Page 5 of Safe Place

I’ve passed this place a hundred times but never imagined I’d see the inside. The moment the glass doors slide open, I feel like I’ve stepped into a different world. Everything smells faintly of citrus and fresh eucalyptus. The floors shine like water. The lighting is warm and soft—no flickering fluorescents or peeling corners like the buildings I’m used to living in.

We head toward the elevators, and I finally find my voice. “Uh, where are we going?”

“Heading back up, Mister—” the doorman starts, but Micah cuts him off.

“Looks like I’m gonna need the car,” he says, pressing the elevator button.

I freeze. “Micah?”

He glances at me, casual but firm. “We’re going to the garage. I’ll drive you.”

The elevator dings, and before I can object again, his hand rests gently at the small of my back, guiding me inside. It’s barely a touch, but I feel it everywhere. There’s an unfamiliar flutter in my stomach.

“I can walk,” I say quickly. “I really do enjoy it.” Another lie.

“Sophie,” he says, calm and clear. “Three reasons that’s not happening. First, what if that fucker from earlier follows you? Second, you look like you haven’t slept in days and you’ve been on your feet for—what, six hours? You look exhausted. And third, it’s eighty degrees outside and you’re wearing a sweatshirt. Walking for thirty minutes in that is hell.”

“So no,” he says, quieter now. “You’re not walking.”

I stare at the elevator floor, not sure if I should feel grateful or just embarrassed. It’s hot outside, sure, but the only reason I’m wearing this sweatshirt is that all my long-sleeve tees were in the hamper this morning. I didn’t get to do laundry over the weekend. And I would never go outside wearing just a short sleeve top.

“It’s cold in the cafe. And the lecture hall. And you’re wearing the exact same thing,” I mumble, still not looking at him.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one trying to walk home in it.”

There’s no teasing in his voice—just quiet concern. And for once, it seems that someone is looking out for me. I don’t know if I should run from it or just be thankful and accept it.

The elevator opens into a parking garage—quiet and spotless. My sneakers squeak against the sleek floor, and I glance around, trying not to stare. Every car here looks brand new, like it’s been detailed that morning and costs more than my entire college tuition. I don’t know much about cars, but I recognize a few brands: Mercedes, Porsche, Audi. Everything gleams. No rust, no dents, no tired paint jobs. Just shine and silence.

Micah clicks his key fob, and a sleek black BMW SUV flashes its tail lights from a few rows down.

He opens the passenger door for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I hesitate for half a second, but then I climb in, sinking into soft leather seats that feel like they were designed to make people like me feel out of place. It smells like him in here too—fresh linen and cedar, warm and clean. How did I end up in this situation? I stepped inside The Haven, and now I’m inside a BMW. I must be hallucinating.

I try to act normal. “I never thought I’d meet someone who actually lives at The Haven. That must be nice.”

“Yeah,” he says as he settles into the driver’s seat. “It’s decent.”

He pulls out of the space and glances at me. “Where do you live? On campus? Wait—I’m taking you back to campus, right?”

“Oh, uh—no. I live off campus. But yeah, I was going to the student center on campus.”

“Do you have class?”

“No. I’m applying to be a student tutor. My interview’s in—” I check my phone, “about thirty minutes.”

“You’re gonna work another job?”

I laugh, but it comes out a little awkward. “Yeah. It’s not too bad. It’s less physical than the cafe, and the pay’s decent. Just a few hours a week.” I try not to sound embarrassed, but my voice dips anyway. He’s driving a car I’d be scared to even touch, and I’m explaining why I need another job.

But Micah just nods, like it makes perfect sense.

Trying to shift the topic, I ask, “So…what are you studying? Why are you taking Intro to Comm?”

“It knocks out a prerequisite I need. And I'm majoring in Econ. What about you?”

“Political science.”

He tilts his head slightly. “You want to go to law school?”