I shrug apologetically. It’s not his fault. He has no idea how many other marks he has against him.
He pulls out the Tic Tac box. Open, shut. “Do you like art?”
Random question, but I bob my head. “I love sculptures. It’s remarkable that someone can use a hammer and a rock and end up with something graceful, almost alive.”
He listens with rapt attention.
“I would love to see theDavidin Florence someday. Or any of Michelangelo’s sculptures. I’ve only seen photos, of course, but there’s so much feeling. Have you seen them? Have you traveled a lot?” I clamp my teeth together. No more rambling.
He hesitates. “I haven’t been to Florence since I was a kid. I’m not sure if I ever saw the David. I mostly just begged our nanny for more gelato.” He’s avoiding eye contact? “But I’ve seen theMosesin Rome and thePietain Vatican City. My classical school had us do a trip for art history our junior year.” He hides his hands in his pockets. “How’s that for obnoxious?”
I frown and shake my head. He seemed so cocky, but he’s insecure about this? “We grew up differently, but that doesn’t make you obnoxious.”
His tension eases. He seems … sweet. Vulnerable.
“Did you …” My voice fades out when I see his hypnotic gaze trained on mine, holding a question. The intensity there rattles my nerves, but the kindness settles them. My mouth curves up.
He motions for me to stop there on the sidewalk. I swivel my head to see others milling about on campus. This should be okay. Our group walks on, and I can’t say I’m sorry to see them go.
“There’s an art museum here in Pinecrest. It’s not exactly the Accademia,” he jokes, “but it might be worth an hour or two. Any interest in checking it out with me?”
Check it out with him? Every instinct says run, but something about the way he asks—gentle, almost hopeful …
“You can renew my interest in sculptures since exams sucked it out of me.” He cracks a smile, and I turn to goo.
His knuckles brush my arm, warm and gentle?—
I jerk away.
Fear crashes over me, thick and suffocating, like tar sticking to my skin. His eyes soften with apology, but my breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps. I never should have let this happen.
How could I even consider a date? It doesn’t matter if he seems vulnerable and endearing—I can’t trust my judgment anymore. I’ve only spoken to him a handful of times. A date is completely out of the question. And if that weren’t enough, the familiar terror continues to grow inside me like a rising tide, terror like I haven’t felt since I was in the same city as Aiden.
“Friends, remember?” I say, my voice wobbling. Dread tightens in my stomach. The fear I’ve fought to bury rises fast and hard as nausea crashes in. Should I run?
I thought I was safe here. I thought this was going to be a thing of the past.
“Alright,” he says. “Friends.”
I try to focus on dragging my feet in the direction of my building. Levi responded with kindness. He respected my no. This is fine. I’m fine. So why do I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff? His kindness is as unsettling as his charm.
Why do I keep praying for relief from my anxiety if it’s the only thing keeping me from making the same mistakes? The black tendrils of fear push in harder. Oh no, oh no—I squeeze my eyes shut against the flashes of memory coming.
Rain. Tripping. The smell of waste and sticky floor. Curling into a ball as I drowned in red flags I ignored.
I blink, returning to reality, stomach clenched and churning and heart beating like mad.
I stare at my frozen feet and will the tears away. My heart rate is already calming. Compared to the ones at home, this was a lot better. But I needed my past to stay there. It was supposed to stay in Colorado.
More of this? I thought this place was an answer to prayer. Please take it away.
We’re nearly back to my building. Without an explanation, I resume a fast pace, willing the side door to arrive sooner.
Levi follows silently. I check his expression from the corner of my eye. He’s squinting at me as if trying to solve a riddle.You and me both, pal.Maybe he’ll think I’m crazy and keep his distance.
“Good night.” I badge in as if it requires all my concentration.
“Good night, friend.” No sarcasm, just concern.
