Page 1 of American Love Story

chapter one

easton

He made my heart stop.

Over a year had passed since I’d seen Patrice Denis for the first time, and still, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Too bad I was so inconsequential to him that, he’d been in Ithaca for over a month and was yet to send me a text with as much as a “fuck you.”

I stood in the produce aisle—like a weirdo—observing him from a distance, once again feeling spooked by what Patrice’s presence did to me. He had his locs coiled on top of his head and was wearing glasses that I’d never seen before, distractedly talking to a man who seemed a lot more invested in the conversation than he was. As I watched the guy lean in close enough to brush against Patrice’s shopping cart, I gripped the handle of mine so tight it squeaked. An unexpected flare of jealousy, coming out of nowhere, just from seeing someone in his space. I shook my head and tried to remind myself I was not the jealous type.

At least I hadn’t been until Patrice Denis walked into my life.

I was still trying to decide whether I should just keep moving or go say hello when the man he’d been talking to sauntered away. Patrice looked after him, his face stony.

Okay, so not flirting. The relief loosening my chest did not go unnoticed.

I headed toward him, knowing there was a good chance I’d get the same icy reception, but I wasn’t strong enough to stay away. When my cart was only a few feet from him, he turned around and the smile he gave me was…everything. After a second, he must have realized he was beaming at me and schooled his expression.

But it was too late. I’d seen it.

He’d been happy to see me. I wascertainof it, and it gave me the last push I needed to jump back in. I leaned on the handle of my shopping cart and smiled up at him while he held a shiny red apple in his hands.

“Professor.”

He turned, fully facing me, and just having his body so close made a shiver run down my spine. He had on a Cornell sweatshirt with some cutoffs and leather flip-flops on his feet. I noticed he’d switched the stud in his nose for a small silver hoop. That big body as imposing and powerful as ever. An image of that carved chest looming over me flashed through my head and it was all I could do not to gasp.

I was staring. I knew that, but I couldn’t help it. At least he seemed a bit flustered, too, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts before answering.

“Easton. Good to see you,” he said with a sheepish look, such a contrast from the serious one from a few minutes earlier. “So is this place like a major hangout in town? It’s eight on a Sunday and I’ve already ran into like three of Nesto’s relatives and half of my department.”

No mention of his ghosting me. Banter, then; I could banter. “To be fair, his uncle and his sister do work here.”

He conceded my point with another smile, but he didn’t reply. I kept on rambling.

“Philmans is pretty busy most days, and everyone shops here. It’s actually pretty calm compared to how it is during theday on the weekend. That’s why I come here at this time. Get my shopping done faster.”

He nodded distractedly as he gave me an appreciative look, as if he was starting to remember how things had been between us last summer. Good, because I certainly had not forgotten. His eyes assessed me closely, his body leaning toward me. When his eyes finally locked with mine, they were full of heat and a hint of humor. Suddenly the man I’d been pining over for the last year was right in front of me. “Are you sure you’re not just avoiding disgruntled customers?”

I scoffed at the jab, but there was no hiding the smile which seemed to be a side effect of being around Patrice. “For your information, Professor Denis.” I used my best litigator voice. “I happen to have one of the best conviction records in the state.”

He raised an eyebrow about a hundredth of a centimeter, which I guess was his version of acknowledgement, then spoke in a more serious tone than I was hoping for. “I’m aware, Counselor.”

I nodded, feeling unsure of how heavy this conversation was about to get and desperate to come up with something to make it lighter.

I brought out my grievances instead.

“I was wondering if you’d made it up here,” I offered, lifting a shoulder, the unsaidsince I never heard from you again after you fucked me on every flat surface in my apartmenthanging in the air. “Welcome to the Finger Lakes.”

He bowed his head and started to look uncomfortable, but before I could interject, he opened his mouth.

“Sorry I didn’t get in touch. Things have been a little crazy this year. The job market was hectic and unpredictable and I didn’t decide on this position until late in the game.” He sighed and fidgeted. Almost unsure, which was very muchnotthe usual from this man.

In the time I’d spent with him, Patrice seemed to be the walking embodiment of self-possessed, so seeing this new side of him was…endearing. “It’s been an adjustment, to say the least.”

I dipped my head in response, not sure how to proceed, the pull I felt toward him on the verge of undoing my ability to carry on polite conversation. All I could think wasI want to touch you so badly.

I had no right to it though, on that, at least, I was very clear. Patrice’s lack of interest had not been exactly subtle. Last summer we’d been incendiary, coming together over and over again. From the start, the attraction between us had been undeniable. We’d see each other by chance while he was in town helping his best friend with his food truck, and inevitably we’d end up back at my place tearing each other’s clothes off. I’d felt a hunger for Patrice, that seemed insatiable, and those few weeks, I thought it was the same for him. But in the year since, his silence had been almost complete.

Despite our connection, once Patrice was gone,he was gone.