Page 31 of Safe Place

I pull up to campus at nine in the morning. The rain finally stopped an hour ago, leaving puddles scattered across the quad, and the sunlight now bounces off the damp concrete. But at least the air is cooler than it’s been in weeks. Students weave in and out of each other with steaming cups of coffee, shoulders hunched against the early chill.

I’m halfway across the quad when I see her.

Headphones in, coffee in one hand, phone tucked in the other. She’s walking slowly, eyes focused on something ahead. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks.

It’s my jacket.

The same black windbreaker I draped over her yesterday. She’s wearing it again, zipped halfway up over her hoodie. The sleeves are too long, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

And damn if it doesn’t do something to me.

I tell myself she’s just cold. Maybe it was just there, and she didn’t think twice before slipping it on. Still, something about her walking across campus in my clothes makes my chest tighten, and a warmth that I can’t quite shake settles in.

I try not to smile like an idiot, but it’s impossible.

Before I can overthink it, I lengthen my stride until I’m right beside her.

“Morning.”

She jumps a little, tugging one earbud out. “Woah—hi. You scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to.” I nod at her coffee. “Early start?”

Her mouth quirks. “As usual.”

I chuckle, falling into step with her. “Did you get home okay yesterday in the rain?”

Her gaze flickers to mine briefly, then away. “I did. It calmed down a bit by the end of the day, so the walk was alright,” she says softly.

I arch a brow. “Pretty sure you promised you’d Uber.”

She stops short, turning to face me. “I did no such thing.”

“You waved,” I say. “That’s basically a promise.”

She scoffs. “I wave at strangers, Micah. Doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to anything.” Then her eyes narrow, just a little. “Besides, I keep my promises. Unlike you.”

Oh.

I know immediately what she means. The text. The one I said I’d send.

First she was jealous of Hannah, and now this. Which means she noticed. Which means she waited.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “Things ran late and by the time I got home it was past midnight. I thought about texting, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

She hums, unconvinced.

“I mean,” I add lightly, “you knock out hard. Like a sedated walrus. You probably wouldn't even have woken up.”

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse you. I sleep like a princess.”

“You're right. You're a sleeping beauty.” I leave it to her interpretation.

We walk a few more steps, the rhythm of our strides easy and natural. And then I can’t stop myself. I glance down at her, at the oversized sleeves brushing her fingers, and let the grin slip through.

“So,” I say casually, “You like my jacket, huh?”

Her eyes widen and she looks flustered. She glances down at herself, as if just realizing she’s still wearing it.