Page 33 of Library or Lattes?

“I didn’t mansplain the wind. You asked a question and I answered it.”

I liked hearing the irritation in his voice, like I’d gotten under his skin.

And then I tried to tune him out.

I’d decided I didn’t need Theo’s help after all and wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking for it. I was perfectly capable of finding out everything I needed myself. So I got on with my work, researching journalism, but I kept finding myself drawn to the tour guides, the books that let me immerse myself in a life a million miles away from Oak Falls.

We spent an hour in almost-silence. I’d occasionally look up, and every time, he was concentrating really hard. Every so often he’d push his glasses back into place.

In the middle of a complicated article about writing with cultural sensitivity, I sighed. There was a lot to take in, to think about. Was I even up for this?

Theo looked up from his book. “Something wrong, Doc?”

“Nope,” I said. That nickname had to go. “Why?”

“Because you sighed, and it’s really distracting, so if I can help you fix whatever problem you have, then it would be beneficial for us both, don’t you think?” His blue eyes were cold. Judging.

“I don’t need any fixing, thank you very much. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking to me. I’m busy studying for an entrance exam to a course I want to take. In London. So why don’t you mind your own business, or go outside and explain the rain, Weatherman.”

I’d said “London” smugly, expecting recognition or at least a nod.

But he was so annoying. He just said, “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that.”

“What? Why would I ask you? And how did you know, anyway?” It was getting harder and harder to be calm.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” he scoffed, reaching over to turn my computer screen. I had the course info open in one tab, but another tab with “London tourism” at the top of the screen.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should keep your beady little eyes to yourself,” I suggested.

“So you don’t want any help?” He looked confused, but I knew it was fake.

“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t.”

He took out his phone and pretended to examine himself in the camera. “Are my eyes little and beady?” he asked with a phony, pensive face. His eyes were big and blue, surrounded by the darkest, longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. They were the kind of blue that changed color depending on the light. And every new shade of blue seemed better than the last.

When I didn’t say anything, he shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.

I slammed my pencil on the desk, earning a glance from the man a few tables down.

“Now, now, no need to become violent. Classic landspout.” Theo was laughing as he said it.

“What did you just call me?” I caught his gaze and refused to be moved by its sparkle.

He sighed. “Landspout. A tornado that forms from the ground up. Appears out of nowhere. I mean, I have a longer, more thorough explanation too, Doc, if you’d like me to mansplain it?”

“Don’t call me that. And don’t call me land … spout or whatever it was.” I forced my eyes back to my screen.

“Mmhm.” He nodded knowingly.

I was so done with this. “What?”

“Unpredictable, destructive landspout.”

I threaded my fingers together, closed my eyes, and inhaled before I spoke again.

“Yeah, well, okay. So your mom is from London. Have you ever actually been there?” I demanded.

“Have I been. To London?”