This morning she had dressed with intention: a crisp blouse tucked neatly into her skirt, low heels clicking with purpose, a touch of lipstick brightening her face. When you dressed the part, you could take on the world—and today, Isla intended to do exactly that.
Before knocking on his door, she noticed his neighbor had a tired-looking plant outside, meant to be ornamental. Welcoming. However, its petals drooped—forgotten. Almost without thinking, she let her focus slip into that quiet new place inside her. The control she felt was becoming more natural, more familiar. She had worked hard all week honing the things she had learned.
A breath later, the plant straightened, its leaves perking, a single bloom regaining its blush of color. Isla smiled faintly. Yes. She was learning to take control of her new abilities.
She knocked, and the music cut off mid-phrase. A moment later, footsteps crossed the floor, and the door opened.
Andrew stood there, his high-waisted trousers emphasizing his lean middle, the suspenders framing his trim body. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing strong forearms cradling a violin and bow in one hand. The other rested casually against the doorframe, his stance as composed as ever.
But it was his eyes—those piercing blue eyes, bright with surprise yet softened by unmistakable warmth—that stole her breath. His dark hair, neatly styled back, caught the dim hallway light, completing the picture with perfect precision.
Isla swallowed, heat creeping unbidden to her cheeks. This was the first time she had called on him, and she felt unsure all of a sudden.
Standing there, faced with the full force of his presence—the scholar’s bearing, the artist’s hands, the gentleman’s ease—she could not deny that he was growing more important to her by the day, but what if he wasn’t ever meant for her? Eye to eye with him, she found she couldn’t look away.
His smile deepened. “You’re awake early, and you’ve never been to my apartment before.”
The raised brow that accompanied his grin finally broke the strange spell, releasing her from the feeling of being caught captive in his gaze.
“Yes, well ... I had to sneak past Mrs. Harris, but I have a long day of lectures ahead of me, and I thought I’d get an early start. And since you insist on walking me over to campus, I ... well, I thought I should, you know—come over. Early.”
Andrew laughed at her bumbling reply, the sound warm and unguarded. “Of course, my dear Isla. Let me grab my jacket andwe’ll be off. Won’t you come in for a moment while I put my violin away and gather my things?”
She hesitated only briefly before stepping over the threshold into Andrew’s world. The apartment was undeniably masculine—leather armchairs arranged by a low, book-strewn table, shelves lined with worn volumes on aerodynamics, mathematics, and philosophy. Drafting papers and delicate sketches of wing designs were pinned neatly above a dark oak desk, their fine lines betraying both precision and passion. It was the environment of a man who lived in both thought and discipline.
“I’m impressed you managed to sneak past Mrs. Harris,” he said, gently placing his violin in its case and clicking it shut.
Isla felt her face flush. “Yes, well ... I may have used a distraction.”
At his raised eyebrow, she huffed, knowing he’d want the full story. “I summoned a bouquet of flowers. After knocking on her door and telling her she ought to put them in water straight away, I made a run for it. To reach your apartment you have to pass her door—I wasn’t sure what else to do!”
Andrew laughed, delight shining in his eyes. She turned away, a little embarrassed at her childish antics but not regretting it now she was here. Looking back, she saw Andrew studying her. She locked eyes with him as he began to roll down his sleeves, the movement unhurried. He buttoned the first sleeve, struggling with it for a moment before his hand turned its attention to the other sleeve.
As his hand hit the cuff, she caught a glimpse of the Sigil mark on his wrist. How had she not noticed he wasn’t wearing a watch? He always wore a watch, so she hadn’t been able to seehis mark before. Her pulse quickened. He had to be Fated like her, right?
He noticed her gaze, and a soft smile touched his lips.
“Care to take a look, Isla?”
She flushed, not wanting to be rude, but she was incredibly curious.
He walked toward her, his movements slow as if worried he might scare off a timid creature. When he was close, too close, he lifted his wrist, the sleeve still unbuttoned but hanging a little, covering the mark. Tentatively, she lifted her fingers and pushed it aside, revealing a mark that matched her own. Her pointer finger traced it. She noticed him shiver a little at her touch.
“You’re Fated too,” she said, her voice quiet.
“I am.”
“I thought you must be with your memories of past lives, but I wasn’t sure. There’s so much to learn ... so much I don’t know.”
Andrew was silent. He had been her nemesis. Their past behavior reminded her, oddly enough, of a new cartoon her American friend had written to her about,Tom and Jerry—she still hoped to see it when it came to the UK. Like those two characters, she and Andrew had been constantly at odds, rivals in every sense, and yet ... things had changed.
“Can you help me with the cuff, Isla?” His voice was a little low and husky.
Silently, using both hands, she grasped the open cuffs and went to fasten them, the action feeling intimate. She tried not to show that she was startled when he spoke again.
“Are you glad that I’m Fated?” he said quietly.
She paused, holding his sleeve in both her hands. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t wrap her head around it all. Were thetwo of them destined for one another? Or was there a man out there she should be waiting for? But did it matter? Andrew was with her now. She liked Andrew. She nodded.
