“Oh,Ican,” Seb murmured into my hair as Jazmine’s and Benny’s shouts of victory sailed over the darkening lake behind us. “Told you a million times, Paige. I’ve got enough faith for both of us.”
Chapter 32
Cambridge, Massachusetts, three months later...
A chilly autumn breeze lifted my hair off my shoulders as I strolled toward Lowell House’s front entrance. I’d been in classes and meetings all day, so it was a relief to be heading back to my dorm, even if I couldn’t relax yet. I’d just finished my last class of the day—dating ancient and medieval art—which was held in the art museum’s study hall. The small digital device I used to record lectures stopped working halfway through my class, and I was worried that I’d missed some of the discussion around ceramics that would be on the midterm test.
“Paige!” a male voice called as I jogged up a couple steps.
I glanced behind me to see one of the other art history majors—Cal Hodgkins, a junior, one year ahead of me—waving to flag me down. I paused at the top of the steps so he could catch up. “Hey, Cal. How was that architecture class?”
“Brutal,” he said, pausing at the bottom of the steps to adjust his backpack. Dark-headed Cal was smart and good-looking, one of the friendlier juniors who often invited a few of us sophomores to parties around campus. He was one of those generational legacy students whose father and grandfather had attended Harvard.A good person to know, especially for those of us who could never get the hang of all the weird social traditions around campus.
He set a foot on the bottom step and looked up at me. “It’s Tuesday, in case you forgot.”
I stared at him, a little confused. “Tuesday...”
“Poemical night,” he said, giving me a big smile.
Right. Completely forgot. Harvard had twelve houses, and I’d been assigned to this one, Lowell House, along with four hundred other students. Lowell had a lot going for it: some historic Russian bells, home to the longest running opera company in New England, Thursday tea in the faculty deans’ residence, a Bacchanalia in the spring, and a big yule party in the winter.
It also hosted the Poemical Society. Every Tuesday night, the poet in residence gathered students to read and listen to poetry. To be perfectly honest, the spoken word wasn’t my thing. Maybe that’s why I’d forgotten about being invited.
“Crap,” I told Cal. “Is that tonight? Is Mary still coming with us?”
“She bowed out. But you and I can grab something to eat beforehand, if you’re hungry,” he said. “You might even call it a date...” He gave me a soft smile, both brows lifting hopefully.
I winced internally. “Oh, Cal. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I have a boyfriend back home.”
“Of course you do,” he said, looking a little disappointed. “Really doesn’t surprise me. Back in Michigan, right?”
“Yep.” I nodded.
“Long way away. Doing the long-distance thing, huh?”
We were. I’d been back in Cambridge two months, and he’d visited twice. It was going to cost us an arm and leg to fly back and forth every month.
“Is it serious, or... ?” he asked, crossing his fingers.
“Very serious,” I confirmed. “And sorry to keep disappointing, but I really need to study tonight, so I’m going to have to bail. Maybe next time, though?”
He looked a little bummed. “Damn, all right. Well, perhaps you’ll consider going with me next Tuesday? Can’t blame a guy for trying to get a pretty girl to love poetry.”
“You actuallycouldblame a guy for trying,” a voice said behind me. “But I’m feeling generous today, so I’m going to let it slide, Robert Frost.”
I whipped around on the front steps to see Seb standing against a white column, arms crossed over his chest. I let out a little cry of joy and threw my arms around him. “What are you doing here? Your flight’s not supposed to be here until Friday!”
“Surprise,” he said, dropping three quick kisses on my lips, cheek, and forehead. “Missed you like crazy.”
“Missed you more,” I whispered before I remembered Cal. “Oh, sorry.” Clearing my throat, I twisted around in Seb’s embrace and gestured loosely. “Seb, this is Cal—we’re both Lowell House. Cal, this is my boyfriend, Seb.”
Cal held up both hands. “Sorry, bruh. I really wasn’t trying to overstep.”
“All good,bruh,” Seb imitated, cocking a brow. “Just don’t make her turn you down again, or we’re going to have a problem.”
Jesus.Before Cal could answer, I tugged on Seb’s shirtsleeve to get him to back down while I told Cal, “I’ll see you around campus.”
“Yeah, later,” he said glumly, jogging up the steps to pass by us.
