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Over the summer I came across the cutest sweater in the world online and I just had to buy it. It’s a cream-colored sweater with tapered sleeves, and the end of the right sleeve is colored yellow, with two black eyes drawn on so that it looks like the head of a goose.
My chest practically melted when I saw it, and I’ve been looking forward to the first day it’s cold enough to wear it ever since.
I let out a tiny squeal of joy when I take it out of my closet. It’s so dang cute that it makes me feel warm and fuzzy all over, more than enough to keep the chill of the morning at bay.
After a shower, I match my goose sweater with a navy-blue skirt. Probably by ten or eleven it’ll be warm enough for me to take off the sweater, but I’ll enjoy wearing it until then.
I walk downstairs to the living room where Olivia’s sipping a cup of coffee. She looks at me and immediately laughs. “Oh my gosh. The freaking sweater.”
I’m beaming from ear to ear. I lift my right arm and angle my hand to mimic the neck of a goose. “Honk, honk.”
Olivia almost spits out her sip of coffee. “You are such a dork, Summer,” she says, her cheeks bright. “But I love you for it.”
“There is nothing dorky about a cute goose sweater,” I protest.
“Honk, honk,” she says teasingly, bopping me on the nose with her index finger as she walks past me to the door. “Lunch at twelve?”
“Meet at the coffee shop?”
She shoots me a thumbs up before leaving for class. I have about twenty minutes before I need to leave, so I take my time savoring a cup of coffee and smiling as I look at my adorable sweater in the living room mirror.
I’m thankful for the sweater, and not just because of its cuteness, when I step outside and feel the bracing chill in the air. Summers in Vermont may be gorgeous, but they don’t linger. Before long, bundling up before stepping foot outside is going to be a necessity.
Psychology is my first class of the day. Once it’s over, I notice that there’s a feeling of anticipation in my chest, accompanied by a tightness low in my center.
After a brief walk across campus to the Liberals Arts building, I’ll be sitting next to Hudson again.
A chill skitters up my spine when I remember the cords of defined muscle rippling down his arms, his impossibly wide chest, his thick black hair, and most of all his bright, greyish blue eyes.
I pass the campus coffee shop on the way, and a thought occurs to me. I stop inside to pick up a drink, and then proceed to English class.
I take my place in the same seat as last time. I say a quick hello to the girl to my right, but she’s busy chatting away with a guy she’s sitting next to. So, I just wait with anticipation until the space to my left is filled by the grumpy hockey player.
Who, hopefully, I’ll be able to make a little less grumpy this time.
The air seems to crackle with electricity when he lowers his massive frame into the seat next to me. Underneath my sweater and t-shirt, I feel my nipples firming up. Must be a delayed reaction to the chill outside.
I turn to Hudson and summon an enthusiastic smile. “I bet I can guess your drink.”
His head slowly turns. My stomach does a backflip when his icicle blue gaze settles on me. “Huh?”
“Your morning drink. I bet I can guess what you like.”
One of his eyebrows rises slightly, and I think I can see just the slightest glimmer of interest in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Black coffee. Nothing in it.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. I feel the vibration from the sound low in my belly. A chill dances down my back at how good it sounds, deep and gravely. Something tells me it’s not a sound he makes often, but he should.
“That obvious, huh?” he asks.
“Definitely,” I say. My smile grows broader as I notice the edges of his lips twitch the teensiest, tiniest bit.
Enough to call it a smile? Or at least a smirk? Not even close. But I get the feeling that with Hudson, even a twitch of his mouth is something to celebrate.
I grab the drink that’s sitting on the surface of my desk and place it on his. “Black. No cream. And definitely no sugar.”
The square between his eyebrows furrows. He looks down at the cup on his desk, almost like he doesn’t know what to do with it. He keeps looking at it.
