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The groan that escaped me was almost instinctive at this point.
Anywhere but Oxford.
He stilled. “Oh, no.”
“We most certainly did not encounter one another in a university class.” I picked up my coffee cup and sipped. “How did you enjoy losing last year’s boat race?”
Will looked at me flatly. “I’m so glad we beat Cambridge every time I was on the team.”
“Well, at least I know how old you are now.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Oxford haven’t won in eight years.” I grinned.
He sighed, dipping his chin. “First you walk into me and throw coffee on me, now you’re a Cambridge graduate. Can this day get any worse?”
“I won’t tell you I’m studying for my PhD there then, no?”
“Best not to.” His lips twitched. “What’s your field of study?”
“I’m a history graduate.” I set the cup down gently. “And my PhD area is, theoretically, how the British aristocracy affected the slave trade and their relevance to British society since the United Kingdom abolished it.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s a deep field of study. Any particular reason for it?”
Yes.
I want anecdotes for dinner parties to shut up my stepmother when she goes on her factually incorrect social justice crusades.
“I enjoy connecting obscure corners of history.” I fought back a smile. “And correcting people who are wrong about historical events.”
His shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “A worthy pastime, I find.”
“It certainly doesn’t improve my relationship with my stepmother. She usually finds herself on the receiving end of my corrections,” I admitted. “Although, that’s more her fault than mine.”
His smile was so contagious that I couldn’t help but crack my lips into one, too.
“So, Grace the Cambridge graduate with an interest in obscure historical facts,” William said after a moment, still smiling, eyes still twinkling. “Since we’re both at fault for our collision outside and I’ve replaced your coffee, what are the chances of you giving me your number?”
“You’re really shooting your shot here, aren’t you?”
He held up his hands like he had when I’d pointed out the real mugs on the table. “Can you blame me?”
I stared at him for a second, fighting back a smile. The muscles in my cheek twitched as I desperately tried to keep it under control, and William retrieved his phone from his coat pocket, unlocked it, tapped a few times on the screen, and held it out to me.
It was a new contact entry on the screen.
I managed to keep my smile to myself for a second longer before I could no longer fight the urge. “Oh, all right.” I took the phone from him and entered both my name and number, then saved it and handed it back. “I suppose that’s fair.”
He grinned, then tapped his thumb on the screen and turned it to face me. He was calling me. “Now you’ve got mine.”
“Have I? Or are you just making sure I gave you the correct number?”
“Making sure you typed it in correctly, of course. Typos do happen.”
“Of course.” I pulled my phone from my bag and, ignoring Amber’s string of text messages, opened the missed call notification and showed it to him. “There. Proof of number.”
His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I do have to run. I have a meeting. I’ll talk to you soon?” He stood up, looking at me hopefully.
