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It begins again. The tickle in my gut. That feeling of numbness in my toes. I watch his eyelashes flutter against the wind, and if this isn’t smitten, then the fish in this Styrofoam box has gone bad.
And I have no business feeling this way about another girl’s boyfriend.
OCTOBER
14
IFEEL LIKEIHAVEN’T LEFT THIS LIBRARY IN WEEKS.NOT THATI don’t appreciate the atmosphere—it’s the lack of progress in my research that’s becoming tedious. Every day, every spare moment from the time I arrive on campus until I leave well after dark, I comb the shelves for one book that inevitably leads to another in an endless thread that never reaches a destination.
Tonight is no exception. It’s nearing eight o’clock, and I’ve already been here for four hours. When my eyes are so tired I can barely read the words on the page, I take a break and step outside with a candy bar I stuck in my bag a week ago. It’s only mostly melted.
The weather’s changing. Now well into October, the autumn chill has settled in. The cold stone steps sting through my jeans as I sit down and check my phone to find missed texts from Celeste, Eliza, and my dad. I answer his first, assuring him I’m still alive and well. Then Celeste, who’s taken an interest in my Tulley endeavor.
Celeste: Roberto showed the picture around to some people he knows at the archive department of the BBC. No help there. Sorry.
Me: Worth a try. Thank him again for me xx
Look at me, texting all British-like. Ending my texts with kisses has become a habit now.
Celeste: I think I’ve got him hooked. He wants to meet with his friend who teaches in the history department at Cambridge. See if they can’t find a name.
Me: Sorry I’ve hijacked your boyfriend lol
Celeste: This is better than telly. Speaking of which… I got drinks with Yvonne and Nate last night. He asked about you.
I don’t know how to answer that, but I know bait when I see it.
Celeste: That must have been some road trip you two took.
Me: It was fine.
Celeste: Right. You stick with that story.
Nate was a perfect gentleman during our visit to Rye. Nothing remotely scandalous or untoward occurred. Except in my head, where the scent of motor oil and warm engines reminds me of his broad chest beneath my palms as we traversed the country roads.
In the nearly two weeks since he brought me home to Notting Hill, I’ve found myself obsessing over the most random details about Nate. Like the tiny tears in his jeans. The frayed edges around his back pockets where the permanent outlines of his phone and wallethave become lighter than the rest of the fabric. How soft his T-shirt was. The small scar over his eyebrow. That gravelly tone to his voice.
I’ve entirely lost my mind.
But Celeste’s not allowed to know that.
Eliza, on the other hand…
Me: OMG has it really been a week since I messaged you?? I’m so sorry I’ve been out of touch. I live in the library now.
Eliza: No worries. Just keeping my promise to check in when I haven’t heard from you in a while. You know, making sure you weren’t murdered in a dark alley during a Jack the Ripper walking tour.
Me: That was oddly specific. (P.S. I’m still alive)
Eliza: Speaking of Jacks. How’s Hot Jack? Have you played bedroom rugby yet?
Me: Nope. Lee’s strict about his house rules.
And Jack’s busy hooking up with anyone but me, I decide not to add. At least that’s what I think he’s doing. He hasn’t been around much lately.
Eliza: Boring. And you haven’t met anyone else you like? In two months??
Me: Well…
