That’s up for debate. I saw how he handled Zander.
He twirls a yellow strand around his finger. “You know what I thought of, the first time I saw you?”
I shake my head, even though it was a rhetorical question.
“Where I grew up, we’d get mist on summer mornings that would settle in the valleys between the hills.” His gaze goes distant. “And when the sun came up, it would shine on it and turn it this silvery sort of yellow.” He comes back to me, his eyes focused on the lock he’s playing with. “And make it sparkle, just like your hair.”
Unable to find words, I thank him with a kiss. Neverhas a man said something like that to me before. Zander’s favorite was, “Damn, babe, you look hot.” Other guys, when they’d try to pick me up at bars and parties, might tell me I have pretty eyes or a sweet smile. Nice, but unoriginal. Yet here’s Leo Hawthorn, comparing me to a childhood memory, and to the beauty of nature.
He tucks the silvery-yellow tresses behind my ear and sits up. “You hungry?”
I confess that I am.
“Take your time getting up. I’m gonna start the coffee and fix us something to eat.”
He pulls on his t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving me to linger like a queen in his cozy bed. I prop myself up on my elbows and take a look around the room, something I didn’t do last night. The sheets I’m in are—go figure—light grey. As is the comforter. But the fleece blanket is white. And luxurious and warm. There’s a colonial-style dresser by the window, playing host to several potted plants, and a small nightstand on the other side of the bed. I sit up to see better and notice his watch on the dresser alongside his phone, but nothing else. No knickknacks or pictures, no framed artwork or posters. Not that guys are much for photos, but even Zander has—well,had—a framed picture of the two of us on his nightstand.
I rise from the cozy bed, stretch and begin the painstaking search for my clothes. My leggings are in a tangle on the floor by the dresser, not far from my hoodie, and at the foot of the bed is my bra. Last but not least, I find my socks in two little balls all the way over by the closet. Through the cracked door, I can see plenty of clothes in there, mostly in serviceable shades of grey.
Perhaps he didn’t want to schlepp all his favorite knickknacks and decor from Pennsylvania to here. Why bother for just one year? He’s so close to graduating anyway.
What are you? A Senior? A grad student?
What was Zander thinking, throwing around all that BS? He didn’t seriously look Leo up, did he? Maybe the whole ‘psychotic ex’ thing was an attempt to scare Leo away. Like that’s going to work.Leo hasn’t so much as blinked in the face of Zander’s threats. Calling Leo dangerous? The irony! Who’s the one getting drunk and picking fights? And who’s the one who acts like he owns me?
Sure, Leo may have some secrets, but I feel safer with him than I ever did with Zander.
In the bathroom, I wash off all my crusty old makeup and work Leo’s small comb through my tangled hair. It’s not so silvery and shiny in the fluorescent light, but a good combing has it looking less sexed-up.
I find Leo in the narrow kitchen pouring coffee. Gratefully, I take the full mug he offers me, breathing in the heavenly scent. As I return the half-and-half to the fridge, my eyes snag on all the notes and pictures stuck to the freezer door: phone numbers with abbreviated labels, a postcard of the Roanoke Colony, an email address for a Dr. Joyce Logan at William & Mary, written in Leo’s calligraphic script.
I take a sip of coffee and point to the professor’s name. “Who’s this?”
As Leo turns to answer, a loud pounding on the door makes us both jump. He looks questioningly at me while I stare, alarmed, at him. I know what we’re both thinking.Zander. My first instinct is to hide, but Zander wouldn’t be beating angrily on the apartment door if he didn’t know for sure he’d find me here.
Leo squeezes my arm as he brushes past me, his eyes imploring me to stay in the kitchen. Another aggressive knock has me setting my full mug down, coffee sloshing over my trembling hand. I wipe it on the dish towel as I listen to Leo open the door.
A male voice barks, “Did we wake you up?”
It’s not Zander.
“No, but how…? What…?”
“What are we doing here?” the guy supplies.
“I didn’t expect anyone until March, at the earliest.”
I clench the towel. Whoever this guy is, Leo doesn’t sound happy to see him.
A female voice cuts in, “Did you forget about eclipse season?”
Leo swears under his breath. “What happened to Robin? I thought she was coming back.”
The man answers, “She’s taking a little R and R. Isn’t that the expression? Rest and relaxation? Military, I think.”
Whoarethese people?
“Listen, now’s not a good time,” Leo is quick to say. “Come back this afternoon?—”
