“What are you doing in my office?”
I turned quickly, guilt flashing across my face before I could smooth it away. “Your door was unlocked,” I said, my voice trying for casual but landing somewhere closer to nervous. “You probably shouldn’t do that. Although I’m not sure many robbers specialize in history professors.”
He crossed the room in long, crisp strides. Without another word, he plucked the book from my hands and slid it back onto the shelf. “It’sprofessornow?” he asked dryly.
I hesitated, watching the muscle in his jaw tighten. “You know I was only joking, right? When I mocked your career, I didn’t actually mean it. A PhD is just as successful as an MD.”
He moved behind his desk. “I know it is, Lillian. I don’t need you to tell me that. I also don’t care how you feel about my career.”
I nodded. “You’re mad. That’s understandable.”
He didn’t respond, just started straightening the papers on his desk, the rustle of them louder than it should’ve been.
“I’m really sorry,” I tried again. “About last night. My mom—she just gets under my skin, and I lashed out at you. I’m sorry, seriously. I’m not that dramatic.”
He looked up at that, one brow raised.
“Okay,” I backtracked. “Iamdramatic. Sometimes. But I’m sorry. Can we just...” My voice dropped, unsure, “go back to how things were?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes caught on the takeout sitting on the corner of his desk. “Did you bring this?”
“Yeah,” I said, shifting my weight. “Apology lunch. Food usually fixes everything, in my opinion.”
He studied the bag, then looked back at me, suspicion flickering just beneath the surface. “How did you know this is my favorite restaurant?”
I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “I noticed the box a few times in the trash. I just guessed the order.”
He lifted the bag, peering inside, and then, for the first time that day, his mouth softened. “You guessed correctly.”
Relief bloomed in my chest.
He looked at me again, his expression calmer now. “It’s fine, Lillian. I’ll see you at home.”
I nodded and turned to go, but something stopped me. I glanced back at the shelf, the book, his name glinting faintly in the light. “That’s amazing, by the way,” I said. “That you’re published. I’d love to read it...if you don’t mind, of course.”
He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the book from the shelf and held it out. I took it, careful not to brush his fingers when I did.
“Thank you,” I murmured, starting toward the door. But when I opened it, the hallway was filled with students, most of them girls, loitering outside like they hadn’t just spent two hours pretending to care about world wars and decolonization.
I slammed it closed, exhaling roughly.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Your herd of fangirls is blocking my way,Professor.”
That made him smirk. “I can’t help it if I make history interesting.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
He leaned back in his chair, amusement flickering across his face, and for the first time since last night, things didn’t feel quite so heavy.
There was a knock on the door. I yanked it open again, shoulders squared. One of the girls stood there with a clipboard clutched to her chest.
“Can I help you?” I asked impatiently.
She peered past me. “You only get ten minutes for office hours. Time’s up.”
“Thank you for mistaking me for a fresh-faced undergrad, but absolutelynothank you for assuming I’d willingly enroll in a history class, let alone drag myself to office hours.”
