Page 7 of Breakaway Hearts

“History,” I answer anyway.

“That’s…”

“Not what you were expecting?”

“Ten guesses and I wouldn’t have been close.”

“I have no idea what I’ll do when I graduate, but I love learning about the past, so hopefully I’ll figure something out.”

I mean, obviously the dream is to go pro, but I’m not cocky or delusional enough to plan my entire life around it. Not that I have a plan other than the NHL…but the hockey thing is expected, and for some reason, I want to surprise her again.

“That was my favorite class in high school,” she admits with a hint of…sadness? Regret?

“Law pays more bills?” I guess.

“Something like that,” she agrees, but her smile is sad, and I don’t like that.

“Are you taking any cool electives at least? Can you? My cousin-person was apparently very one track while she was studying. Constantly super busy.” Which I only know because they still tease her about it, comparing it to my hockey, but Haylie’s the first one to force the rest of us to let loose now.

“Cousin-person?” Madison asks instead of answering.

“Technically, she’s only related to my siblings, through their mom, but she’s cool.” Haylie is a badass lawyer married to a musician. You definitely want her on your side in an argument. “Back to you, any history electives?”

“I figured psychology would be more useful.”

“That’s my minor,” I admit, smiling at another interest we have in common. The minor wasn’t intentional, but I chose classes that sounded cool and fit my schedule, then my advisor pointed out I was a few credits away, so I went with it.

“Not at all⁠—”

“What you were expecting?” I ask, smiling. I can’t help it.

“I guess I sometimes judge a book by its cover.” It looks hard for her to admit, and I don’t think most people would own up to it, so I don’t rib her for it.

“I love books.”

“Real ones?” she asks. I’m almost hurt she thinks I can’t read, before she adds, “Or the metaphorical one I’m judging you on?”

“All of them. Your cover brought me over, but I’m seeing the story is going to keep me here a lot longer.”

“You saying my looks are fading?” She pretends to be offended, and I love how she’s keeping me on my toes.

“Improving, actually. I know I shouldn’t say this, but every time you smile it makes your eyes sparkle.”

“I don’t smile,” she argues. “I’m told I always look concerned.”

“I wish I had a mirror.” I sort of want to take my phone out for a picture, because she’s definitely smiling, clearly not on purpose, and my chest warms at the thought that it’s not only not a regular occurrence, it’s because of me.

“As long as I’m not blushing.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but…” She is. And it’s adorable.

“I should get out of here.”

“You could...but what’s your favorite book?”

She’s onto me, how I keep asking questions every time she tries to leave, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she shakes her head. “I don’t have time to read.”

“When you did?”