'm trying something new. It's called being decent." He sets down the latte and my scarf. "Your scarf, as promised. And coffee, because I know you have a long shift."
I take both, too stunned to form words.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He leans against the counter like he belongs here. Like he's not Sebastian Thornhill, Legacy Council president, and this isn't a shabby campus café where scholarship students work. "What time do you get off?"
"Ten."
"Lunch after?"
"I have—" I stop. What do I have? An emergency meeting with my friends where they'll interrogate me about last night. "Plans. With friends."
"Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow's not a date day. We have two left. Dinner and the Valentine's gala."
"I know. But I thought maybe we could just... hang out. No cameras. No contract. Just us."
Lennox makes a strangled sound behind me. I ignore her.
"Just us," I repeat.
"Too much?" Sebastian's confidence wavers. "Sorry. I'm not good at this. The non-contract, non-performative relationship thing."
Relationship thing.
"Tomorrow works," I hear myself say. "Afternoon?"
