“There’s a café nearby,” I said with a sigh. The words came out resigned. I paused, searching for some way to regain the upper hand, to shift the dynamic back towards something I could control. “Can I buy you breakfast?”
“Only if you promise not to expect me to put out afterwards,” he taunted.
“You’d make for a poor fuck anyway.”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich and doing absolutely nothing to calm my racing pulse. “So you keep saying.”
I coughed, feeling oddly guilty about our last big argument, and asked, “Coffee? Or do you need another fruity drink?”
“If you are trying to get to know me,” he said, “I actually like Chai tea lattes.”
Of course you do.
“So do I,” I said. The admission slipped out before I could stop it, before I could pretend we had nothing in common, that this connectionwas one-sided and unwanted. “You’re in luck. The café has some of the best Chai I know of around campus and gluten-free pastries.”
“I am looking forward to it,” he said with a smile that did things to my belly that I absolutely refused to examine.
Chapter 18
Rowan
Atlanta’s Friday afternoon was sweltering, humidity thick enough to chew, the sun beating down on concrete that radiated heat like an oven. Unbearable. Hot. Tourists and students crowded the sidewalks, their voices a cacophony I had to consciously dial down.
Back in my apartment, I was eager to clean in preparation for Violet’s stay. The space already looked immaculate—I’d never been able to tolerate mess, not after living in squalor my entire first life—but I needed to be certain. I changed the sheets to fresh white linens that smelled like lavender, fluffed the pillows, and made sure Marie Antoinette was hidden away under the bed where Violet wouldn’t stumble across her. Satisfied, I gave Violet a call, hoping to catch her between classes.
She picked up on the third ring, her voice slightly breathless. “Couldn’t survive a couple of hours without me?”
Her question hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. I hated how her absence left me restless, stalking my apartment like a wolf without territory. I hated how her smile—rare as sunlight through storm clouds—could thaw parts of me I’d thought frozen in my previous life. Most of all, I hated how much I craved our battles, those moments when we circled each other with words sharper than blades, both of us bleeding but neither willing to yield. So, I deflected my emotions the only way I knew how to.
“I cannot come without hearing your voice,” I said, letting the double meaning hang between us.
“Oh, so you must be finished then.” I heard the smile in her voice, the teasing lilt. “I’ve got a class to run to.”
A bell chimed in the background—the distinctive sound of the campus cafe’s entrance. I filed that information away, mapping her location without conscious thought.
“Finished?Nyet, just getting started.” I heard her chuckle at that as I continued, “Are you eating before tonight’s activities?”
“Well,someonegave me a few stupid rules I need to follow, and I am trying to adhere to them.” She grumbled, and I could picture her scowl perfectly. “It’s hard enough finding celiac-safe food anywhere, much less on campus.”
Fuck. I forgot about her celiac disease.
“I am sorry,volchok. I forgot how difficult it can be. I can keep a few things here for you.” I grabbed the dry-erase marker from the counter, scribbling a note on the whiteboard attached to my fridge:Gluten-free options—bread, pasta, snacks. “Will you be long? I can meet you at your dorm.”
I hated how desperate I sounded, like some lovesick fool instead of a man who’d survived fifty years in a frozen hell.
She took a few breaths before replying, the sound slightly muffled. “Omp, sorry. Shoving food down the hole. Text me your address, and I will get a ride.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I’d intended. “I thought I was clear about being alone with strangers—"
“Fine, Rowan.” Her voice carried that edge of exasperation I was becoming familiar with. “Meet me at the campus terminal—which is public by the way— and you can show me how to get to your place.”
I willed my heart to slow down, forced my breathing to regulate. “Alright. In an hour?”
“Sure,” she conceded.
The blue line wascramped, filled with students ready to start their weekend and out-of-towners eager for Atlanta’s upscale restaurants and nightlife. The city seemed to carry that allure, offering endless entertainment for those who could afford it. I stepped off the bus onto the campus, the bus stop’s concrete still warm under my soles despite the approaching evening.
There was no shortage of visitors milling around—students in university colors, tourists consulting phone maps, businesspeople in sharp suits rushing towards dinner meetings from nearby office buildings. The campus bus stop was a chaotic convergence of bodies, but it was also public, which meant whoever had killed that student ideally would not be stupid enough to attack someone in a large crowd.
