Peyton and I exchange a flushed glance, and a few minutes later, after she’s changed into some of my clothes, we head toward the kitchen.
Peyton drops herself onto one of the barstools at the counter, spinning it a little. I grab a box of cereal from the cupboard and pour all three of us a bowl, the dry Cheerios clinking against the ceramic. Just as I place the bowls in front of us and sit down, a loud melody springs from my phone. Startled, I glance at it,frowning when a number I don’t recognize flashes across the screen. With a quick swipe, I hit the decline button and set it back down on the counter. But before I can pick up my spoon, it starts ringing again.
“Who is that?” Cleo asks, thick dark brows drawing together.
I shrug, letting it ring out this time, Cleo bopping her head around to the xylophone melody until it finishes. Only, as I spoon another bite into my mouth, it just starts again.
Peyton’s lips press into a flat line as she points at it. “Maybe you should get that.”
I let out a reluctant sigh before answering, pressing the cool screen to the shell of my ear.
“Who is this?” I ask, voice clipped with frustration. There’s a long pause on the other end. So long that I almost hang up, but just as I’m about to, a voice finally breaks through.
“Hello?”
The sound is deep, smooth, and unfamiliar, and it sends a confused shiver down my spine. I tilt my head, phone wedged between my ear and shoulder, balancing a spoonful of cereal halfway to my mouth.
“Is this Darcy?” the voice asks, and I freeze. The worst thing about the 21st century is that anyone can get your information if they really want it.
The frown on my face deepens as I shove my spoon into my mouth. “Yeah, who is this?” My tone is less than friendly. The man on the other end clears his throat before speaking again.
“Oh, good. This is Harrison Clarke,” he says. “Peyton’s dad.”
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
I try to swallow, but the cereal is lodged in my throat, refusing to budge. Oat milk trickles down my esophagus, andI start coughing violently, clutching at my neck like it will help. Cleo’s and Peyton’s gazes snaps to me, brows furrowed in concern as they watch me flounder, my hands moving from my neck to the counter, smacking it repeatedly.
Finally, a Cheerio rockets out of my throat and lands with a soft thud against the peeling contact paper. I cough one last time before I rasp into the phone.
“Sorry, can you hold for just a second?”
“Sure,” he answers, and I immediately press the mute button, my eyes flying wide as I flash both Peyton and Cleo a frantic stare.
“What?” Peyton asks, eyes flicking from me to the phone, then back to me again. I swallow hard, trying to steady myself.
“I just sent your dad to voicemail.Twice.”
Cleo’s jaw drops. She slaps her hand over her mouth, completely speechless, her eyes going as wide as saucers. Meanwhile, Peyton breaks into a cackle. My heart’s still racing as I hop off the barstool, feet hitting the cold linoleum, the impact biting at my ankles. I shuffle across the kitchen, the stool still swiveling behind me, and shut myself into my room. I take the phone off mute.
“I’m so, so sorry about that, sir,” I blurt breathlessly. “I hadno ideawho was calling me.”
He chuckles softly, deep and warm, and the tension in my shoulders loosens just a little. “I wish Peyton shared that sentiment. The kid’s never met a stranger.”
I force a laugh that is way too loud. My hand slaps against my forehead in awkward frustration. “Yeah, that’s…true.Um… so… what can I do for you, sir?”
“Harry is fine,” he says, and I swear my whole body ignites. “And I wanted to talk to you a little bit about your plans after graduation. Peyton tells me you’re a senior?”
My pulse stutters, hammering against the inside of my ribs. I take a sharp inhale trying to calm it. “Yeah,” I say, tone deceptively steady. “I’m graduating with a BA in Kinesiology. Right now—” My throat tightens. I feel like there’s a right answer and a wrong answer to this, but I have no idea which is which. “I’m not currently planning to attend any further education.” I add quickly, and enthusiastically, “But that could change!”
The silence that follows is suffocating. It’s like someone is holding a pillow over my face, and the only thing I can do is listen to my own pulse as I inevitably pass out. I’m only able to breathe when Harrison speaks again.
“Okay, cool. So, are you planning to take a full-time position on campus if it’s offered, or do you have other employment ideas in mind?”
