Page 56 of I’ll Find You

She turns slightly, still chewing. “Was it fun?” she asks. A mischievous twinkle in her eye leads me to believe that was a loaded question.

I nod, a smile forming, meeting hers. “Yeah. We had a great time. I met his cousins and we—” I stop myself, redirecting. “My aunt showed up.” If Chelsea thought I was changing the subject, she doesn’t comment.

She lights up immediately. “That’s so good. I know you were sad about not being with family over break and Christmas, so that’s amazing. I’m really happy for you, Rose.”

“Thanks,” I say, nodding. “It was.” I pause and then add, “What about you? You look incredible. Seeing you this tan is making me crave the sun.”

Her phone buzzes beside her. She glances at it, sends a quick reply, then flips it facedown again. I watch her for a moment, really taking her in. There’s something about Chelsea that always throws me off. It’s not just the way she looks. It's more the way she carries herself. There’s a polished look to her, everything about her is just too deliberate. Even sitting at the bar, she doesn’t fidget as most people do. She just exists.

Her skin still carries that warm, sunlit glow, her freckles more pronounced now, softening her features. Dark hair falls in loose waves around her face and shoulders, effortless in a way that feels unfair. It’s then that I notice that she looks a lot like me. The way that I’m dressed and the hair, except mine, is a lot lighter. Her face is too balanced, too put together, everything just falls exactly where it should.

The only imperfection is her teeth. She’s never had braces. We talked about it once. She told me she just didn’t care. Her parents easily could have afforded it, but she never wanted it. With how put together she is in every other way, it almost seems impossible. There’s something almost unreal in the way she holds herself. Calm. Composed. Untouchable. And I hate, just a little, how easy it looks on her.

She turns toward me fully now, hands resting on the bar as she turns her body in my direction. She’s finished eating, pushing the plate forward. I tense slightly, unsure what she’s about to say. It feels as though maybe she brought me here for a reason.

“Rose, I really think you should⁠—”

She cuts off mid-sentence, her gaze turning toward the door. Her expression tenses just enough for me to notice. I follow her line of sight.

The door swings open, and with it comes a sharp gust of cold before it swings shut again. Maxwell steps inside alone, brushing snow from his shoulders. His eyes look around, landing on us almost too quickly. It’s like he already knew where we’d be. For a second, he just stands there. Deciding something? I have no idea, just that he’s not someone I wanted to run into here. Then he starts toward us with slow, deliberate steps.

I glance at Chelsea, “I thought⁠—”

“Lucinda was coming, too,” she says, though there’s uncertainty in her voice now. Maxwell reaches the bar, offering a tentative smile.

“Hey.” His eyes move to Chelsea and then back to me. “Can I sit?”

Something in my chest squeezes. A feeling of sadness at the loss of friends and how everything went down between us. I didn’t want to speak to him, but after everything that’s happened, and then getting called into the dean's office because of him, I think we need to have this conversation.

Chelsea slides off her stool. “I’ll give you guys some space. I need to grab a prescription anyway.” She gives me an apologetic look before grabbing her jacket and heading out without looking back.

Maxwell takes her seat, moving uncomfortably, dragging a hand through his hair. He clears his throat, fingers brushing the back of his neck. He’s already bracing himself, but instead turns to me. “I—uh…I wanted to apologize. For what happened. For how I acted. I mean for what I did. All of it,” he huffs out. “I wasn’t in a good place back then. Not really thinking straight.” His voice sounds more confident. Yet rehearsed, like he’s said this part plenty of times before today. I wonder if he has and to whom else. He exhales, glancing down at the table before continuing.

“Lucinda and I...we're not together. We haven't been for a while.” He hesitates, his jaw tensing. “And she never admitted to writing those notes. I didn't want you thinking it was just me. That I was the one behind all of it.” His fingers tap once against the table before going still. He hangs his head and drags a hand over the light stubble on his jaw. “I was going out a lot. Drinking too much, honestly. Every time. Just getting wasted.” He lets out a short breath. “That night, I don’t know. Something felt off. I swear it did. I felt…wrong. I swear I’d been drugged.” He looks up then, meeting my eyes, and I see the sincerity in them. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” A pause. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I hope that you can forgive me.”

I don’t answer right away. I study him for a moment. Then the words leave my mouth, surprising even me. “I forgive you.” My voice is calmer than I thought I could manage. I’m not angry anymore. In fact, if he hadn’t done that, then I would have never moved in with Alex, maybe things wouldn’t have happened the way they did, but I can’t deny that I’m happy the way this ended up, with me in his bed and on the verge of feeling something that feels a lot like being in love with my soulmate.

Maxwell exhales, like he’s been waiting for me to say those words and not thinking I ever would.

“But something did happen, Maxwell,” I add, glancing at his hands before looking back up. “Someone vandalized my car. The question is who? If I’m being honest, I’m still a little shaken.”

“Rose, I swear it wasn’t me, and Lucinda denies it, too.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She's still the only logical choice. Maxwell leans forward slightly, tension pulling tight through his shoulders. “Did they find anything? Anyone?”

I shake my head. “Not yet, but speaking of our roommate,” I make a point of looking around in case she walked in without me noticing, “where is she?”

Maxwell’s cheeks turn a shade of pink as he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I think she was embarrassed about the…” He slouches, looking away without meeting my gaze. “The position you found us in. A lot of that is actually fuzzy, to be honest.”

I nod, but just keep studying him, wondering if I should probe further. This might be my only chance. “And you?” I ask lightly. “How are things at home?” I try to keep it casual. Careful with my questioning.

Maxwell stills for just a second. “Fine,” he says too quickly. His gaze slips away before he adds, “Yeah. They're fine.”

Chapter

Thirty-Three

Rose

Later that week, after Lucinda failed to show, Chelsea and I met at our usual spot to study. I was telling her about the fundraiser for the animal shelter that I was helping raise money for by running on Saint Patrick’s Day. She seemed genuinely interested.