Page 135 of The Professor's Wife

I looked at him, then back at the sky. “Summer’s ending.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s not gone yet.”

I nodded, gripping the water bottle tightly. “I don’t want it to be over.”

I wished it would last forever.

He reached for my hand, the one the butterfly had touched. His thumb brushed over the spot where it had landed.

“Then let’s make the most of what’s left,” he said.

I knew, in that moment, that I would.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE PAST

I stirred, but my eyes remained shut.

For a few moments, I lay there on my side, aware I was rousing myself out of a deep sleep. I was almost too tired to commit to waking up, but then a sharp ache radiated from my hip. Instead of a soft mattress beneath me, there was something hard and painful.

I knew before I opened my eyes that I must have been on the floor. The familiar scent of varnish and cedar tickled my nose.

It wasn’t possible that I was at Oliver’s cabin.

Just last night, we’d come back from his reading and argued at the house. I’d said some things…

Flashes of Oliver’s darkening face hit me.

Oh, fuck.

I must have said things I shouldn’t have.

What were they exactly?

“It’s just philosophy, Oliver!”

“Just philosophy?”

“You can’t blame me for not knowing!”

“You’ve had years to pay attention.”

“Then let me go back.”

“Back where?”

“To school!”

I was clearly still dreaming, so I continued to lie there, waiting for it to be over. Waiting to wake up in my bed. To whatever rubble awaited me after our fallout.

But the sharp pains continued up and down my body until I slowly rolled onto my back, letting out a soft groan.

The sound escaping my throat jolted me fully awake.

My eyes whipped open.

Unfamiliar darkness stared back at me.