I flip another page, and my gaze snags on a photo of Mason in a collared shirt, the caption beneath it reading:Class President.
“Whoa,” I say, tapping the picture. “You were class president?”
“Oh, yeah.” He chuckles, but his tone is almost shy. “I know it’s basically a popularity contest, but I did take it seriously. I liked helping people—even if it was just making sure the vending machines got restocked or planning pep rallies.”
I pause, eyes flickering back at the photo. “So did you always know you wanted to major in political science?”
His smile fades into something steadier, more grounded. “Yeah. It was a no-brainer for me in college. I grew up watching my mom juggle food stamps, getting denied for programs that were supposedto help, figuring out how to pay for my insulin. I wanted to fix all that.”
Something in my chest tightens. “Have you ever thought about going back? You could do an online program, finish your degree.”
He stares down at his bedsheets. “No. I don’t have the time or money. And honestly…” He exhales, running his hand down his face. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”
The air between us stills. I could push, but I don’t.
I close the yearbook and set it on his nightstand. “Okay,” I say softly.
He leans back against the pillows, pulling me down with him until I’m tucked under his arm again. His breathing gradually evens out, slow and steady.
For a few minutes, we just lie there, his fingers idly tracing my shoulder. Then, in that lazy morning voice of his, he asks, “Hey… have you thought any more about letting me teach you how to swim?”
I groan into his chest. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Nope.” His lips twitch into a smirk I can feel more than see. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you,” I say honestly. “I just… it’s embarrassing. I’m a grown man who can’t swim.”
“You’re a grown man who hasn’t learnedyet. And it’s more common than you’d think. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrays me with a smile. “You’re relentless.”
“I’mdetermined,” he corrects, sitting up with a sudden burst of energy. “And guess what? I’ve got the whole day off. Sun’s out, water’s calm. Today is literally the perfect day to get in the lake.”
I give him a wary look. “You’ve already planned this out in your head, haven’t you?”
“Obviously,” he says, grinning. “So… you in?”
I sigh. “Fine. But if I drown, I’m haunting you.”
He pecks my cheek. “Deal. You’ll be the sexiest ghost ever.”
I shake my head, but he’s already climbing out of bed, clearly thrilled with himself. And maybe, despite my nerves, I’m kind of glad he talked me into it.
“I should stop at home first. Need to shower and grab my swim trunks,” I say, stretching my arms overhead.
“Alright. I’ll pick you up around noon?”
“Sure.”
He smiles and leans down to kiss me, but I slap my hand over my mouth. He frowns.
“I have morning breath,” I say through clenched teeth.
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t care.”
Before I can protest, he pulls my hand away and kisses me anyway—soft and unhurried, his palms sliding down to my waist to squeeze me closer.
When we separate, he murmurs, “I’ll walk you out,” and places his hand on the small of my back.
