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“I’m hanging up now,” I warn.
“See you in the atrium. Call me if you can’t find it.”
He hangs up too fast to catch my response.
I follow the crowd into air conditioning. It’s not quite as hot as the remnants of many Kentucky summers I’ve experienced, but warm enough, I wouldn’t voluntarily choose to prolong my time outdoors.
Caleb is easy to spot. He’s sitting on the arm of one of the couches sprinkled through the lobby-like space, typing something on his phone.
I’m not the only one looking at him. But I am the one he smiles when he sees, shoving his phone in his pocket and standing up straight.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeat, stopping a respectable distance away.
Caleb isn’t having it. He reaches out and tugs me closer, so I’m inches from his face.
He grins down at me. “This is cool, huh? Being lunch buddies.”
“Super cool,” I drawl, tempted to call him a dork again.
But I know what he means. We didn’t sit together back in high school. We were part of two very different crowds. And for the past few years, we’ve missed out on these casual, common moments.
Caleb laughs before releasing me, only to grab my hand and pull me toward the line of people waiting to enter the dining hall.
“So…how was it?” he asks me eagerly.
I’m tempted to mess with him, but I don’t. “Amazing,” I reply. “You wouldn’t believe…” I launch into a detailed retelling of my morning.
I know Caleb isn’t the least bit interested in journalism. I’ve never met a talented writerlessinterested. But he listens to me prattle on and on about every piece of wisdom my professors shared as we move along the buffet to grab lunch.
“How were your classes?” I ask when I finish talking about mine.
Caleb shrugs. “Fine.”
“That’s it? I just spent twenty minutes telling you about mine.”
“Thirty-three actually, but who’s counting?”
I stick my tongue out at him. “I was just thinking about what a thoughtful boyfriend you are, and then you ruined it.”
He laughs. “I loved hearing about your classes, Len. Business isn’t half as entertaining.”
I study him. I know Caleb’s major is mainly to placate his father. To ensure he can take his place in the lucrative company whose exact function I’m still not clear on. All I know is whatever Mr. Winters does adds to the Winters’ substantial wealth and requires a lot of overseas travel.
“You don’t like your classes?” I ask. This too, is unfamiliar ground between us. When I was at RCC, he’d never talk about academics here with me.
“They’re fine. Means to an end. C’s get degrees too, you know.”
“Uh-huh. You’d know,” I tease.
I’m certain Caleb is at the top of his—actually ours now, I guess—class.
“I can’t be smartandgood-looking, Matthews. It’s not fair to other guys.”
“It’s really not,” I agree.
He smiles. “I’m really glad—relieved—you like your classes so much. I was a little worried I was going to have to haul all ten of your boxes back to Landry after a week.”
