"That was impressive," he says quietly. "Challenging Kouris like that."
"I can't believe I did that."
"You should do it more often. You were right, and you had the evidence to back it up." He pauses. "We make a good team."
We do. And I can feel that it could be a problem.
After class, Romeo falls into step beside me as I head toward the exit. "Where are you going?"
"Home. I have reading to do."
"I'll walk with you."
I should say no. I should tell him I'm fine on my own, that I don't need an escort.
But I don't. I feel like I’m still riding the high of him defending my argument, that feeling of being intellectually in sync with someone else, and I can’t shake it. I want him to walk with me, and I tell myself that there’s no harm. We’re just partners for this project, and we can talk about it while we walk.
We walk through Washington Square Park, past the fountain and the arch, and the late afternoon sun is golden on the buildings. It's one of those perfect early autumn days in New York, when the heat has finally broken, and the air is crisp and clear. It’s cooled off since the first day of school, and I’m loving every second of it, considering I’ve never experienced real seasons before.
I tell Romeo that as we walk, and he seems to take pleasure in the novelty of it to me. He tells me he’s lived in New York all his life and has never been down to the South, so the concept of less variation in the seasons seems as odd to him as the feeling of the weather truly changing does to me.
He asks me more about my research, why I love archaeology, and I tease him about being a business major and how terribly boring that must be. “I’ve loved the idea of being an archaeologist since I spent a summer in Europe and visited every museum I could,” I tell him. “I felt connected to something so much bigger than myself. I wanted to feel that way all the time.”
"I understand that. That desire to connect to something beyond your own life."
"Do you?" I glance at him. "What do you connect to?"
He's quiet for a moment. "My family. My sister, especially. She's the only person who—" He stops, and I see something flicker across his face. Vulnerability, maybe, or regret. "She's the only person who sees me as more than what I'm supposed to be."
There's something in his voice that makes me want to ask more, to understand what he means. But we've reached my building, and I stop at the entrance.
"This is me."
"I know."
The way he says it sends a small shiver through me. On the surface, it doesn’t mean that much. I’m sure he’s passed me here before.
But something in his tone suggests that it’s more than that.
He's standing close. Too close. Not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of him, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes.
I take a step back, my heart starting to flutter again. "Thank you. For backing me up in class. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did. You were right. And you deserved to be heard."
The way he's looking at me— like I'm the only thing in the world that matters—makes my breath catch. "I should go," I say, but I don't move.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Savannah."
I feel that flutter again at the way he says my name. "Tomorrow," I echo.
I force myself to turn away and unlock the door, step inside. But I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, and when I finally close the door between us, I lean against it, my heart racing.
I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn't feel this thrill at the thought of seeing him tomorrow, this excitement at the memory of the way he looked at me.
I'm engaged. I'm supposed to marry Thad in two years. I'm supposed to be planning a wedding, thinking about my future as Mrs. Thaddeus Whitmore III.
But all I can think about is Romeo. The way he listens when I speak. The way he challenges me intellectually. The way he defended my argument in class, backing me up with evidence and scholarship, treated my ideas as valuable.
