After fiddling with the corner of my sketchbook for several minutes, I throw my pencil down and lean forward to glare at the person intruding on my leafy sanctuary. I clutch the book to my chest.
It’s the man from my lecture, his broad shoulders lazing against the tree trunk. His head’s tilted back, eyes closed, dark blond brows pinched together. The baffling sense of familiarity I experienced in the lecture hall comes rushing back.Where have I seen him before?The answer feels just out of reach, like a misplaced word playing on the tip of my tongue.
A crew of rowers glide past, the coxswain’s bellow shattering the quiet morning air. The man’s amber eyes shoot open and catch me staring. He jolts forward, his eyebrows raised as he surveys every inch of me. I should look away, but I’m frozen like a second-hand laptop. His gaze lifts to my heated cheeks, and a subtle, knowing smile creeps across his lips.
My sketchbook slips, and I fumble it back against my chest. “I’m sorry. I was just leaving.” I throw my drawing utensils into my satchel and jump to my feet.
“Wait,” he says. It’s only one word, but his warm voice vibrates through me, both familiar and foreign, like the melody of a long-forgotten song.
He runs his hands through his messy hair, throwing my brain into another déjà vu flurry. I take a step toward him. “Do I know you from somewhere?” The moment the words leave my mouth, the tips of my ears grow warm.Shut up and leave, Mariella.I shake my head. “Sorry, I’m—”Deranged.“Sleep deprived.”
He puts his hands behind his head and leans back against the tree. “Is that why you were stalking me in the lecture hall back there?” He cocks a brow.
“What?I wasn’t—” Is he enjoying watching me squirm?
“What were you drawing?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the sketchbook still clutched in my hands.
“Nothing.” My grip tightens and he tilts his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I demand.
“Like what?” he teases. “Are you going to let me see your sketches or not?”
“Of course not. I don’t even know you.”
“I thought you said you did?” he says, and I smile despite myself, my hand rising to my mouth to cover it.
He tilts his head to the space beside him, a silent request. I eye him and sit, leaving a solid yard between us. “So… what were you doing in Professor McGregor’s class?”
“Who says I’m not a student?” he asks in a taunting tone.
I search his tanned face, his blond, windswept hair. “Are you?”
“No. I was there to meet with McGregor.”
I note the casual way he speaks of Professor McGregor. It’s not uncommon for fellow academics to drop in on each other’s lectures, but something nags in my gut. “Why?”
“So inquisitive,” he murmurs.
“So evasive,” I fire back, and a surprised laugh bursts from him, melting the tension in my chest.
He leans toward me. There’s a daring glint in his eyes, his mouth curving into a wicked smile. “So, how long have you been preying on innocent men in dark lecture halls, stalker?” he says.
I tighten my lips to suppress a smile. “It’s Mariella—Ella.”
His eyes widen and the smile on his lips falters, but it’s so quick I might have imagined it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ella. I’m Parker.” When he says my name, it’s as if he’s savoring the sound, triggering another memory I can’t place.
“And you’re sure we’ve never met?” I ask again.
“People always say that to me. I must have one of those faces,” he says, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “What drew you to psychology?”
There’s a flash of navy scrubs and green linoleum floors. White coats and black Velcro bed restraints. A shiver curls down my spine.The fear of ending up like her.“I want to develop a new framework for the early diagnosis and treatment of mental illness. And eventually, I’d like to become a clinical psychologist.”
He nods. “You want to help people.”
“I’d like to try.”
His head cocks to the side. “So, Mari. Tell me—”
