Page 78 of Autumn on My Mind

And a greater worry—what would a B on this test do to my overall average? I have to keep my scholarship. I need to keep it.

It’s around five that I find myself flopped down on the couch, staring at the ceiling for literally no reason at all. I’m debating calling Dominic to discuss logistics when there’s a knock at the door.

I force myself off the couch so slowly that my feet drag, and I trip over the area rug and almost face-plant. I right myself with windmilling arms and push myself to the door, which I pull open with a creak.

“Hi,” I say, blinking in surprise when I find Dominic waiting on the doorstep.

“Hi,” he says with a crooked smile. He tugs his phone out of the pocket of his faded jeans, giving it a little wiggle. “Check your midterm grade.”

I’ve been checking. Obsessively. Every fifteen minutes. But…

“Is it up?” My voice is loud now, so loud that it bounces around the stairwell and then fades.

My feet freeze in place for the briefest of seconds, because what if I didn’t do well? I genuinely think I’d cry, and I don’t want Dominic to see that. I don’t like anyone to see me cry, but especially not him.

The hesitation doesn’t last very long, though. I spin on my heel, letting Dom come in on his own as I bolt back through the living room, down the hall, and into my room. I all but throw myself at my bed, where my open laptop rests.

The student portal is already pulled up, of course. But I refresh the page, waiting with bated breath, my eyes trained on the blank square until sure enough…

A number pops into that space.

The sound that rips from my lungs isn’t quite a shriek or a scream. It’s closer to a yelp, maybe—pure joy and disbelief as that little ninety stares up at me.

“I got an A!” I yell. “I did it! Dom”—I jump off the bed and hurry out of the room, tears pricking my eyes—“I got an A!”

I find him leaning against the back of the sofa, laughing, and without thinking, I launch myself at him—I fling my arms around his neck as our bodies collide, our legs tangling as the breath is knocked out of my chest.

“I did it!” I say as he lets out a little oomph, laughing harder now and even more as I jump up and down.

“You did it,” he agrees, his arms sliding around my waist and squeezing me tightly. “Ninety, right?”

“Yes!” And it’s so stupid that more tears are welling up in my eyes, but I can’t stop them. I’m just so happy. This class has been difficult, and I worked so hard⁠—

But these thoughts come to a halt as I realize for the first time what I’m doing—that my arms are around Dominic’s neck, that we’re embracing each other in a way friends never would. And it gets worse because oh my goodness, my hand is in his hair.

His HAIR.

I freeze and then lean back, watching his smile fade as the mirror of my own. His arms loosen, as do mine, but neither of us let go.

My breath hitches in my chest as I look up at him, my wide eyes dropping to his Adam’s apple as he swallows, my heart trying to burst out of my chest.

I like him. I really like him. Not only because he’s helped me with school but because he’s him. I love his laughs and his rare smiles and the way he works so hard. I love the light that appears in his eyes when he’s fixing something or building furniture, and the little furrow when he’s trying to figure something out. I love the way he teases me but also the way he listens.

Slowly, hesitantly, I tighten my arms around his neck once more.

His eyes widen further, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “What are you doing?”

My inhale is shaky at best. “What are the rules about dating students in the class you’re a TA for?” I say.

His eyes flutter closed as though he’s in pain. “It’s a pretty strict no,” he says, the words hoarse.

“What about if someone else graded my papers?”

His fingers clench where his hands rest loosely on my hips, and whether he realizes it or not, he draws me closer as my heart races.

“Might be a little better,” he says, his body tense, “but not much.”

I hesitate and then push my question out. “Do you want to date me?”