I stand inside the entrance, frozen, watching the flow of students move around me like water around a rock. If I stand still long enough, I might disappear.
Unfortunately, I don’t.
Someone bumps my shoulder. “Sorry.”
I flinch and step forward automatically, like my feet are on autopilot. The breakfast station is complete and utter chaos, full of choices, which is the worst scenario as far as I’m concerned. Eggs, pancakes, waffles, oatmeal, cereal, fruit, yogurt, pastries, bagels, toast, sandwiches, smoothies?—
Too many thoughts attack at once, and I grip my tote strap, trying to force my legs to move.
Pick something. Anything. Just pick. But the choices keep coming. I stare at the bagels because they’re familiar, safe.
Bagels aren’t a very calorie friendly food, but they became my go to when my stomach was desperate for carbs when I’d make it starve for too long. I was completely over saltine crackers, and bagels became my comfort, especially the plain ones.
I reach for the tongs.
My hand shakes. My fingers tighten. My body goes rigid.
I can’t.
I can’t do this today.
I should turn around. I should leave. I should call it a win that I walked in at all.
A voice behind me says, easy and low, “Too many options?”
My heart jumps like I’ve been caught doing something illegal.
I turn my head.
Grayson Bennett stands a few feet back, holding a tray with coffee and a banana, like he already made his choices and survived them.
Even in sweats and a hoodie, he looks…good. Stupid good.
It shouldn’t be legal for someone to apply minimal effort and make the rest of the male population look less than in comparison. It annoys me, but I do enjoy the view.
He nods toward the buffet line like he’s not seeing me frozen in place. Like he’s giving me an out instead of staring at the spiral.
“This place is basically a menu designed by my worst enemy,” he says.
My chest tightens in a way that’s too familiar.
I force my voice to work. “It’s…a lot.”
Grayson’s gaze flicks over my face—quick, not intrusive. Then he angles his body slightly away, giving me space like he’s doing it on purpose.
He lifts his tray a little. “I’m doing a bagel. Plain. Low drama.”
My throat tightens.
Bagel. Low drama.
He pauses like he’s waiting formeto decide, then adds, “Want me to grab you one too? No pressure. I’m already committing toast crimes.”
My brain stutters. Because he didn’t say you should eat. He didn’t say your brother will freak out. He didn’t say are you okay like I’m fragile glass. He gave me an option. A simple one. My fingers loosen around my tote strap.
I swallow hard. “Plain is fine.”
Grayson nods like it’s the most normal conversation in the world. “Plain is elite.”
