He is.
If I don’t say something, I’ll feel like I’m keeping the Ada thing a secret. I will not keep a single other secret from him.
I saw Ada.
The dots remain for a few seconds. My thoughts tornado.
I push her away, but she keeps coming back. I guess I’m her Kit.
My mouth falls open.
Should I have told you about her? I didn’t want it to come off as coercive.
Three dots.
There are others.
There are others.
No. I have no right to be jealous.
That right is still yours for the taking.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I almost chokeon the last bite of my oatmeal when Levi shows up at my table at Saga. Almost no one else on campus is awake so early on a Saturday morning. His hair is still damp, but he’s dressed for a fall photo shoot—jeans, laced leather boots, Jesus backpack, and a solid charcoal flannel buttoned up. He sits with an expertly crafted yogurt parfait, Exhibit A of his well-rounded nutrition.
Dissonance hums between us. Things have gotten so complicated and yet so clear. We’re not just friends. We’re exclusively, non-casually not dating. Last night I ripped myself to shreds in a tug-of-war between what he asked for and what he needs.
“I thought I might find my favorite morning person here,” he says, cutting through the silence.
I manage a sheepish smile. “Oh look, it’s my favorite early morning swimmer.”
“Up for a walk today? An off campus … date walk?”
What would Austin say? A walk isn’t torture, is it? “Are you sure? … Considering.”
“Yes.” Is that a challenge in his eye?
“What’s in the backpack?” I ask.
“A thermos. I got some mochas for us from Copper Fox.” He glances at the mug in front of me. “For later.”
The best coffee shop in Pinecrest, and he prefers tea. I shake my head at him. He’s impossible.
He rests his arm on the table, and I tilt his watch toward me, avoiding his skin, to read it upside down. Bible, swim, shower, and coffee run before 8:30 a.m. I give him a pointed look. He smirks.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
When he’s politely downed his yogurt, he tilts his head toward the door in invitation. “All set?”
For weeks I was stuck in the cycle ofLike Him, no, Can’t Like Him. Now that it’s a forgone conclusion, I’m stuck inBe Brave, no, Be Kind. Sorry to Live-Action Cinderella, but I can’t seem to do both. I’m sick of it. Nothing I do feels right anymore.
As we drop off our trays, his gaze drops to my go-to pointed-toe flats. I huff in annoyance. I thought I’d be safe putting zero effort into my outfit this morning, just threw on jeans and a T-shirt.
“What’s wrong with my Rothy’s?” I grumble. “Not everyone can afford Ferragamo.”
He recoils. “I was going to offer to stop by your room to grab your sneakers, since we’ll be walking awhile.”
