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Molly snatched it from him, clutching it to her chest. A flash of white teeth distracted her from her indignation. Aster was laughing. His genuine smile shot a pang of familiarity, of something that felt like home, straight through Molly’s chest.

“I’ll try again. I always do,” he said, laughter still washing over him. And even though he was laughing at her, it didn’t have the same factor of humiliation his laughter had had in their youth. He laughed at her with kindness, with affection, if there was such a thing. She hadn’t known he was capable of that.

Aster cleared his throat, serious again. “About this date you’ve suggested?”

“Well, I can’t go on a date with you now. Not with such a glaring personality flaw.”

He reached out and gently pulled the book from her grasp, setting it on the table beside them. “Of all my flaws, our differing opinions on literature are hardly the barrier to entry here.” He paused, a bleak look passing over his face. “Were you serious? Would you like to go out?”

She gathered her thoughts again, back on track to eliminate the word irreparable from her consciousness.

“I would,” she said, knowing that confession might very well change everything. Aster seemed incapable of concealing his smile, which brought one to Molly’s face too. “But,” she continued. His face fell by a fraction. “I’d like to go somewhere new, somewhere we’ve never been together before. I’d just—” She broke off, struggling for the right way to explain her apprehension. “I’d like to not be at a disadvantage. I feel like I’m always a step—a memory—behind. It would be nice to go somewhere neutral.”

“Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Oh. I—no,” she said. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

He placed a fist under his chin as he watched her, deep in thought.

“That’s fine,” he said finally. “I’ll take care of everything. Tomorrow evening?”

“On a Tuesday?”

“Do you expect me to have the willpower to wait for the weekend?”

Molly couldn’t decide if he was insulting himself or complimenting her, but it was strangely charming either way.

“Something simple too,” she amended. “Nothing too complicated. I’d just like to talk to you somewhere that isn’t this apartment. Maybe share a meal. Simple.”

“I can do simple.” Aster’s conspiratorial smile disagreed.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He looked back at her, excitement a tidal force behind his eyes, drawing her in. “I’ll make this perfect, Mols. Trust me.”

Molly jumped when she heard the knock on the bathroom door. Absurd as it felt to admit, she couldn’t deny it: Molly Graham was excited to go on a date with Aster Bishop. It was an unfamiliar thought, to the degree that she’d even considered saying it out loud to test the shape of it in the real world.

She’d brought multiple outfits with her into the bathroom, intentionally avoiding the more scandalous lingerie options she’d found in her drawers, because there was no way she was anywhere close to ready for that. But she also couldn’t control the treacherous what-ifs running rampant in her wardrobe.

It was difficult for Molly to remember the last time she’d felt such tiny thrills shivering through her in anticipation of something as simple as a date. She wondered if this was the last floodgate: allowing herself permission to feel, to accept whatever she’d obviously fallen for the first time.

“Are you ready?” came Aster’s voice through the door.

Molly let go of a nervous breath. This felt important. It might not have been a first date for Aster, not in quite the same way, but it absolutely was for her. Her last first date, her only other first date, had been with Simon when they were sophomores at Laburnum. That date had involved a past-curfew movie night in his dorm while his suitemates made way too much noise playing video games in the next room.

This already felt like a very different first than that. And there was something permanent—irreparable—about firsts. The pressure of it, self-imposed as it was, gnawed at her.

She stepped up to the door, imagining him on the other side, nothing but a thin barrier separating them.

“What should I wear?” she asked. “How dressed up should I be, I mean? I have some options in here.”

“Casual,” he said, voice slightly muffled. “I’m keeping it simple, per your request.” His small chuckle felt warm, reassuring.

She decided on a pair of jeans and a soft blouse. Dressy enough not to feel perpetually underdressed in Aster’s company, but comfortable enough to feel like herself, a version she still knew.

She opened the door to find Aster leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed in front of him. He looked like mercury frozen solid and sculpted to perfection. He was one long line from head to heel: lean and lithe and luscious. Molly wondered what temperature, what warmth drawn from a touch or taste, might cause him to melt into something liquid and a little deadly. It had already happened behind his eyes, a blue swirl, her familiar whirlpool.

A smile softened the hard lines along his jaw. “You look lovely,” he said.