Benny begins the round. “First question: What unusual disaster struck Boston’s North End in 1919, killing over twenty people?”
I blink blankly, glancing around the table. “Seriously?”
Hayden calmly answers before forking another bite of his burger, voice low. “The Great Molasses Flood.”
Benny cheers, “Correct!”
Dominic’s eyes widen. Elijah mouths,Molasses?
The next question comes rapidly: “In 1783, which volcano’s eruption led to severe global climate changes and famine?”
Without hesitation, Hayden murmurs, “Laki, Iceland.” I could bottle that voice and sell it.
Again, correct. Dominic leans toward me, whispering, “Your crush is freakishly smart.”
I nudge him under the table, blushing furiously, but apparently, intelligence is my kink. News to me.
More questions follow—monarchs, Greek battles, even details of the history of postage stamps; Hayden mops the floor between measured bites.
Dominic fans himself. “I’m not even into nerds, but this is fucking working for me.”
After six far-too-easy-for-Hayden rounds, we win spectacularly. Benny saunters over, tossing drink vouchers onto our table as Dominic and Elijah erupt into cheers.
Hayden just finishes his dinner quietly, unfazed by the attention. It’s both maddening and endearing. How does he exist like this? This stoic, composed mystery sitting inches away from me, brilliantandattractive? I can’t tell if it’s confidence or loneliness that sets him apart. Maybe both. Either way, I can’t help but look.
Dominic slings an arm around my shoulders, slurring happily, “If you don’t invite Mr. Trivia Genius here to our anti-Valentine’s party, I will.”
I freeze, imagining polished Hayden at our inevitably chaotic “Anything But Love” gathering. “Uh, maybe,” I mumble.
Hayden stands gracefully, buttoning his coat. “I should head out.”
“I’ll walk with you,” I say quickly, standing, too. I ignore Dominic’s and Elijah’s delighted expressions.
Hayden lifts an eyebrow. “If you insist.”
Dominic clutches his heart theatrically. “They grow up so fast.”
Elijah raises his glass. “Have fun, kids. Play safe.”
“Good night, assholes,” I say fondly.
And after a pause, Hayden extends a hand, motioning for me to lead the way.
As we step out of the bar, the darkness wraps around us, interrupted only by the distant glow of streetlamps. The winter air feels less severe than it did a few hours ago. Or, maybe I’m just still buzzing from the gin.
I steal a glance at Hayden. The quiet streets of Stonevale suit him. Even in the breeze, his hair remains stubbornly perfect, not a single strand rebelling, like even the wind knows better than tomess with Hayden Harlow. I wait for him to say something. A jab about trivia, perhaps, or an amused observation on the state of Franny’s sticky floor. But he remains silent. He simply walks beside me, eyes forward, comfortable in the in-between moments like he was when we grabbed coffee.
It’s unnerving. My whole life, I’ve been the one who fills silences with nervous chatter or anything that might smooth over awkward pauses. But Hayden carries silence effortlessly, as though he doesn’t owe the world anything beyond his presence.
His measured pace eventually slows in front of a neatly kept brick building. Hayden’s home, I presume. My chest tightens, though I’m unsure what exactly I’m waiting for. Maybe some sign from him, a clue that this night mattered, that trivia perhaps was more than just trivia. But Hayden gives nothing away.
He turns to face me fully.
“Thank you for tonight,” he says, his eyes thoughtful. “It was…unexpectedly enjoyable.”
“Unexpectedly?” I tease, suddenly feeling bold. “I’ll have you know, my friends and I are universally delightful.”
“Clearly.”
