"Margot, please stop." I was half-laughing, half-dying, clutching my coffee like a shield. But she was on a roll now, unstoppable.
" I mean it. He looks like God's apology for every mediocre man on Earth."
"Margot!"
She wagged her finger, laughing. "What? Don't look at me like that. I'm old, not dead. That man looks like he should come with a warning label: 'Do not operate heavy machinery after staring too long.'"
She fanned herself dramatically. "Listen, if I were ten years younger—no, thirty, to save us both some shame—I'd be out there pretending to trip just so he'd catch me. Man looks like the kind of hot that should trigger a Level 5 National Emergency. Evacuate hearts immediately."
"Oh my God," I moaned, but it only made her cackle harder, delighted at my suffering. I pressed the mug to my lips, pretending to sip. "You know you can just... not comment on everything?"
"Meh, where is the fun in that? You know you could just join him."
"Yeah, sure," I said, rolling my eyes and promptly changing the subject.
By the time Ryder came back, I had finished my coffee and was pretending to look very busy at the sink. He was sweaty and out of breath and looked entirely too pleased with himself. I tried to look unaffected, which meant I stood as still as a deer in headlights.
"Morning, Ven" he said, grin easy, voice rough from the run.
I nodded mutely, because apparently words were not available to me at this time, and what's up with this 'Ven'? I fled upstairs to get ready, leaving Margot smirking at my retreating back. When I came back downstairs, the kitchen was empty, but a smoothie waited on the counter. Orange-red, glowing like the first light of sunrise.
I smiled despite myself and lifted the glass. Sweet. Tart. Too good for me to pretend I didn't love it.
I grabbed my phone and texted him:
Why orange-red today?
A few minutes later, his reply buzzed in:It's the color of Helios' chariot at sunrise—you know, the Greek god of the sun who drives it across the sky every morning. Figured you could use a little dawn in your day.
Later that day, a rumor began to ripple through the school: someone had made a massive donation to the science and arts departments. Anonymous. But I didn't need the whispers to tell me who it was. Of course I knew. My hands trembled as I dialed his number. The phone rang, too long, each tone stretching my nerves tighter, until I almost hung up. Then, finally, he answered.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice like someone caught half-asleep. "Sorry... I was working, and then I saw your name. I haven't seen your name in a call on my screen in almost a year. I didn't want to ruin it by answering too fast."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Did you... give the donation to my school?"
There was a pause. Then, "I don't know?" His tone was innocent, but something in it made my heart skip.
"Ryder. Are you asking me, or answering me?"
"Both?"
"Ryder." My voice was low, sharp, a mix of disbelief and exasperation.
He sighed, a slow, reluctant sound. "Fine. It was supposed to be anonymous."
"It was," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my chest tightened. "I just... had my suspicions. Why would you do that?"
A pause. Then his voice softened, almost tender. "Because they deserve it. Like any kids anywhere. But... they just happen to be lucky enough to beyourstudents."
My throat went dry.
"But," he added quickly, "I donated to other schools too... because I felt bad."
I let out a laugh, a shaky, watery sound, punctuated by a hiccup, and hung up before anything I wasn't ready to say could escape.I didn't want this. I didn't want him slipping back into the fragile corners of my heart.
The next morning, I woke up with that familiar heaviness still sitting on my chest. Maybe running would help — clear my head, burn off the restless energy. I dragged myself to the window, tugging it open to let in the cool air.
And there he was.
