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“I was already up. Is there a reason why you’re upset with them?”

“I’ve just had a frustrating start to my day. I’ve got a horrible headache, and Laburnum has declined my application.”

“You sent it in?”

“Two days ago.”

“And they’ve already rejected you?” Indignation sharpened Molly’s tone as she pulled open a drawer and fished out the nearly empty bottle of ibuprofen.

“They are nothing if not efficient.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop, steadily increasing in speed. “And not especially desperate to fill this sub position. At least not desperate enough to consider me.”

The only help she could provide was to offer him two tablets. “Have you taken anything for your head? I don’t want to see any new Post-its on that refrigerator. It’s a headache kind of day, clearly.”

“I haven’t had any strokes recently.”

“Neither have I, depending on your definition of recent.”

Aster shook his head but took the medicine anyway.

Molly swallowed her own with a sip of water from the kitchen sink and debated voicing the question tapping at the inside of her skull. She gave in. “Why Laburnum? Why not apply to any other pretentious prep school? We’re practically bursting with them in this part of the country.”

After several beats of stony contemplation, during which time he delivered Molly a perfectly calibrated cup of coffee, he finally said, “It’s complicated. The Bishops have had deep connections to that school for almost a century. I’m fourth generation legacy. The music hall is named after my grandfather—”

“Archer Hall is named after your grandfather?”

Aster hummed an agreement and continued, “Plus my father has had his hands in various boards and committees there for most of my life. I doubt he appreciated being left out of the loop that I planned to apply. Which, honestly, could explain the quick rejection. But I feel like my time there was . . . wasted in some ways. I didn’t have the kind of experience I expected. And, I don’t know, there’s a part of me that wants the chance to fix it.”

He didn’t look at her, eyes glued to the coffee maker on the counter beside him.

“Is that why you were always so . . .” Molly started.

“Obnoxious? Entitled?”

“Mad at me?”

He visibly tensed.

A moment later, he heaved a sigh as if coming to a decision. Carefully, he set his coffee on the counter. “We should probably have this conversation. Well, again. Took me about a year of therapy through campus health to sort it all out.”

With such an introduction, Molly’s heartbeat skittered, little bursts of adrenaline tensing her. “What conversation?”

“I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at me. And my father. And, to a lesser extent, my mother. My father is a very powerful, very successful, and very exacting man. I know it’s no excuse, but his expectations were crushing me before I’d ever set foot in that school. I was miserable. And more stressed out than any teenager should be. It felt like if I failed, or failed to achieve what I was supposed to, I would lose everything I had. Which was also everything I knew at the time. Those were impossible stakes for me to manage.

“And then you showed up, this genius every teacher instantly loved, best friends with Roy Waters, who was some kind of baseball god—please never tell him I said that. Laburnum was supposed to be easy for me. Not you. I was a sad, shitty kid who took it out on you and your friends.”

“It wasn’t easy for me at all,” Molly blurted, releasing the breath she’d held through his entire speech.

“I know. I know that now. And I’m sorry. For all of it. Molly, I am so unbelievably sorry.”

Molly had to swallow over a lump in her throat.

“Thank you,” she said, words quiet as she braved eye contact. Aster stood beside her, slightly out of breath, expression utterly beseeching. She offered him a small smile, reaching for his hands.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You are a beautiful, benevolent creature.”

Molly jolted as Aster suddenly pulled her closer. When his hands found the sides of her face, she drew in a shallow breath, a land mine exploding beneath her.

“I know it’s a weekday and you have other things to focus on,” he started, voice dipping as his words skated across her skin. His right hand began to wander, fingers gliding up and down her neck, to the back of her head, traveling the length of her braid. “But I’m wondering if I might request an exception?”