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“I have,” she replies, her eyes lighting up. “The way magic is woven into the narrative—it’s stunning.” She leans back, animated. “But what really got me was the subtlety of the romance, how it built up slowly.”
“Yes.” I grin, surprised and thrilled by our shared appreciation. “It wasn’t just about the spectacle—it was the nuance, the tension between the characters.”
“Character-driven stories always hit harder, don’t they? Like in ‘Atonement.’ The twist there shattered me,” she says, a touch of enthusiasm in her voice.
“Briony’s realisation and the consequences?” I shake my head in disbelief. “That ending is brutal.”
“Right? You think it’s one thing, but then—“ Ever snaps her fingers, “—it flips on you.”
“Perfectly executed.” I nod, feeling that buzz you get when someone just gets it. Getsyou. We’re vibing on a level I didn’t know was possible with anyone.
“Dark academia novels, though.” She shifts, eager to dive into another topic. “There’s something about them—the ambience, the intellect, the moral ambiguity.”
“Like ‘If We Were Villains’?” I suggest, watching her reaction closely. This change in topic has hit me hard in the guts. We are standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to fall off and plummet to the ground where secrets and darkness lie in wait.
“God, yes!” Her expression is pure excitement. “The blurred lines between right and wrong, the loyalty among the characters even as everything falls apart.”
“Life’s not black and white,” I muse aloud, our thoughts mirroring each other, as I try to drip-feed her possibilities that she is going to have to accept sooner rather than later. “It’s all those shades of grey that make a story resonate.”
“Yes! Exactly, Ben. You get it.” Her green eyes lock onto mine, and it’s like we’re the only two people who understand some secret language.
Fuck. I’ve fallen for her in one afternoon on a level that is intellectual, spiritual and emotional. The obsession with her pales in comparison to this sudden surge of raw intensity; I need to know more. I need to knoweverything.
Ever is finishing her coffee and looking at her phone. “I’d better get moving. These essays won’t write themselves,” she says lightly.
“True. Can I read them when you’re done?”
Her wide, shocked stare makes me curse inwardly.I’ve pushed too far, too fast. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I want to be the one to say I read your early work when you’re a literary genius claiming your Pulitzer in a few years.”
“Oh, my. Now you’re talking dirty to me.”
My cock springs to attention. “Is that a yes?” My voice is hoarse with desire.
“Sure, I guess. As long as you promise to be kind.”
“Always. But I’m sure they will be exceptional, just like the woman who created them.”
Our gaze locks and I lean forward, ready to capture her mouth with mine, but she breaks off and stands up, clearing her throat.
Disappointed, I rise as well. “I’ll walk back with you.”
“Sure,” she murmurs, and things have taken a sudden cooler turn. I shot my bolt too soon, and now I’ve ruined everything.
Walking side by side, our footsteps fall into a comfortable rhythm despite the sudden awkwardness surrounding us.
“This was good,” I say, my hands shoved into my pockets, needing to break the silence.
“It was,” Ever agrees with a soft smile. “I didn’t expect to find someone here who actually shared my taste in books.”
“KnightsGate has its surprises.”
“That it does.”
As we reach the front steps of our shared house, the silence isn’t awkward anymore; it’s filled with unspoken words, a mutual understanding that we’vestumbled upon something rare—a genuine connection in a place where appearances often matter more than reality.
But something is holding her back.
