The rest of lunch unfolded surprisingly uneventfully.

  Stefan did question Andrew like Gordon interrogating the Joker after years and years of chasing, Elena did watch us with so much scrutiny she forgot to blink the whole time, and Katarina did continue filling the table until not a single inch of wood was visible underneath.

  But we all ate, laughed, played. Andrew seemed at ease. Everyone was.

  As we silently gaze at the stars in the sky, I reminisce about the moment he left his fingers lingering on my thigh earlier. How easily I accepted the touch. How much I liked it, even.

  The night must have started sooner than any other day because we all blinked and nine hours had passed.

  We’re both sitting on the front porch with our drinks, and the silence isn’t awkward or boring. It’s been several minutes of cooperative quietness, and none of us feels like talking. Not yet.

  We glance at each other’s profiles from time to time. He’s glowing in the night sky, his clear and light skin reflecting the moon’s aura with much grace. His long, straight nose reddens through the low temperature of the night, and it adds to his cuteness. He handles every aspect of himself with much confidence. There’s a whole (and non-exhaustive) list of compliments that comes to mind.

  “I understand you better,” Andrew slashes the silence. I stay focused on the night stars to avoid observing him too much. “Your anger. Your fear. You could have told me. Explain all of this to me.”

  “Really?” I turn my torso toward him and stretch my hand. “Hi, I’m Alexej. I’m thirty-two years old and still deeply affected by the loss of my twin, twenty years ago. That is the reason I reject anyone and will probably disrespect who you are and what you do. But in truth, it only shows how unconfident I am with myself and my capabilities. Not to mention, I’ve backpedaled tremendously regarding my job and my position at Tufts, which has taken a great toll on my self-esteem. Don’t take it personally, I’m just a jerk.”

  “You’re not a jerk.”

  “How can you say that, after everything that I did?”

  He doesn’t answer. Plays with a rebel strand of his hair. I want to seize it and stick it behind his ear. “I could say the same about me. I could have left you alone the first time you asked. I could have avoided being a smug idiot who doesn’t take no for an answer. I could have let it go instead of feeling the internal necessity of showing you the truth, which only resonates with my deep and relentless need to be validated and considered.”

  So, I was partially right. He does want me to approve of his work and his classes. But not for the reasons I thought. “It haunted me for a long while, that I was about to specialize in a concept people undermined as a lesser medicine. I’ve told myself countless times that I should have done something that mattered more than this. That I wasn’t participating in a better future. That I was useless.”

  “You’re not useless.”

  The words hit hard. Because I have undermined his specialty. In my head, but I did. I was cruel to him. What would he do if he knew just how horrible I had been? How much I regret it now, but still? Would he think that I’m no jerk, then? Or would he finally accept I’m no good for him?

  “Stop tormenting yourself,” he chuckles. Our gazes meet. And his eyes are the warmest they’ve ever been. “I don’t hold grudges easily.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He chews on his bottom lip for a while, searching for the appropriate terms. “You made me realize it’s not about me. People have their own reasons, and it’s not really because of what I do but because of who they are. And I won’t change myself for the flaws of others.”

  “You should have given up on me.”

  “But I won’t. And I’m glad,” his hand gently falls over my shoulder and forces my attention back on him, after his stare was becoming hard to handle. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. The dean, the lab. I promise.”

  “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make promises you can’t keep.”

  He smirks beautifully. “I’m resourceful. And persistent.”

  We both smile. That, I can agree on. “Isabella called. She said what was taking so long.”

  “And?”

  “Haynes has been messing with more than my position. He made it difficult for her, too.”

  “He’s been acting weird with many aspects of the university.”

  “Emily and Sarah admitted he was promoting his own blood within the faculty.”

  “I’m not surprised. He acts dumb, but he’s not.” He takes a glimpse at his watch.

  I clear my throat. “You know, I’ve made peace with leaving Tufts.” His head jerks my way quickly, mouth closed. “If the symposium unlocks possibilities elsewhere, I will consider them.”

  He remains silent for a while, watching the end of the porch’s stairs. After a great inhale and unspoken words, he admits. “There’s nothing I would love more than for you to have what you desire.”

  I’m stuck admiring him because he’s so indubitably gorgeous right now. Blushing from the cold, but not entirely. His breathing’s ragged, and he keeps fidgeting with his watch. It’s getting late. I should drive him home. Amicably, of course. No other thoughts.

  “Do I have something on my face?” he eventually perturbed the quietness without yet looking back at me. The words echo from a particular night, weeks ago.

  “A nose. A mouth, and two eyes. Freckles. A chin dimple. A beard and a mustache. Eyebrows…”

  His throat-clenching, mind-blowing, world-tumbling laugh stops my rambling. “Is it serious, doc?”

  “It might. I should keep you under observation.”

  “I wouldn’t mind. How long?”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “As long as necessary.”

  My mouth only slightly opens, and I realize what we could both be doing right now. How easily I could lean forward and—

  “I should get going,” Andrew breaks up the fantasy and quickly stands up, straightening the bottom of his pants.

  “Let me drive you home,” I insist. Because I just can’t pretend anymore. I don’t want this to end. There’s no point in killing the night so young.

  He takes a second before answering. I note that his focus stays glued anywhere but on my face, and I’m suddenly petrified. Have I made him uncomfortable again? Did I read the signs wrong? “Sure. Thanks.”

  We rapidly go back inside to give everyone our goodbyes. Mother offers that Andrew come back every Sunday. Elena hugs him— more of a chokehold. And Stefan pats his shoulder with much respect and recognition. “Come back whenever you want, Andrew. And get me a seat for that symposium.”

  ?

  “Have you talked to Claire?”

  He scoffs and almost strangles himself with his own saliva.

  It’s been devastating, getting over the fact that his scent will penetrate each crevice of my car. He’s been playing with the CDs that litter the glovebox and my car doors. Nothing that I feel ashamed of. Motley Crue, Motorhead, Fleetwood Mac, Hawkwind.

  Not that Andrew would make fun of what I listen to, anyway. At least not seriously. My focus darted in his direction a few times, and he plastered the same adorable smile. I wondered what was so funny about good music.

  While I wait for his answer, he awkwardly shifts in his seat. “Claire?”

  “Isn’t she your friend? Well. Wasn’t?”

  “Oh,” he scratches his beard while looking at the window, “We have friends in common. She asked for my number one night. And then invited me to the bar.”

  “She was eating you up.” He pretends not to hear. “Didn’t you realize?”

  “I did.”

  “You seemed to like her.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Going out with her?”

  “Going out with a woman to make someone else jealous.”

  So, that was his dirty plan from the start. He did use her, but not for the original reason that came to mind. “Did it work?”

  I can’t watch him, but he’s definitely trying to split my skull and enter my thoughts. “I don’t know.” He ends up replying.

  When the car comes to a halt, there’s a little silence. Not another word’s been uttered, and the space of my Ford feels more cramped than the inside of the closet at the university.

  Should I walk him back to his door? Should we shake hands? Hug?

  Andrew doesn’t move. His attention is glued to his fingers that toy with his clothes. What is he thinking about? I’d give one of my kidneys to know.

  Before he can speak, I get out of the car and walk up to his side. He watches me, dumbfounded. “Did you just open the door for me?”

  “Isn’t that what you were waiting for?”

  He chuckles fondly. “No. I zoned out. But it’s nice. Am I your princess?”

  “Get out of the car,” I answer, laughing.

  “Uh, uh, you’re supposed to carry me to the door,” he lounges back on the car seat, stretching his legs.

  “That’s for married people.”

  He doesn’t budge. Watches me intently. Gets even more comfortable, hips lifting to reposition.

  I could. Carry him. He’s obviously not bigger than I am. Athletic, yes. Bulky, no.

  When I bend over him, I’m sure he hasn’t realized I would go through with it. He gets his arm up and observes as my own gets under his back and legs. He giggles.

  “You’re ticklish?”

  “You won’t be able to lif—”

  His voice dies down as I get him out of the car effortlessly and close the door with my foot. “You were saying?”

  Delightful noises come out of his mouth. “Okay! You won! Just get me down.”

  “Afraid of heights?”

  “You’re not that tall. Come on.”

  “Hang on, or you’ll fall.” His hands are barely holding me as I hoist him to a proper position. Now I can feel him breathing in my neck. The tip of his nose caresses my skin along the steps to his porch.

  “You made your point, you can put me down,” he nervously laughs, and it makes me want to keep him in my arms even more.

  I’ve arrived in front of his door, and he attempts to get off, but my grasp is stronger. He’s flushed. “Alexej.”

  “That’s my name.”

  “Do I have to beg you?”

  “It’s an idea.”

  My muscles and tendons start groaning, but I shove the sensation aside. “Please.”

  “I like the sound of that. Again?”

  “Don’t push your luck!” He starts squirming, and I lose balance. Before his face meets the ground, I catch him by the waist, but we end up bumping into his door with a loud thud.

  I cradle his head with my palm. “Oh, shit, did I hurt you?”

  He takes a second to breathe between his frantic laughing. “No, I’m alright.”

  We share the air for a minute. Or two. Or more. At some point, I lose count. It’s just us, the night, and the sound of the wind against the tree leaves.

  I rest my hand on the door behind and wait. Should I really—

  Are we going to—

  Am I about to ki—

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  His eyes keep flickering over my lips, and he eventually turns his head, exhaling a frustrated noise. “As much as I want this, we shouldn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t what?”

  “Do whatever you are thinking.”

  “Oh, so you are in my head.”

  He smiles. I love his smile. “I am. I lied.”

  “What am I thinking about right now?”

  “You want to come inside.”

  My mouth is dry. “To drink some tea?”

  “No.”

  His voice is charged with a tone I haven’t heard from him yet. It’s new. His pupils are dilated. But that might just be because we’re in the dark. He can’t be reading my mind. Otherwise, he would have gotten scared of the ideas currently battling for the podium of what I desire the most. “No?”

  “Just a few hours from now, I was so confused on where to stand with you before I got abducted by your wonderful family, and now you’re suggesting that we…”

  “I haven’t said anything about what I want.”

  “Yes. You haven’t. What do you want?”

  He leans his head against the door, and I’m immediately drawn by the pulse of his heart under the soft skin of his neck. “Whatever you want.”

  “That’s not—are you even interested?”

  It startles me for a few seconds. “Interested in you?” he slowly nods. Puppy eyes. “Andrew.”

  “What?”

  Is he seriously not aware, or does he want to hear me say it?

  “I am.” His cheeks turn red, and it takes me a great deal to stay perfectly still, except for the hand against the door, which unperceptively approaches his ear. “Are we getting inside now?”

  He drives a hand through his hair, and the light of the lamps outside reflects inside his deep brown eyes. He looks hot. Disheveled. Another inappropriate word floods my mind.

  “Actually, I’m old school.” He searches for his keys inside his pockets, but doesn’t divert his stare from mine. I gulp. I’m hot. Disheveled…

  “Old school?”

  “Yes. ‘No kissing before the third date’ kind of old school.”

  Dates. Dating Andrew. Dating Andrew Miller.

  It resets my mind, acknowledging that statement. Not in a good or bad way. It just does. I only now realize this is probably going to be very serious.

  It wouldn’t be wise to get into a relationship while having to work for a symposium together. And Haynes had been very clear.

  “Alright.” He stays silent, searching for the hints of my feelings on my face and expressions. But in truth, it is one of those rare times when my thoughts are gathered and compartmentalized properly. When I’m one hundred percent sure. “How about tomorrow night?”