I put my glasses back on and made myself read the next paragraph.
“Emily?”
I looked up.
Daniel Mercer stood at the end of the table, one hand wrapped around a paper cup, the other hooked through the strap of his satchel. He was in the medieval studies doctoral cohort too, a year ahead of me and generally the sort of manpeople described as nice before running out of more interesting things to say. Tallish, neat beard, corduroy jacket, kind eyes. Safe, in the way academia often produced safe men. Slightly rumpled, slightly earnest, permanently in need of better sleep.
“Hey,” I said. “You look like you’re about to either collapse or ask me to proofread something terrible.”
He smiled. “Can’t it be both?”
“It can,” I said, “but I’d charge extra.”
He laughed softly and nodded toward the empty chair across from me. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.”
He sat, setting his coffee down beside a stack of books so carefully it was almost apologetic. For a minute we talked about ordinary things. Professor Lewis’s impossible standards. The archives’ heating issues. The rumor that the department budget was about to be hacked to pieces again by people who had never once set foot in a humanities classroom but still felt qualified to decide its value.
It was easy. Comfortable.
And perhaps that was why, when the conversation dipped, my mind betrayed me again.
Easy should not have felt so flat in comparison to one sharp look from a man I barely knew. I hated that thought on sight.
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “So, this is going to sound either normal or painfully awkward depending on how kind you’re feeling.”
“That’s a strong opening.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
“That explains why it still sounds awkward.”
He laughed softly, glanced down at his coffee, then back at me.
“I was wondering if you’d want to get coffee sometime. Not department coffee. Real coffee. Somewhere without fluorescent lighting and people pretending to enjoy committee work.”
I just looked at him.
On paper, this was exactly the kind of thing I should have wanted. Daniel was kind. Smart. Safe in the least complicated sense of the word. He didn’t make me tense. He didn’t make me feel watched. He didn’t make my pulse do anything stupid.
A sensible choice.
Maybe that was why saying yes felt less exciting and more like discipline.
I smiled anyway.
“Okay.”
His whole face brightened. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Tomorrow?”
That caught me off guard. “Tomorrow?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Before I lose my nerve.”
