The alarm goes off at seven forty-five, and I lie there for three seconds doing the calculation — Barnes and Noble opens at nine, it's twenty minutes away, I need time to shower — and then I'm wide awake.
I shower and let myself feel the nervousness that isn't dread. The want that isn't guilt, or isn't only guilt. How every meeting in the library felt electric, and this feels like I’ve purposely put a shock collar around my neck and gave him the remote.
I stand in front of my closet, trying to figure out what to wear today. I need comfort, but something that looks good too. I settle with my favorite barrel jeans and a knit long-sleeve with a puffy vest and my Uggs.
I look at myself in the mirror. I’m simply me.
I pick up my bag and my keys, and I think about Cody's text from last night — get home safe — and I think about the crack in his face. I think about all of it for exactly thirty seconds, and then my mind jumps to Theo, and everything about Cody disappears.
The city is quiet on a Sunday morning, and I love it. No one’s really out. There’s barely any traffic as I drive to the Barnes and Noble across the city.
My nerves are high as the radio plays low.
Because I chose this.
I didn’t choose Beckett; he came to me. I didn’t choose Cody; he pursued me from the very beginning.
Theo is another story. I met him organically in the library while I was studying, and then accidentally watched his lecture. And the snowball kept rolling from there. It feels liberating to have something like this.
Knowing that at least I chose this one makes me feel good.
I pull into the Barnes and Noble parking lot at eight fifty-seven.
I sit in the car, looking around the parking lot and then at the entrance. The lights are on inside, staff moving behind the glass, the ordinary Sunday morning of a bookstore opening its doors.
My heart is doing the thing again.
I get out of the car when I realize that the staff isn’t unlocking the doors. Maybe they’re already unlocked.
The cold hits me immediately, the Sunday morning air sharper than yesterday, carrying the musty smell of Seattle after rain. I pull my coat tighter and walk toward the entrance, and I am almost at the door when someone opens it for me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, walking in and shivering.
“You’re welcome,” he says, and when I turn, I see that it’s him.
Theo.
He takes in my face.
I look at his.
And something that has been wound tight in my chest since completely releases.
"You're early," I say.
"You're late," he says.
"It's eight fifty-eight."
"They open at nine. I've been here since eight forty-five." He holds the second door wider. "Are you coming in?"
I walk through the door he's holding.
Chapter 45: Theo
She'swearinggrey.
Not for any reason that means anything. It's just a sweater. It's just a color.
