He turned and looked at her. His smile was warm, the bright blue of his eyes flashing with amusement. “You did all this in your sleep?”
“I didn’tmeanto ...” Isla mumbled, suddenly feeling oddly defensive that her room now resembled a botanical conservatory.
Andrew’s gaze grew kind. “You will master it, Isla. I know you will.”
Instead of reassuring her—she felt the same discomfiture as before—his wordsI knowseemed to convey more than simple encouragement.
“And how do I master it?”
“With practice and some help from ... friends.” His pause before the words friends was strange—the two of them were not exactly friends, so maybe that was why he had paused. They hadn’t quite hit it off the way Juliette and Andrew had. If she were being honest with herself, her desire to prove herself at the university and to his incredible mind had made sparks fly between them. Not the romantic kind of sparks. The competitiveYou’re in my way academicallykind of sparks. The kindthat made her want to outshine him with academic papers and prove her thesis arguments with footnotes just to wipe the smug grin off his perfectly symmetrical face.
Yes. Definitely not romantic.
She needed to change the subject. “How did you get past Mrs. Harris this morning? She’s an early riser.”
Andrew smiled. “She and I now have an understanding. She knows that from now on I will be a regular visitor.”
Isla resisted the urge to groan.
“So, I’m here this morning so I can walk you to your classes.”
“What am I, fifteen and at secondary school?” she replied, arching a brow.
Andrew smirked, entirely unfazed. “Well, you did nearly cause a full ecosystem to bloom in your sleep. You’ll forgive me if I think supervision might be wise.”
Isla folded her arms, her tone sharp. “I’m still a professor. Terra Summoner or not, I can navigate a hallway without a babysitter.”
“Debatable,” he said. “Your philodendron nearly strangled your bookcase.”
“That’s a dramatic interpretation.”
“It was inching toward me when I arrived. I’m just saying—weaponized botany is new to you. I’m offering support, not a leash.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Support that comes with smugness and unsolicited commentary?”
“Ah,” he said, as if ticking off a mental list. “The famous Isla defensive stance. Sharp wit when flustered, layered with indignation and a sprinkle of academic superiority.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but Andrew interrupted her.
“You might want to change first, though.”
“What?”
He looked at her pointedly. She looked down and her face flushed red. She was still in her nightdress. Sure, Juliette was too, but that didn’t seem to matter. Juliette looked cute, her beautiful hair all flowy. Isla did not look cute first thing in the morning. Not at all.
She tried to move past him to get inside her bedroom, only to pause.
“Can you even get to your clothes?” Juliette asked.
Trying to maintain a shred of dignity, Isla walked over to where her clothes were stored. She yanked open the drawer—only it didn’t budge. A vine had coiled itself tightly around the handle, blooming with a cheeky little flower.
“Oh, brilliant,” she muttered. “Betrayed by my own photosynthesis.”
Andrew chuckled from behind her. “Would you like me to help, or would that offend your deep-rooted independence?”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “One more pun, Andrew, and I’ll see if my powers extend to poison ivy.”
He held up both hands, backing toward the door. “Understood. I’ll be in the hallway. Far from your herbaceous wrath.”
