“Hi, Trouble,” he says back, soft but serious.
When I open both eyes fully, he’s still there, still watching me, face tight with something between irritation and worry. Maybe both.
“What’s happening?” he asks again.
“I… I don’t know,” I manage. “I stood up and everything kind of tilted.”
His hand lifts, the back of it brushing across my forehead. Then two fingers press against the side of my neck, right where my pulse is fluttering like mad. His skin is warm. His touch is frustratingly gentle.
The fog starts to thin. Unfortunately, that only makes me more aware of just how close he is. The firm lines of his torso are nearly brushing mine, his presence a living thing in the small space between us.
But the look on his face is all business. No teasing, no smirking. Just concern.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“Ate?”
“Yeah, you know—food? Generally ingested through the mouth?” The sarcasm is light, but there’s a thread of sharpness underneath.
I blink. “Um. I had a coffee. After class.”
He groans, low and annoyed, the movement shifting his body even closer, and for a second his chest grazes the tip of my nose. He backs off with a curse under his breath and strides to the front of the lab.
I watch as he yanks open the drawer of the desk he uses when he supervises. He pulls out a protein bar, tears the wrapper halfway open, and walks it back to me.
He doesn’t simply hand it over.
He puts it in my hand.
Then he closes my fingers around it, gently but firmly. “Eat.”
I glance down. Double chocolate. The exact kind I used to stash in my bag for emergencies—like this one. Only I haven’t had time to restock lately.
He guides my wrist until I take a bite, only letting go once he’s satisfied. Then he crosses to his backpack—tossed on the floor near the door—and retrieves a sleek black water bottle. The same one from his truck after the bonfire.
He places it in my other hand. “Drink.”
I sip. “So bossy.”
His jaw ticks. “Why didn’t you eat today, Coralie?”
I sigh, the ache behind my eyes beginning to lift. “I forgot. I wanted to check on Damon, and… I guess I lost track of time.” I pause. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost five-thirty.”
“Five-thirty?!” I sit straighter in disbelief.
He nods. Still unimpressed. Still watching me like he’s waiting for the moment I keel over again.
No wonder the world decided to flip upside down. A sixteen-ounce caramel sugar bomb and zero food, hours of screen-staring, and general worry-induced negligence.
Holden doesn’t say it—but his eyes do the speaking for him.
A few minutes later, the spinning stops. I no longer feel like I’m orbiting outside my own body. Holden sits on a stool in front of me, arms folded, legs braced wide like he’s preparing to catch me if I tip over again. He watched me eat the first protein bar. Then handed me a second and didn’t budge until I finished that one, too.
It’s a little mortifying, honestly. But at this point, it seems like Holden will always find me in moments of need—like the universe handed him a map titled“Coralie’s lowest points. Please intervene.”
“How’s this for a proverbial pickle?” I say, trying for a smile, something casual. It’s our first real moment alone since I cornered him in his office and told him I liked him. Like-liked him. And while the circumstances could be better—I’m pale, sweaty, and probably still a little green—it still feels… important. Loaded.
