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Since he got back two weeks ago, he’s been acting like it’s a foregone conclusion we’re going to get back together. That I’ll “come to my senses” soon. Not being “open-minded” enough was, according to Sean, the reason I didn’t go for his proposal.
I take a long, deep breath through my nose and let it out of my mouth in a controlled exhale. I succeed in keeping myself from saying something I might regret.
Ignoring Sean, I make plans with Jeremy to practice again sometime later this week and then hurry out of the room. Getting away from Sean as quickly as possible is only part of my motivation for doing so. I’m really running the risk of being late for English class now.
Sean follows hot on my heels as I walk quickly out of the music building. “Hey, Summer, can we?—”
“Late for class, sorry!” I throw the words over my shoulder, my feet picking up the pace to discourage him from following any further.
Even though I’m already dangerously close to being late, I can’t possibly neglect stopping at the campus coffee shop, Brumehill Brews, on my way.
I have a little tradition at the beginning of each semester.
On the first session of the first class of the semester, I bring treats for the people sitting next to me. It’s an icebreaker, and I like to think it’s something that sets a positive tone for the rest of the semester. I’ve always believed that you can receive more positivity directed towards you by giving more of it out to the world yourself.
Handing a blueberry muffin to the girl next to me on the first day of Sociology class at the beginning of my second semester was how I met my best friend, Olivia.
It’s something my mom recommended I do on my very first day of freshman year, to start my college experience off on a positive note. She hasn’t given me a bad piece of advice yet.
I pick up a macchiato for myself, and two brownies for the seat-neighbors I’m soon to meet in English class. Now I just have to worry about actually getting there on time.
I hurry into the Liberal Arts building, a beautiful stone structure with arched doorways and gothic ornamentation. It’s the kind of building that makes me smile every time I walk past it, looking like a gem of architecture you’d find in the English countryside. The inside is just as stunning, with intricately designed tile floors, warm-toned wooden wainscotting, and beautifully textured wallpaper.
But today I can’t grant myself the leisure of taking my time to appreciate it. I’m weaving through the students meandering in the hall, hoping to get to my English class before the professor starts the lecture.
My hands have been too full of my drink and the two brownies for me to check my phone; when I finally make it into the classroom, my eyes find the analogue clock on the wall, and I’m relieved to see that I’m still a couple minutes early.
It’s a medium-sized, auditorium-style room, and many of the seats are already taken. Luckily, I find one towards the left end of the room that’s just one seat in from the aisle. Hopefully, another student will take the aisle seat so neither of my brownies go to waste.
I sit down and introduce myself to the girl on my right. She’s a junior like me, and her eyes light up in appreciation when I hand her the brownie. We exchange numbers right off the bat in case one of us misses classes and needs a copy of the notes or a heads-up about something the professor announced due the following week.
We chit-chat some more while she nibbles on the brownie and gushes how thankful she is for it, because her stomach was just starting to rumble.
Then, I sense someone lowering themselves into the seat to my left. I turn to say hello and hand off the second brownie, but when I see the guy next to me, my brain momentarily short-circuits.
The first thing I notice is how massive he is. My eyes are level with his shoulder, and what a shoulder it is. Round and huge, straining against the tight fabric of a black t-shirt. My eyes track down the length of his arm.
Outside of the sleeve, his arm is rippling with corded muscle, and covered with dense, intricate tattoo designs that go all the way to his wrist. His very, very, thick wrist.
And his hands … my eyes bulge at how big and strong they look.
I manage to rip my gaze away from them and direct it upwards, finally looking at his face.
His hair is thick and jet-black, messy in the most appealing way. His jaw is razor-sharp, his cheek bones high and defined. Everything about him looks hard and solid, but there’s a touch of softness to his grey-blue eyes, the color contrasting so strikingly with his deep black hair.
My throat works until I feel capable of speech again.
“Hi,” I open, the word coming out a little creaky. “I’m Summer. Nice to meet you.”
He turns his head slowly towards me. When his icy blue eyes lock on mine, my stomach does a twist.
His sharp, angular features are even more striking when he’s looking at me head-on. And the way he has his head turned accentuates the thick, muscular column of his neck.
I wait for him to introduce himself. After a couple seconds pass, it dawns on me that wait might last a while. So, I fill the silence myself.
“I brought you something,” I say, holding the tiny paper bag that the second brownie is in towards him. Normally, I’m the least socially anxious person there is. I’ve always thrived on interacting with and meeting new people. But the way his eyes pierce me makes me feel strangely self-conscious as I continue to hold out the bag without him reaching for it.
“It’s a brownie,” I say, forcing a smile. “As, you know, a little beginning of the semester present.”
