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“I don’t know why I said that, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” I have to laugh at my stupidity and quick tongue.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” He dips the brush under the faucet and doesn’t say another word. After both of us brush our teeth and I attempt to comb my hair into a ponytail, we head downstairs. Karen and Landon are in the kitchen, talking over bowls of oatmeal.
Landon gives me a warm smile; he doesn’t seem too surprised by seeing Hardin and me together. Karen doesn’t either. If anything, I think she looks . . . pleased? I can’t tell, because she brings her coffee cup to her mouth to hide her smile.
“I’m taking Tessa to campus today,” Hardin tells Landon.
“Okay.”
“Ready?” Hardin turns to me, and I nod.
“I’ll see you in Religion.” I tell Landon before Hardin drags me, literally, out of the kitchen.
“What’s the rush?” I ask him once we’re outside.
He grabs my bag from my shoulder as we walk down the driveway. “Nothing, but I know you two; if you start talking, we’ll never make it out of there, and when you add Karen into the mix, I’d starve to death before you shut up.” He opens the car door for me before walking around to open his own and climb in.
“True.” I smile.
We debate over IHOP or Denny’s for at least twenty minutes before deciding on IHOP. Hardin claims that they have the best French toast, but I refuse to believe it until I eat it.
“It’ll be ten to fifteen minutes before you can be seated,” a short woman with a blue scarf around her neck tells us when we walk inside.
“Okay,” I say at the same time that Hardin says, “Why?”
“We’re busy and there aren’t any tables open at the moment,” she explains sweetly. Hardin rolls his eyes and I pull him away from her to sit at the bench in the entryway.
“It’s nice to see you’re back,” I tease.
“What’s that mean?”
“I just mean you’ve still got your edge.”
“When didn’t I?”
“I don’t know, when we went on our date and a little last night.”
“I trashed that bedroom and cussed you out,” he reminds me.
“I know, I’m trying to make a joke.”
“Well, try making a good one next time,” he says, but I see the glint of a smile appear.
When we’re finally seated, we give our order to a young guy with a beard that seems to be a little too long for someone who’s working as a waiter. After he walks off, Hardin complains and swears that if he finds a hair in his food, he’s going to lose it. “Just had to show you that I still have my edge,” he reminds me, and I giggle.
I love that he’s trying to be a little nicer, but I also love his attitude and the way he doesn’t care what people think of him. I wish more of those qualities would rub off on me. He runs through a list of other things that are bothering him about the place until our food arrives.
“Why can’t you just miss the entire day?” Hardin asks as he shovels a forkful of French toast into his mouth.
“Because . . .” I begin. Oh, you know, because I’m transferring to another campus and I don’t want to complicate things by losing any participation points before I transfer in the middle of the semester.
“I don’t want to lose my A’s,” I tell him.
“This is college, no one goes to class,” he tells me for the hundredth time since I met him.
“Aren’t you excited about yoga?” I laugh.
“No. Not at all.”
We finish breakfast, and the mood is still light as Hardin drives toward the campus. His phone vibrates on the console but he ignores it. I want to answer for him but we’re getting along so well. The third time it rings, I finally speak up.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask him.
“No, it’ll go to voicemail. It’s probably my mum.” He lifts the phone to show me the screen.
“See, she left a voicemail. Can you check it?” he asks.
My curiosity gets the best of me and I snatch the phone from his hands.
“Speakerphone,” he reminds me.
“You have seven new voicemails,” the robotic voice announces as he parks the car.
He groans. “This is why I never check them.”
I press the numeral one to listen to them. “Hardin? . . . Hardin, it’s Tessa . . . I . . .” I try to press the end button but Hardin grabs the phone from my hand.
Oh God.
“Well, I need to talk to you. I’m in my car and I’m so confused . . .” My voice is hysterical and I want to jump out of the car.
“Please turn it off,” I beg him but he shifts the phone into his other hand so I can’t reach it.
“What is this?” he asks, staring at the phone.
“Why haven’t you even tried? You just let me leave and here I am pathetically calling you and crying into your voicemail. I need to know what happened to us? Why was this time different, why didn’t we fight it out? Why didn’t you fight for me? I deserve to be happy, Hardin.” My idiotic voice fills the car, trapping me inside.
I sit in silence and stare down at my hands in my lap. This is humiliating; I had nearly forgotten about the voicemail and I wish he hadn’t heard it, especially not now.
“When was this?”
“While you were gone.”
He lets out a deep breath and ends the call. “What were you confused about?” he asks.
