“So, what are you doing next semester?” Silas asks.
When I expect my fingers to be twisting in my lap, or my brain to be coming up with an excuse, I only feel certainty. I feel Maverick’s fingers brushing through the strands of hair at the back of my head, gently reassuring me. I look at Savannah who gives me a wink and I sit up a little straighter feeling confident.
“I’m taking creative writing classes.”
There’s no shock or horror on anyone's face. No one yells,”What a waste.”There’s hardly even a hint of surprise. An invisible string tugs on the corner of Silas’s lip. Rosie clasps her hands together under her chin with a grin and a murmured, “Awe.”
And Savannah throws an invisible lasso over her head while pretending to ride a bull as she shouts, “Hell yeah, she is.”
I huff a laugh as Maverick drops a kiss to my neck. I turn, facing him as angles his head so that I lock eyes with his shiny blues.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I smile. “Sometimes I just can’t believe that this is all real.”
“Believe it,” he says, dropping his mouth to mine, sealing his words with a kiss before he murmurs against my lips.
“Butterfly.”Kiss.
“Butterfly.”Kiss.
“Butterfly.”Kiss.
epilogue
CHLOE
2 Monthslater
“Hey, Si.” I smile, dropping my bag on the table and sitting down beside Silas.
“Chlo.” He nods his head in his typical short greeting.
“First day of our last semester,” I say in a singsong voice. “You excited?”
“Stoked,” he deadpans and I give him a playful shove.
“What’d you get up to this weekend?” I pull my laptop from my bag, setting it up in front of me as the quiet tattooed guy beside me adjusts the hat on his head.
“Not much,” he says, flicking his pen around his thumb.
Not much could mean absolutely anything with this guy. He could have spent the weekend out in California at a rave, or he could have slept for seventy-two hours and I’m pretty sure his response would be the same. He’s not as loud as his friends are, but I find I like him all the same. I’ve learned that there’s always a little something more to the quiet guys.
“Good evening. I’m Ms. Beaumont.”
I look up to find the woman I met in the hallway lastmonth breezing into the lecture room. The same woman who was by my side as I fought for the man I love. Her blonde hair falls just past her shoulders and it’s tied half-up, half-down. She looks just as beautiful as she did that day; same simple jeans and white T-shirt, only today, she's paired them with an oversized purple corduroy jacket, and now that she’s in her element, she seems a little more comfortable.
“I’m the visiting writer for this class. You can call me Ms. Beaumont, if you wish.” She sets her bag down on the table at the front of the room and wipes her stray hairs from her face. “I think in a rulebook somewhere it would advise that, however, I’m a little more informal, and this a creative writing class, so I’m also fine if you just want to call me by my first name, which is Sum—” Her mouth parts, and I can see her heavy intake of breath from five rows up.
My neck heats when I think she’s staring up at me, but when a girl in the front row can’t help her curiosity, she peeks over her shoulder to the man sitting beside me.
“Sorry.” She clears her throats, placing a delicate hand at her chest, and looking anywhere but our direction. “Summer. You can call me Summer.”
I finally give in, sliding my eyes to Silas whose expression remains exactly the same stoic face he always wears. I watch him for what feels like forever, and just when I’ve decided that it was nothing and that little Ms. Summer Beaumont got distracted by Silas…his jaw ticks.
“How was the last first day of class?” Maverick asks, and I shake my head at the ridiculous way he worded that.
“It was…good.” I leave out the part where after the professor saw Silas thirty seconds into class, she didn’t look in our direction the entire rest of the hour.
