“Hey.” He gestures for me to come inside.
The apartment still feels like it’s never been lived in. The lack of personality hasn’t changed—bare walls, new coffee table, nothing on the shelves—but on the table sit two cans of sparkling water in my go-to flavor and some peanut M&M’s.
I look at the snacks and back to him, just in time for him to say, “I pay attention.” He shrugs his shoulders and a bit of his softness comes through.
“That’s very… prepared of you,” I murmur with a small grin, shaking the chill off my hands.
“Ah, forgot something.” He moves to a cupboard in the kitchen, grabbing a bag of something and tossing it on the table.
Sour peach rings.
I remember that first night, him calling me Peaches. It feels like an inside joke between the two of us. And I sort of love it.
“Care to elaborate?” I press as I take off my jacket and hang it on the back of a chair.
Shaking his head, Lane asks, “Do I need to?”
I can’t help but throw my arms around his shoulders and kiss him. Smiling into it, it’s lighter than any time we’ve been together. His hands rest on my lower back and move to my hips before pulling away.
“Have to study. That was the deal.” He wags his finger at me like I'm breaking a rule.
We settle on the couch, the glow from our laptop screens lighting up the room. One of the windows is cracked, letting the cool air fill the space. I kind of love being cold—you can always add layers.
I see a blanket folded on the arm of the couch, and grab it to throw across our laps. A tag sticks out—it’s new.
I say nothing but look to Lane, watching his ears turn a little pink as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Thought it was time to get something for the apartment.”
The simple gesture warms something in my chest. It’s small, simple, and practical but I can’t help but marvel at how it feels to know he thought about me.
Quietly, we sit next to each other and work on our laptops. After the first ten minutes or so, where we kept stealing looks of the other and sometimes getting caught in the process, my heartbeat settled. It’s like my body knows what happened the last time I was here, even though it was months ago.
My timer goes off once I’ve hit forty-five minutes of work. Lane jumps next to me, startled by the unexpected sound.
“Sorry, it’s a habit. I always set an alarm. That way I don’t spend too much time on one task,” I explain. Why is it so embarrassing to talk about my study or work habits? I will the heat to leave my cheeks.
“Too much time on a task?” he asks while I pull out my planner from my bag. Flipping to today’s entry, I mark the box next to this work sprint before looking at the few boxes remaining for tonight.
Lane leans over, eyes drifting across my week, color coordinated and written with only approved pens. Left-handed individuals don’t have the luxury of grabbing any type of pen and using it, so I’ve spent a decent chunk of time testing and approving pens. I truly can’t deal when I’m smearing ink all over with my hand.
Cora, do not tell him about your pen obsession right now.
“Wow. This is… I’ve never seen something like this.” He squints, probably trying to read the words next to the many checkboxes. “You’re the ‘get good grades’ girl, right?”
I nod, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m trying to graduate with a 4.0.”
At the mentions of my goal, his eyes go wide and his draw drops. “Wait. Are you telling me you have a 4.0? Right now? In your senior year?” He sits back and I love the way his gaze feels on me.
“Yes?” I don’t know why I answer with a question.
Lane hits his thighs with his hands. “That’s fucking amazing. You do… like, everything? Classes. Work. Hockey stuff. Research.”
“Certified nerd. I get it.” I close my planner, knowing what I need to complete next. I laugh as I do it, because it always makes me uncomfortable when people compliment my capacity.
How do you keep up with everything? You never forget a thing!Well, you see, I have crippling anxiety that makes it impossible to not have the capacity. Sometimes I’m on the verge of burnout, more frequently than most people know, but I still find a way.
It’s how I’ve always been.
Lane’s hand squeezes my thigh, “No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t think you’re a nerd…well, from what I know so far.” He looks at me as he pauses and quickly pulls his hand away.
