He clicks a button on the tiny remote, and the screen switches to a pair of labeled photos. “My two focus species are the endemicPitcher’s Thistle,Cirsium pitcheri, and the invasive Spotted Knapweed,Centaurea stoebe.”
I remember him agonizing over these exact pictures weeks ago, asking me which ones looked best. I’d told him he was overthinking it. They were all good.
He paces the front of the hall, speaking enthusiastically with his hands, voice steady. “I wanted to investigate how Spotted Knapweed affects pollination rates of the Pitcher’s Thistle. Because the thistle only grows on the shores of the Great Lakes, it’s incredibly sensitive to disturbances. Competition for space, resources, and pollinators from invasive species can threaten its survival.”
He sounds so poised and confident, even with hundreds of eyes glued to him. It makes my chest bloom with warmth.
Slide after slide, he explains his methods, graphs, and data. When a photo of the research plots comes up, my breath catches. I remember driving stakes into the sand with him that day, both of us sweaty and laughing, his hand brushing mine.
In a way, this whole presentation is a record of our summer together. His research was what brought us together to the same place at the same time, like planets aligning.
The professors lean forward, nodding along. The students scribble notes. Hunter has their attention hooked. And me? I couldn’t be prouder.
Finally, the last slide appears:Acknowledgements.
Hunter clears his throat. “I want to thank the Claremont Shores DNR staff for their support this summer, and Dr. Maxwell, who guided me through this project.”
He pauses. My stomach twists when I see the last name on the list.
Mason Burke.
Hunter’s voice softens. “And, um… I’d like to thank Mason Burke for everything he helped me with this summer.”
Heat floods my face. I clutch the bouquet in my lap tightly, the thorns digging into my palms. My heart pounds so hard it feels like the entire lecture hall must hear it.
The room roars with applause, the sound swallowing me whole.
Then the moderator announces time for questions, and half the room’s hands shoot into the air. Hunter fields them with ease, answering each one with that same confidence, his voice smooth and animated.
I listen to him talk about invasive species, pollination rates, and the subtle distinctions between two types of bees. His eyes shimmer with passion.
And that’s when it hits me with irrevocable certainty. Hunter’s a complete nerd—and I’m completely in love with him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The applause still echoes in my ears as the lights come up and students begin to file out. Professors shake my hand, their smiles wide, their words tumbling over each other—impressive work, polished presentation, promising research.I grin until my cheeks ache and nod until my neck stiffens.
By the time I pack up my laptop, I’m still buzzing with excitement. Maybe, despite how it ended, this summer was a blessing. Seeing the looks on the faces in the audience made all of it worthwhile.
I push open the doors into the cool night air, the energy of the crowd still pulsing through me—then stop dead.
Mason stands just beyond the glow of the campus lights, dressed in dark pants and a blue collared shirt, a bouquet of red roses clutched awkwardly in his hands. His curls fall loosely to his shoulders like a golden waterfall. His eyes lock on mine, wide and uncertain, but there’s no mistaking the raw emotion written all over his face.
My heart stumbles. For a second, all the noise from the lecture hall, all the praise, all the validation—it fades away. It’s just him. Him, and the raw ache of his rejection.
Mason steps toward me. “Congratulations, Hunter.”
He thrusts the bouquet of roses into my arms. I just stare at them, stunned. He’s really here—in Shelby Harbor, on campus—trying to swoon me like he didn’t already tear my heart to shreds.
My jaw tightens. “What are you doing here?”
His throat bobs. “I came to watch your presentation. You did great.”
“You drove over three hours just for that?” I ask dryly. “There was a livestream, you know.”
“I know.” He shifts on his feet. “But I wanted to see you.”
Anger boils inside me. I shove the bouquet back into his chest, hard enough to make him stumble. “Fuck you, Mason.”
