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In the three years working together, Hudson has never undermined me like that. He’s always been respectful, professional, and maybe a little too helpful at times, but never… controlling.

The revelation is overwhelming; that’s exactly what it had been: a display of control. The way he positioned himself between Preston and me, the dismissal, and the implication that I can’t handle a simple transaction I’d done a million more times than he has.

My stomach drops as the puzzle comes together. Hudson always seems to know when I’m having a bad day. He always has coffee ready when I arrive, and he almost always stays late when I do. I thought it was kindness or loneliness, but it actually seemed to be something else entirely.

“Hey,” Preston’s soft, careful tone pulls me from my thoughts again. He approaches as you would a wounded animal, slow and quiet, settling on the bench beside me with the textbook tucked under his arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m good. Just a lot going on lately—he’s just trying to help.”

I don’t look up from wrapping a loose thread on my jeans around my finger. Even as I said it, as much as I want to convince myself they’re true, they taste like lies. From the corner of my eye, I can see his dark eyebrows draw together.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make excuses for him. That wasn’t helpful, Wynnie. If you ask me, that was pretty inappropriate. You don’t have to defend behavior that makes you uncomfortable.”

The simple validation takes me back; it’s been a long time since someone outside of Blaire acknowledged my feelings without trying to explain them away or minimize them.

“I know, it was unprofessional. I’ll talk to him.”

“I’m not worried about whether that was unprofessional or not—it was, but that’s beside the point. I’m worried about you, that you’re okay.”

My eyes connect with his, and I feel the heaviness loosen inside my chest. There is no pity in his voice, just honest concern for someone he barely knew outside of small talk. Yet he still thought I deserved to be treated better.

“Thank you. Really.”

He smiles, showing off his dimple once more.

“Anytime. And I mean that.”

I watch as his confident stride carries him across the parking lot to a sleek white SUV. When he drives away, I pull in a burst of air and force myself to go back inside.

Hudson is standing behind the circulation desk, entering something into the computer; his eyes squint as he looks back and forth between a book and the screen. His focus moves to me when I approach, and I notice for the first time how his brown eyes track my movement. It feels more intense than casual observation.

I lean across the wooden counter, keeping my volume low but letting the steel show through. “What the hell was that?”

“What do you mean?” His eyes widen with what seems to be genuine surprise.

“You know exactly what I mean. Grabbing the card out of my hand, dismissing me—you think I’m some incompetent imbecile who can’t handle checking out a goddamn book? Acting like I can’t do my job.”

“He was flirting with you. I assumed that was the last thing you wanted or needed, with the breakup. I’m just trying to help you.”

“Don’t,” I snap as I come around the counter to face him directly, anger making me unusually bold. “Don’t act like you’re protecting me. You weren’t helping, and you know that. You don’t get to decide what I want or need, Hudson. If I want to flirt with someone, I will. If I want to date, I will. If I want to fuck the next person to walk through those doors, I will. You don’t get a say in any of it.”

For just a beat, we stare at each other, the air between us tightening. I can see the emotions flickering through his eyes, unsure which one to land on.

“Then go on a date with me.”

It hits with the weight of a dump truck pouring a pile of bricks on me. He says it almost like it’s a challenge; my blood immediately turns to fire as the final puzzle piece connects.

“You’re Ghost,” I breathe. Saying it out loud solidifies it. “You’re the one sending me the notes.”

“Ghost?” Hudson laughs. But to me? It sounds forced—he’s trying to hide that it’s him. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“You are. That’s why you stopped me from helping Preston—why you’re suddenly asking me out. You’re the one who’s been showing up at my house, leaving me flowers.”

“Wynnie, listen—”