On top of being the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, she’s smart, funny… and entirely out of my league. I hate that I’ve waited this long to work up the courage to ask her out, giving assholes like the guy she told me about a chance to take advantage of her kindness.
We continue eating in comfortable silence—which I appreciate. So many women I’ve dated feel the need to fill the quiet with small talk. Not Olivia. She shared something incredibly vulnerable, and I don’t take that for granted. Now that it’s off her chest, I love that we can spend a few minutes just enjoying being in each other’s space. It’s not awkward or forced. We’re not asking what each other’s favorite color or music is. Then again, if I knew, I’d likely have her playlists on repeat at the gym.
Getting to know her better is a mistake—Lance was right, I’m absolutely going to fall for her—but since I already know the answer, it’s safe to ask, "What other classes are you taking?”
Olivia takes a sip of water before replying, “Politics of Poverty and Welfare, and I just got into International Law off the waitlist.”
“I’m also taking International Law.” I briefly draw my lips into my mouth to hide my smile.
“I’m doing the Thursday night class. What about you?”
I smother my disappointment as I answer, “Monday evening.”
“Oh.” Her face falls, and part of me enjoys how she’s equally let down. “What else are you taking?”
“Just the two classes, plus one for my internship. I was supposed to graduate last year and had plans to take a year off before starting grad school, but I was accepted for a six-month internship with UNICEF. The only problem is it requires that I'm a current student.”
Eyes wide, with a chip halfway to her mouth, she sets it down. “You have a UNICEF internship?”
“I know, right? I couldn’t believe it myself. I applied last year twice and didn’t get it. So when I was accepted, I figured why not stay in New York for another semester.”
“That’s impressive. I applied to one I really wanted this year, and didn’t get it. Don’t worry, it wasn’t with UNICEF—you didn’t steal my internship,” she chuckles, her smile making the corners of her eyes crease. “I tried for two different ones within the UN Development Programme.”
“Maybe next semester? How many do you have left to finish?”
“Two, including this one.” Her face falls. “I’m about a year behind. I started at a community college in California when I was still in high school—mostly a lot of math and physical science classes when I should’ve been taking gen ed. But when I took a world politics class, I was hooked. Changed my major and never looked back.”
“I wish I had taken more science classes. I loved astronomy, but there was no reason to take more. It isn’t as if I could become an astrophysicist or something.”
“Why not?”
When she finally resumes eating, I’m careful with my words as I reply, “My mother is a public figure, so it’s always been expected of me to go into politics. No time to stare at the stars.”
Olivia’s eyes are wide, and she covers her mouth as she finishes chewing. After a sip of her water, her brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t talk about it much since most people here don’t follow Canadian politics.”
“No, sorry, I just mean why would you need to go into politics at all? If you wanted to, I don’t know, become an astronaut, who’s to say you couldn’t?”
“I guess it just started out that way, but my parents reminded me that the privilege of growing up in a political family opens doors. I can do so much good in the world because of it. The way I see it, my last name will give me recognition in any position I hold.”
Her eyes twinkle as she bites her lip. “So, you’re banking on a dash of nepotism to kick off your political career?”
“No,” I laugh, grabbing another chip. “I mean, a little, but I had the grades for the internship, so it wasn’t as if I’m not qualified. But honestly, it’s probably the only reason I got it. I’m really looking forward to learning from like-minded people; I don’t take it for granted.”
“What’s your end goal? You plan on saving the world’s children?”
“I’m certainly going to try.” My answer earns me a warm smile from her.
“Well, you know I now have to ask—who is your mom?”
I lean in and keep my voice low. “I’ll tell you if you agree to have coffee with me in the morning.”
“Wish I could,” she groans. “I’ll be drinking my coffee around five, since I have yoga at six tomorrow.”
I take a drink of water, speaking into my glass, “I’m normally up at six anyway, so what’s another hour?”
“It would mean I have to get up at four to get ready, put on real clothes…”
