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Molly flushed. “I wasn’t waiting up to tattle on you.”

“What do you call this then?” he asked, derision evident as he shrugged away from her, boarding the elevator.

Molly hopped in after him. Curfew snitching hadn’t been her intent, but she had been camped out for three hours for a different reason, and she wouldn’t let him dismiss her. As the doors closed, she leveled him with a glare of her own.

Being in such close confines with Bishop wasn’t how she’d envisioned her night going. Maybe it was the half-dimmed lighting or the bleariness of life past midnight, but the elevator seemed significantly smaller than usual.

Bishop crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, looking bored. “Well?” he eventually prompted, sounding like he didn’t give a single shit about her answer.

All his casual disinterest made Molly want to tear her hair out. He was obnoxious. “You stole my research topic in Environmental Chem.”

Bishop’s brows jumped. “You’ve cornered me in the middle of the night because of photochemical smog?”

“I wouldn’t have to corner you in the middle of the night, or at all, if you respected the rules around here. But you’re Aster Bishop, right? The rules don’t apply to you. Do whatever you want, I guess. Including taking the topic prompt you knew I wanted.”

The elevator doors opened on Bishop’s floor. Undeterred, Molly followed him out into the hallway.

“Would you fuck off? Believe it or not, I also wanted that prompt. I had no idea you wanted it too. And if you meant to call dibs, you should have had a better grade in that class than me, because then you could have picked first. But I guess Molly Graham isn’t so perfect after all, is she? I saw that ninety-three percent on the last test. Tsk, tsk.”

Molly scoffed. She had a very comfortable A in Environmental Chemistry, thank you very much. It was a fluke that Bishop currently had a better grade than her in that one, singular class.

“I’ve never said I’m perfect, but if that’s what you think, that’s very telling, isn’t it?” she snapped.

“You do enough graceless swanning about that we all get the message. Being smart is literally your only personality trait, congrats. No wonder no one likes you.”

“And people only pretend to like you because you have more money than God. Does it feel good, knowing you’ve had to buy your friends?”

At some point, they’d stopped in front of what Molly could only assume was Bishop’s door, volume steadily rising in their verbal volley.

“You know what, Graham? It feels pretty great, actually. I have lots of friends and lots of money—which is double what can be said about you.” He waved his key fob, unlocking his door. He stepped a foot inside and then turned on her. “Now, fuck off before I tattle on you for being on a boys’ floor.”

With that, he slammed the door in her face.

Chapter 9

Vivienne Bishop

Molly groaned at her reflection. Her braid simply would not cooperate today; a small army of flyaway frizz turned her temples into a fluffy halo no matter how tightly she braided. Her arms burned.

“Is everything alright in—oh.” Aster peered in beyond the door she’d left open.

“If you say one word . . .” Molly started, threat trailing off with what she hoped was intense severity.

He paused mid-snicker, mirth crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “It’s not that bad.” He leaned against the doorframe. “You should have seen it in California.”

More and more, he’d started doing that, referencing parts of their life she didn’t remember, and in such a casual way. The spool of history he’d kept so tightly wound had begun to loosen, dropping threads everywhere.

Molly sighed, attempting to flatten an exceptionally wild bit of frizz fluffing out at the base of her neck. “Care to elaborate? I haven’t had a story in a couple of days. And you can’t tease a girl like that.”

Aster grinned, conspiracy glinting off his straight, shiny teeth. “Can’t I? You’re so very fun to tease.” A pause, something devious dancing behind his eyes, then, “It was the wind, mostly. Bentley gifted us a whole wine tasting experience as an engagement gift. He made sure his family’s wineries were the star of the show, obviously. We spent several afternoons wandering Sonoma Valley. It was spectacular, but the wind wouldn’t relent, much to your dismay. We didn’t acquire any new mugs on that trip, but later tonight I’ll pull out the champagne flutes we did bring back. We can have a toast.”

He stepped up behind her, the taut surface of his chest barely brushing against her shoulder blades.

Molly’s pulse quickened. “Our engagement, you say?”

He tutted, breath hot against her skin. “I may have failed to keep any of this in chronological order or keep to any kind of plan in telling you about our history, but I do have ideas for that particular story. So, you’ll have to be”—a pause as Molly sucked in a breath—“very patient.”

Watching her in the mirror, Aster gathered her braid in his hands, letting his fingers trail along her neck as he twisted it into a bun at her nape.