She wroteI love youon every line except the last one, which reads,Breakfast run. Be back soon.
I grin stupidly at the note for a few minutes, then climb out of bed, pull on some shorts, and head toward the bathroom. Not even stubbing a toe on my thick physics textbook—one of the required courses for my naval architecture and marine engineering major—dims my mood.
I’m brushing my teeth when I hear the distinctive beep and click of the door unlocking. Quickly, I spit and stash my toothbrush before walking back into my room.
She’s wearing the same jeans from last night with a faded sweatshirt of mine that falls to mid-thigh, blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun. She shuts the door with her hip, hands clutching my ID card, two paper bags, and a cardboard drink tray. She glances at my empty bed, then finds me standing in the doorway.
I grin. “Hey.”
Wren scowls, tossing my student ID on my desk. “What are you doing? Get back in bed.”
I arch a brow. “Good morning to you too. I can’t believe you woke up before me.”
“I’m still on Italian time,” she replies, walking over to the bed and setting everything she’s holding down on the table next to it before yanking the elastic out of her hair. “I wanted to have breakfast together, not at the dining hall.”
“I warned you the food wasn’t great.” I walk up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on the top of her head. Just wanting—needing—to touch her.
Wren laughs, reaching into one of the bags. “That’s not why I wanted to eat here.”
I grin, taking the box of condoms she pulled out and tossing them on the unmade bed. “You went to the pharmacy? How long have you been up?”
“A couple of hours. I talked to my mom too.”
I take a seat on the edge of the mattress, reaching for the other bag. It’s stuffed with pastries—two muffins, a croissant, a cinnamon bun, and a bagel. “How’s your mom?”
“Good. She’s in Amsterdam, at a conference.”
I nod, unfazed. Wren’s parents seem to travel as much as she does. Maybe more.
“You went to Tandem Coffee?” I ask, reading the label on one of the cups.
“Yeah. You’ve been there before?”
“A couple of times. It’s good.” I grab a cup, take a sip, then swallow fast, fighting the urge to spit it out.
She grabs the other cup and holds it out to me. “That’s mine. I got you black.”
“Thanks.” I grab it and take a long swig, washing away the other flavors. “What did you get?”
“Lavender latte with oat milk and an extra shot of espresso. Is it good?”
“If you like what lavender and oat milk taste like, probably.” I swallow more plain coffee.
“I do. The cashier recommended it. And gave me a free cinnamon bun.”
“Let me guess. The cashier was a guy.”
Wren sets her drink down, so I do the same. One knee lands left of my thigh, and then she’s fully on my lap, arms draped over my shoulders.
“I didn’t think you’d get jealous after we were dating,” she tells me, a small smirk on her face.
“So, he wasn’t flirting with you?”
Wren shrugs one shoulder. “He wrote his number on the bag.”
“Cute.”
She nods. “It would have been an adorable meet-cute, if I didn’t already have a boyfriend.”
