Page 51 of Safe Place

There’s half an hour left of my bookstore shift. It’s been productive—more productive than most days, honestly. I get a lot of studying done while I’m here. And I’m getting paid for it, so that’s a win.

Poppy always makes sure I have snacks—and occasionally a sandwich—tucked into my bag, so I’m not even hungry right now. It’s really been great living with her. I’m really lucky to have found her.

Also, studying with Wyatt helped a lot. He explained some of the trickier Con Law concepts in a way that actually makes sense. He’s clearly passionate about it—not surprising, considering it probably runs in his blood. His dad’s a judge on the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court, after all. Wyatt would make a great lawyer, just like his father was before becoming a judge.

Maybe that’s why all of this feels harder for me. Because unlike Wyatt, I don’t want this. Not really. Getting a scholarship to Westcliffe hadn’t been too difficult—I kept good grades in high school without trying too hard. We’d go through one chapter a week back then. Now it’s an entire chapter per lecture, and keeping my scholarship feels like a constant uphill climb.

If I had the freedom, I’d love to take some writing courses. But I finished my writing requirements last year, and I can’t afford to waste credits on classes that don’t count toward my major.

I pull out the small notebook I carry everywhere, and flip through the recent pages.

Micah. Micah. Micah. Written on almost every page.

He’s been in my head way too much lately. If anyone ever got their hands on this notebook, they’d think I’m a full-on crazy stalker.

But maybe I should take him up on that date. I know I’d get attached—of course I would—but maybe I should just suck it up. Honestly, it wouldn’t even be the worst thing in the world to finally lose my virginity. And if it were with Micah, I think I might actually feel safe. I don’t think he’d judge me.

The bell above the door rings, and I look up to see Micah. Of course.

I hurriedly shove my notebook under the counter. If he ever read the things I wrote in there, I’d die on the spot.

He’s wearing a Westcliffe shirt again.

“You know you don’t have to wear that, right?” I say, smiling despite myself. “What Ella says about my wardrobe doesn’t bother me.”

“Who’s Ella? I’m wearing this because I have an excellent sense of style.”

My heart skips—like it always does when he says things like that. I know he’s just trying to make me feel at ease, but it works too well. Every little thing he does makes my stomach flutter to the point of pain.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“What, I can’t come to the campus bookstore and pick up some books?” he teases.

“Okay, then what books are you looking for?” I press, raising a brow.

“Uh, a dictionary?” He flashes a cocky smile.

I roll my eyes as he walks up to the register.

“Did you eat lunch?” he asks.

“Yeah, Poppy made me a sandwich.” I hold up the crumpled wrapper as proof.

“Good.” He leans casually against the counter, but there’s something deliberate in his tone when he says, “Actually, I came here to talk to you about something.”

“I’m listening,” I say, trying to sound unaffected.

“I have an extra car. I don’t use it much since I usually take the BMW. I was wondering if you could, you know, take it off my hands. Drive it to class, the cafe, home.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“Cars shouldn’t sit unused for too long. It’s bad for them,” he explains, his tone way too casual for what he’s asking. “You’d be doing me a favor, honestly.”

“That’s insane. Micah, I can’t. I already told you I don’t have much driving experience. I’d never forgive myself if I scratched it or—God forbid—crashed it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s not nearly as expensive as my BMW, and that’s what insurance is for anyway.”

I cross my arms. “Even if you say that, I wouldn’t be able to pay you back if something happened.”