The scholarship covered room and board in the dorms and classes—not off campus living, so this new arrangement meant I needed a job.
“Good news, huh?” My barista, Hannah, walked by with another glass of water. Our campus on the northeastern part of Vermont was beautiful, and the summer air breezed through the open windows. She owned the small café—Beans N Books--attached to our school’s library. “Your smile is bordering on terrifying.”
“LikeJokerterrifying or you’re so jealous of my smile, it terrifies you?” I replied, jutting my chin to the chair across from me. She sat and yawned for a good ten seconds before she shook her head. Her red hair hung loose around her face in an effortlessly beautiful way. “Hannah, be honest with me,” I said, leaning onto my elbows. “Do you live in the café? Like, is there a sleeping bag in the back room or something?”
“It would save me money on gas if I did.” She rubbed her upper left arm. The bags under her eyes seemed darker. She took a deep breath and leaned onto her elbows. “I need good news, so, the smile. Explain it.”
“Found a new place to live,” I said, appreciating the fact our friendship was simple. She was in her late twenties but definitely had an old soul. We were both too busy to hang out beyond the café, but we offered each other an ear, someone to talk to about life. I knew about her struggle being a newly single mom and how her son’s father was awful, while she knew about my scholarship and how much was at stake if I lost the money.
Trusting each other without showing every card or vulnerability was my safe zone. It was where I kept most people besides my brother, and I was okay with that.
She arched one eyebrow, a talent I always wanted but never had, and said, “Is it close to the cafe?”
“Six blocks, don’t worry, I’ll still be here every day annoying you and drinking all your coffee.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lip quirked up on one side. “When do you move in?”
“Tonight.”
“Uh, that’s fast.” She tilted her head and frowned, worry lines forming around her eyes. “Shouldn’t you meet them first?”
“There’s nothing else in my price range. Nothing. It’s not ideal, but I doubt Captain America needs a roommate, so I can’t have it all.”
She snorted and rubbed her palms against her eyes, reminding me again of how tired she looked.
“Hannah, seriously, you need some time off.”
She blew out a breath and looked a bit helpless. “All my workers are temps or students who are here for a few months at a time. I can’t trust them.”
An idea took root in the back of my brain, starting as a little flicker, and it grew. “Hire me.”
“What now?” She blinked, slowly, and her nostrils flared. “Hire you?”
“You’ve heard me complain about needing a job the past thirteen months, and I think I can manage my time better this year. You know me more than my roommate did. I’m trustworthy and loyal as hell.” The flicker billowed into a fire in my mind, and I clapped twice, making her jump. “We can compare your schedule with your kiddo and my classes and arrange it so you get some damn time off to rest. Seriously. This is a totally appropriate example of quid pro quo.”
Her pale brown eyes crinkled on the sides as a smile stretched across her face. “Yes. Yes. This could work.”
“No lie?”
“I trust you. Really.” She leaned into the chair and closed her eyes. “The thought of taking a night off makes me want to weep with joy.”
“Let me get settled in at my new place today, and I’ll be back tomorrow with my schedule and planner.” My words tended to slur together when I got excited, partly due to my slight lisp but also because my manic energy caused my brain to move faster than my mouth.
Hannah sighed and reached over to pat my hand, making me freeze. Overt displays of emotion got me queasy and nervous, but I remained quiet when she said, “Thank you, Ryann. I… I need this.”
“You’re welcome.”
She removed her hand, my muscles relaxing, and she got up as a line formed by the counter. “Good luck with the new roommate tonight.”
I winked at her and logged back into my laptop, pulling up my bank and sending the required amount to Daniel. It was only then that I realizedDanielwas not Danielle. Daniel was typically a male name, but their gender didn’t bother me. I grew up with hockey players and Michael. My worry stemmed from the typo I missed in the email.
Daniel had typed Ryan. With one N.
Not Ryann, with two.
The second N was essential.
Shit.
