Page 54 of Don't Be in Love

“But he’s obviously interested in you,” Mia urged.

I stood up and took a pile of books with me, walking as far away as I could get.

Unfortunately, the store was small.

“You have to talk to him about this. It has to be PR or something,” Mia argued, her voice getting closer.

“I’m not talking to him about his relationship.” I snuck into the corner where the history books were.

She followed.

“But there has to be an explanation—”

“I am not going to waste my—already—minimal time getting romantically involved with a man who will be interested in me for approximately four weeks before he gets bored,” and finds another girl, and takes all of my favorite places to eat, my favorite words to say, the people I enjoy seeing after class, and the recipes I’ve handwritten to share them with her and leave me without anything.

“I don’t think he’s like that,” Mia said softly.

“Really?”I took the magazine that hung in her hands and reminded her of the photo.

She was at a loss for words.

I shook my head and shelved three books. “People are only interested in you for as long as you’re new.”

I didn’t need an unfaithful boyfriend or to be divorcee to know that. Dad’s woodchip-ridden scent that had followed me to London in my old pajamas was a souvenir in itself.

“He’s not coming today then, I assume?” Dotty asked, peeking into the aisle.

I felt guilty for telling him I was busy. Especially because the last few sessions had been great. Really great. As if we were becoming friends.

But that was the problem. We couldn’t be friends. Because all I could think about were the un-friend-like things we had done and what a horrible friend to Sabrina that made me.

Now that I was learning more about him—his hobbies, his habits—it only added more weight. More interest.

I could feel myself leaning in more. Memorizing the freckles on his throat and the annunciation that his accent carried on certain words.

I needed distance. A reminder of real life and the consequences that came with it, perched on my shoulders waiting to dive like resentful ravens. “No, he isn’t.”

Mia interjected, “Well, about that. I’m actually staying late tonight to make up hours from going out last Friday. And I knew you brought your nice purse today and there’s no room for an umbrella in there. But I didn’t want you to walk home alone in the rain so—”

The front door chimed, opening.

In walked Dorian, an umbrella hanging at his side. Wet specks polka dotted his navy blue sweater, a change from his usual black and grays. I hated that I noticed that. That I liked it.

His gaze swept across the room, from Dotty to Mia to me.

The corner of his mouth ticked upward.

“Hi.” He smiled.

“Hi.” I smiled back, the muscles in my face going rogue.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

“How did Mia get your number?” I spoke over the rain as it pattered the umbrella above us. I attempted to hold onto the handle, but the difference in our height made our arms seesaw back and forth. He peeled my hand off in debate, holding it above me.

“I gave it to her when you started skipping out on our meetings a few weeks ago and began walking home by yourself again.” He gave me a level look. “Think I’d forget?”

“One could’ve hoped.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I could’ve walked home with Mia—”