McGregor turns toward us with an incredulous chuckle. “Thank you, but I’m not taking on any new projects at this time.”
I jump forward. “But—”
“I can’t help you,” he says with a finality that has my hands clenching into fists by my sides.
Heat rises in my chest, and I stride toward him. “Just fuckinglisten.”
“Rose.” Parker’s hand snakes around my biceps, his firm grip halting my steps. “Professor, you once told me the only difference between a proven and unproven theory is persistence.”
Brows raised, McGregor gives a quick, scoffing laugh. “You must be mistaken. We’ve never met before.”
Parker takes another step toward McGregor. “What if I told youweare one of those unproven theories?”
McGregor shakes his head, a deep crease between his gray, bushy brows.
“You’ve been researching time travel for over a decade,” Parker says, his voice barely above a whisper.
McGregor’s spine straightens. “Time travel’s impossible,” he says in a soft, rushed voice.
Parker arches a brow. “Are you sure? Or do you want to look at our blood and see?”
3Mariella
I trail out of the lecture hall in a daze, the stranger’s face burned into my mind.
“Hello, anybody there?” Anna asks, grabbing my shoulder.
“Sorry. What?” I turn to face her. Her head’s tilted to the side, her button nose scrunched.
“Why didn’t you answer Professor McGregor’s question?” she asks.
My arms lace around my torso, hot shame spreading through my gut. “I didn’t want to get it wrong.”
“But you knew the answer. You told me before we went in.” Lines crease Anna’s forehead. “Girl, what are you afraid of?”
“Nothing,” I blurt, but I avoid Anna’s narrowed glare by staring at my muddy shoes.
Anna’s phone beeps, drawing her attention. “I’m going to meet some friends for coffee,” she says, typing a reply. “You should come.”
“Thanks, but I’m meeting my school friend and then I have a shift at the library.”
“Ugh,my school friend,” Anna mimics. “What’s her name again?”
“Sarah Walker,” I bite out.
“That’s right. Tell her I want to meet her.” Anna’s eyes widen. “Wait. Does she party?”
“Have fun at coffee,” I say with a small smile, and she rolls her eyes.
We part ways and I wander toward the river, plonking down beneath the brilliant carmine leaves of a flame tree. My left wrist twinges at my awkward descent, and I massage the bone beneath my surgical scar. I broke it three months ago and it still aches daily.
I pull my sketchbook from my satchel and flip through its pages, my stomach growing tighter with every half-finished drawing of Silas staring back at me. Whenever I draw, I neverintendfor him to be my subject, but my pencil automatically forms the familiar angle of his square jaw, shades beneath his sculpted cheekbones, and marks the subtle dimple in his chin, often hidden beneath dark stubble.
I pause on my last sketch, drawn four months ago. Conflicted emotions dance behind Silas’s gray-blue eyes. Even with his subtle scars, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I could spend hours perfecting the crease in his brow or the curve of his top lip, yet the sketch always feels incomplete. Now more so than ever.
Flowers flutter down around me, creating tiny ripples at the river’s edge. I turn to a blank page and submit to the golden gaze that has consumed my mind since the morning lecture. By the time the stranger’s face stares back at me from the page of my sketchbook, my wrist’s throbbing, and I’m still perplexed.Who are you?
The crunching of leaves pulls me from my thoughts. I hold my breath, hoping the person’s just passing by, butthey sit.Damn it.I track a sailboat as it glides past, water rippling in its wake.
