I wandered through campus with an overpriced latte in hand, cursing the male barista under my breath.

While Theo was busy greeting the morning rush, I'd raced to the restroom to splash some water on my face and erase his handiwork—embarrassed, flushed, disoriented. Once I'd cleaned up after his mess and fixed my hair, I'd slipped out of Grounds unseen, forced to acquire caffeine from one of the busy shops on university soil. Forced to accept that I'd just been finger-fucked by Theo Landing in the back of my favorite coffee shop.

And I'd enjoyed it.

I groaned into the collar of my down jacket, wishing I could crawl into the goose-feather filling and perish. I'd really bitten off more than I could chew here, and all I could do was swallow the bitter fact of the matter: I really wanted to bang my barista.

Again.

The sun was up now, but it didn't do me any good when it was 25 degrees out. The walkways were crusted over in melted snow, transforming the pavement into a hazardous Slip 'N Slide, and my hands ached from the intrusive wind chill. Beside me, barren cottonwoods hugged the path, towering over the passing students like tawny obelisks, and beyond the barrier of trees stretched the campus quad: 1,000 square feet of snow, trampled grass, and muddy footprints.

Many of the historic buildings were still intact here on the south side of campus, their bricks as authentic as they come, their walls covered in dead vines. We didn't have the new student union or tech center at the bottom of the hill, but in many ways, this battered courtyard embodied the old beating, bleeding heart of the university.

Baker and I had shared some rib-splintering laughs here, staying up late in the library with other procrastinators, sacrificing empty liquor bottles to the Mackay statue before finals, sprinting to the student events for free food, people watching from the grassy hillslopes and fending off the bees. It was no UC school, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the quirky imperfections that made up Nevada, Reno. Its roughened edges gave it character, and its blackened corners made it feel lived in, worn out, and abused—like a beloved baseball glove.

I made it to my first photography lecture ten minutes early, and I claimed a seat in the middle of the middle row: not too close to the front to appear overzealous, and not too far away to portray indifference. From this position, I wouldn't obstruct anyone on their way to their seat, and I wouldn't have to worry about holding up the line the second class ended.

Carl would be happy here.

The professor strode in a few minutes later, and I grinned at her elegant sweater dress, high heels, and styled bob cut. She had to be in her forties, but her skin was damn near flawless, and her waist was as small as a telephone pole. Her blue eyes carried a mischievous quality that reminded me of an older, wizened Baker.

"Can I sit here?"

I jumped in my seat. A 20-something with a buzzcut smiled down at me. He gestured to the desk on my left, despite the plethora of empty seats all around us.

"Sure," I got out, trying not to visibly mourn my physical space.

My visitor shed his backpack and windbreaker and sat down next to me with nothing but a pen in his fist. "I'm Elijah." His brown eyes were kind, and he looked like a fellow mixed American with his East Asian features and sharp, Grecian nose.

My smile felt as heavy as a clown mask. "Ramona."

He flipped his pen around in his finger and tapped it against the side of his desk like a drumstick. A lefty, I noted. With an attention deficit, maybe. "Cool, cool. So...you taking this as an elective credit, Ramona, or are you interested in the fine arts?"

"Both, I guess." I preferred to end the conversation right then and there, but I sensed he was eager to make a friend, and I felt terrible denying him that. "You?"

"Elective. It was this or Art Foundations, and I can't draw worth shit."

It drew an amused huff from me, and my impervious guard sank back into my skeleton. "You more of a math and science guy?"

"More like grease and engines," he joked, and I realized the dark goop beneath his nails was soot and oil, not dirt.

It was comforting in a way. At least I knew he hadn't buried a body before class.

"I'm a mechanical engineer. Or hope to be, at least." He sighed dramatically, his distracted gaze hopping around the room. "Put off my liberal arts requirements as long as possible, and now I'm crawling my way to the finish line. Barely passed my humanities class last semester, and I wanted to shoot myself in the head after every discussion post..."

He rambled on about bullshitting his paper on Frankenstein, and I marveled at his ability to speak to a complete stranger with little to no prompting from my end. Unfazed by my lack of engagement. Blind and deaf to judgement.

Extroverts really were something else.

After a few more students trickled in, Fontaine took attendance for the whopping sixteen people enrolled in her class. Then she introduced herself, shared her background experience exhibiting nationally and internationally, and quickly ran through the syllabus and camera requirements.

"Your portfolio will account for 75 percent of your grade," she disclosed, and I chuckled at the discontented hisses throughout the room, including one candid fuck me from a back-rower. "By the end of the semester, you will be responsible for producing twenty pieces, each demonstrating a different technique covered in class. Your final will include a presentation on your portfolio and a 15-page analysis of your work and its execution of the theme."

Elijah slumped in his seat, and his pen-tapping accelerated to a maddening tempo.

"Through our partnership with the art museum, one student will be selected to exhibit their work over the summer. This individual will be representing the School of Arts, so please take this assignment seriously, as each of you will be considered for this opportunity." She scanned the room, leaning back against the podium with her arms folded over her chest. "Any questions?"

I held my breath, waiting for someone to breach the silence, but when no one spoke, I tentatively raised my hand. "You mentioned the theme in your email. Can you elaborate a little on what you mean by misconceptions?"

She appeared both delighted and surprised that someone bothered to read her emails ahead of class, but the cheeky smile on her face told me I wasn't getting jack shit. "No," she replied. "That's for you to decide, and for us to interpret. Although I do encourage you to pick a genre you're passionate about—only passion will carry you through an inspiration rut."

My lips flattened into a line. That could not have been less helpful.

"So like, what if our passion is cars? Can I just take pictures of cars and call it good?" Elijah asked, and I feared he was dead serious.

"What is it you like about cars?" the woman probed. "Is it their mechanical nature, or an organic one? Their simplicity, or their complexity?" She grinned at us, her eyes bright with an enthusiasm no one reciprocated. "That's what I want you to explore this year. Discover a message within the theme—something grand enough to share with others, something that demands an audience. Ask a question, and tell us why we're wrong."

She went on to discuss due dates and pop quizzes, and Elijah slid even further down in his seat, practically parallel to his desk at this point. "I'm screwed,'" he whispered. "No, I'm screwder than screwed." He blinked at the ceiling. "Scrawed."

I let out a mirthless chuckle and proceeded to doodle a giant question mark in my notes.

You and me both, my guy.

You and me both.

At work that evening, I offered to train the youngest hostesses while Baker operated the computer and managed our reservations, mainly to shield the grunts from their five-foot drill sergeant. However, save for a few seating errors, the girls were learning quickly, especially with Baker scowling at them the whole night like an angry garden gnome.

Honestly, I was having fun mentoring the teens and explaining the reasons behind Baker's seating decisions—up until Theo strode into the restaurant with a pretty brunette at his side.

The moment I spotted him in the vestibule, my motor functions stopped working. Someone had pulled the plug on me without warning, killing all processes mid-sentence. Leaving me slack-jawed and mortified.

Theo held the door open for his female companion, snorting at her antics as he followed her inside. Tonight, he wore a maroon sweater and his usual black jeans, but he'd left the beanie behind, as well as the eyeliner and the smudged pen notes on his arms.

What the hell is he doing here?

Never, in all of my time working here, had I ever encountered Theo Landing in this restaurant. The idea of him even patronizing a corporate establishment like The Western Orchard disagreed with everything I knew about the guy.

Baker, catching sight of the devil, smiled for the first time that night—an evil, conspiratorial smile—and even though we were standing right next to each other, she brought the headset mic to her lips and said, "You know, maybe there is a god."

Confused titters spilled through my earpiece, and I repressed the urge to throw her.

As the duo approached the host stand, Theo finally noticed me gaping at him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in surprise, then horror.

My mouth turned to sand.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Hi. For two, please," the young woman told Baker, but I couldn't tear my gaze from Theo's ashen face. Of all nights to come here, he had to choose tonight? After what we did? After I spent twenty minutes trying to conceal the hickey he gave me?

What did I do to deserve this?

I could tell he was asking himself a similar question behind those wary eyes, and we stared at each other for a few more seconds, begging each other not to breathe a word about the kiss we'd shared this morning. The kiss...and everything before that.

"Rivas, why don't you take them to 125?" Baker said in a honeyed tone, handing me two sets of menus and silverware as if there was nothing peculiar about Theo's presence. As if I hadn't told her about the coffee shop sin three seconds after I'd clocked in this afternoon.

Traitor.

I would have blatantly refused if the trainees hadn't been standing there watching me. But I had to lead by example, and seaters always listened to hosts with seniority; this whole restaurant would burn down if we taught them any differently. And so, with a strained smile, I accepted the tableware and beckoned for the pair to follow me. "Right this way."

Baker grinned after me, and I sent her a scathing look over my shoulder. The witch could say goodbye to my tall-girl favors after this one—she wasn't above using a foot stool like the other vertically stunted staff.

I brought Theo and his friend to their designated table, and they shuffled into the booth on opposite sides. I set their menus and silverware down before them, avoiding the barista's burning gaze at all costs. Instead, I chose to focus on his date.

She was younger than me—which made her a lot younger than the geezer across from her—but she was beautiful, even with the minimal amount of makeup she'd applied. Her eyes were the color of dark roast coffee beans, but unlike the giant, rounded eyeballs protruding from my own head, hers were narrow and upturned, like a model's. Not one blemish mottled her supple skin, and her sweet, elfish features were the envy of most girls my age.

"How are you guys doing tonight?" I asked lightly, burying the ugly, uncomfortable feeling in my chest. Had Theo asked her out after our little encounter this morning? Or had he known he was meeting with someone tonight and pleasured me anyway?

Had he touched me like that while chasing another woman's affection? Did I need to dump a steaming plate of pasta on his ballsack?

"I mean, I'd rather be sitting across the sexy redhead in my dorm, not my brother," the girl complained, and I trapped the audible sigh of relief in my mouth. Siblings, not lovers. "But hey. A free meal is a free meal, you know? A girl's gotta eat."

Theo glared at her, then aggressively opened his menu. "It's her first day of university. I thought we'd celebrate with a nice dinner, but apparently, I'm just a wallet."

Their exchange pulled a huff of laughter from me, and I was grateful to have something other than humiliation to dwell on. Perhaps this wouldn't go as terribly as I'd thought. "Well, I'll go ahead and give you my spiel, and you can get on with your celebratory evening," I said, and I spun the Ziosk around so they could see the interface. "If you want, you can sign up for our rewards program right now and get twenty percent off your meal tonight." I almost ended it there, but I felt my manager's eyes on me from the back of the house—the Big Brother of hospitality—and I winced. "Also, the...games cost money. I'm supposed to tell everyone that, regardless of age, so beware of the shiny buttons and the blatant message across the screen, I guess."

Theo's sister giggled at me, but it was genuine laughter absent of superiority and snark. "Girl, I've been there. At the smoothie place I used to work at, we had to tell every single customer, Have a Berry Merry day." She pouted her bottom lip. "The looks people would give me...I don't know how I made it three whole months."

I smiled, appreciative of her kindness and relatability, and when I found the bravery to look at Theo again, he was smiling too. Only, his gaze was fixed on my concealed hickey, and he looked way too proud of himself for putting it there.

I glared at him, crafting my best don't-make-me-punch-your-teeth-in look, and he lazily dragged his eyes away.

"Hey...don't I know you from somewhere?" his sister asked, squinting up at me.

My heart dropped into Carl's open hand. "Uh...not that I'm aware of?"

She cocked her head at me, studying my face, and I feared I was sweating all my makeup off. Then she clapped. "Jailen Rivas!"

"What...?" Theo muttered.

I blinked. "You know my uncle?"

"I volunteer at the hospital. The oncology unit," she explained. "You used to bring him in for chemo all the time, and he'd always gush about you. You're Ramona, right?"

I gaped at her, bewildered by her intimate knowledge and impeccable memory. "Yeah." I thought back to the days we'd spent at the hospital, and my brow furrowed at the blurry image of a brown-haired tween with braces. "Wait...you're the one who bought him that dirty ad libs book for a remission gift, aren't you?"

"Yes! Oh my gosh!" She beamed at me, and her toothy smile bore a striking resemblance to Theo's. "That's so cool. I swear, everyone knows everyone around here." She leaned forward in her seat, her hands under her chin. "How's Jay?"

"He's..." I hesitated, sensing Theo's attentive gaze. "Actually, he relapsed."

The joy on her face vanished in an instant. "Oh no." Her voice dropped to a fragile whisper. "Can I ask what his diagnosis is?"

"Charlie," Theo reprimanded.

"It's alright." I stuck my hands in my back pockets and lifted my shoulders in a sad, helpless kind of shrug. "It's stage three lung cancer this time." I licked my lips, deciding Jay's friend and caretaker could be trusted with his secret. "He recently decided to stop treatment. So...it's been a rough few months."

She covered her mouth with her hand, and the glassy, devastated look in her eyes made me regret my honesty. "Shit. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Theo cut her an accusatory glance. "You think?"

"No, it's okay. I'll let him know you said hi. He'll be delighted to hear you're at UNR." I tried to kill her guilt. "Did you enroll in the nursing program?"

"Kinesiology." She met my gaze again, recovering a little. "I want to be a physical therapist, mostly so I can help my dad with his arthritis."

The detail sent my heart spinning. I'd never seen a more heroic Punnett square: a daughter seeking a cure for her father, and a son pursuing cancer research to prevent others from experiencing the same pain his mother had endured.

"That's awesome," I said. "I'll be sure to pass it on."

Theo looked at me with parted lips, hazel eyes darkened by the tannins of remorse and sympathy. "I had no idea you were going through that."

I raised my brow at the strange admission. "Yeah. You don't know a lot of things."

We may have plunged into the depths of love and heartbreak on New Year's Eve, but we'd also skipped right over hobbies, interests, and family relations. We'd sailed so far past small talk, we'd barely charted the surface waters.

Charlie perked up at my comment, and the sadness evaporated from her expression. "Wait, you guys know each other?"

Theo opened his mouth, then closed it again, silently begging for help.

Not much of a liar, then. Interesting. 

"I frequent the coffee shop a lot," I offered. "That's all."

I thought the excuse would satiate her curiosity, but that turned out to be the worst thing I could have said. Charlie's eyes shot wide, and a smile returned to her face. "Oh. So you're the girl Theo's been talking about," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at her brother. "Nice to put a face to a name, although I wouldn't really consider 'Caffeine Chick' a name."

Speechless, I turned to Theo, and he covered his face with his hands, refusing to engage.

Charlie looked up at me like she'd just won a prize. "My brother's been in a rut for a while. You know, with Alyssa and all. But today, he's been all chipper. And when I asked—"

"Harassed," Theo supplied between his fingers.

"—him what changed, he said—"

His hands fell to the table, and the hot blood in his cheeks made me yearn for the rest of her sentence. "Charlotte Landing, if you say another damn word, you're paying for your own meal."

She rolled her eyes at him, but the threat did its job. She stuck out her hand. "Well, I'm happy to officially meet your acquaintance, Ramona. I'm Charlie."

I shook her hand, amused by her firm grip and Theo's exasperated sigh. "Well...I should probably get back to my trainees before Baker destroys their self-esteem." I stepped away from the table. "Your server tonight will be Gustavo. He should be with you shortly." I winked at Charlie. "Nice seeing you again."

I cast Theo a furtive glance before walking away, commending him on cutting the conversation short and soaking up his embarrassed, apologetic gaze. But as soon as I turned around, I heard him smack his sister over the head with a menu, and I bit back a laugh.