Chapter 23
Callum
The steady scratch of her pencil moved across the page, soft and sure.
Gabrielle was curled on the office sofa—legs tucked beneath her, a red spiral-bound notebook balanced on her thigh, pencil gliding in neat, methodical lines. She wore dark jeans and a soft heather jumper, her hair pulled back in a low twist. Casual, but clearly chosen.
I should have been revising my electromagnetism slides.
Instead, I watched her.
I sat at my desk across the room, both Monday lectures open in separate tabs—Physics II and E&M—notes scattered between them, a half-finished slide on Gauss’s Law blinking like it knew I was a fraud.
I’d tweaked the example problem three times—not because it needed it, but because my concentration had been shot since she’d stepped into my office with her coffee in one hand and her problem set in the other.
She hadn’t said much. Just claimed her spot on the sofa like she’d always belonged there.
The quiet between us wasn’t silence. It was shared space.
I forced myself to look back at the screen, double-checking a field diagram as I rewrote the explanation.
Something about flux through a closed surface.
My mind drifted to the curve of her smile over breakfast, the press of her body against mine in the shower, the sound of her voice muffled by steam and laughter.
Another quiet sigh broke the stillness.
I glanced up. Gabrielle chewed her lip, eyes narrowed at the page like it had insulted her.
I ducked my head to keep up the pretense that I wasn’t completely focused on her every move. “You look like you’re plotting its demise.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “I am. This question deserves to burn.”
I leaned back, letting the moment stretch. “Calculus or physics?” I asked, though I already knew. I just liked prodding her.
“Calculus.”
I sighed with exaggerated relief. “Ah. Good. If it were physics, we’d have to take it up with the author of the blasted question.”
Her brow lifted. “Would we now?”
“Certainly. He’s known to be a bit of a tyrant, but I’ve heard he can be bribed with coffee and compliments.”
She snorted. “Good to know.”
I slid my laptop aside, folding my hands over the edge of the desk. “It’s not my primary field, but…” I let the pause hang. “I’m not entirely useless.”
Her pencil hovered above the page. She hesitated—pride flickering faintly—then looked up at me, soft and a little sheepish. “I hate to ask, but…yeah. If you’ve got a minute?”
I was already on my feet.
“For you?” I crossed over to the sofa. “I’ve got more than a minute.”
“Thanks,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as I sat beside her. The word was soft, sincere, and it warmed the air like an unexpected spring.
She passed me the notebook, and I skimmed the page—the neat scrawl of her pencil, the confident sweep of her integral signs.
The problem wasn’t particularly daunting—finding the area between two curves, a task that required more patience than brilliance at this stage.
One glance confirmed what I already suspected: she’d got tangled in her own complexity.
I handed it back. “As usual, you’re overthinking it,” I said gently, my shoulder brushing hers. “Try slicing it into simpler parts.”
Gabrielle made a low, frustrated noise in the back of her throat.
“Here,” I murmured, shifting closer. My fingers brushed hers as I picked up the pencil and sketched a quick diagram.
Her eyes tracked my movements with fierce focus—a clarity that made my pulse jump in ways it had no business doing over bloody calculus.
“It’s easier if you look at it this way,” I murmured, sketching two quick curves.
“This one’s the parabola—y equals x squared.
And this is the line—y equals x plus two.
” My pencil skimmed across the page, knuckles grazing hers.
“From zero to two, it’s just top minus bottom. Area between curves.”
Gabrielle groaned. “Why doesn’t Dr. Huber explain it like that?”
I leaned in, brushing my lips just beside her ear before grazing it lightly with my teeth. “I hope Dr. Huber doesn’t have my charm.”
She shivered—just slightly—but enough for me to feel. “Not even close,” she whispered.
I kissed the spot just beneath her jaw, then pulled back before temptation steamrolled good sense entirely.
“Now,” I said, reclaiming the pencil and tapping it lightly against the page, “let’s get you to the right answer before I forget how to be professional.”
She grinned, flushed and breathless, then turned back to the notebook with renewed focus. God help me, it might’ve been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Top minus bottom,” she murmured, eyes scanning the sketch. “So…integral from zero to two of x plus two minus x squared, with respect to x?”
“Precisely,” I said, lips curving. “See? Brilliant. And devastating.”
“You’re going to distract me straight into a B-minus.” She shot me a look, but her smile gave her away.
“Never,” I said solemnly.
She laughed, and the sound wrapped itself around my ribs—warm, weightless, and far too dangerous for a Sunday afternoon.
Gabrielle tapped the edge of her eraser against the notebook, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows as she worked through the problem. Her pencil moved again, more confidently this time, her mouth set with determined focus.
Then she exhaled, set the pencil down, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Okay. Calculus is done.”
I didn’t say I told you so. But I thought it. Just a little.
“What else do you need to finish?” I asked, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa. “I’d rather not be responsible for you falling behind, despite having shamelessly stolen your weekend.”
Her mouth quirked. “You didn’t steal it,” she said, voice low. “I handed it over willingly.”
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Still.”
She hesitated, glancing at her backpack as if it might scold her. “The problem set for your class.”
“Ah,” I said, pretending to consider. “I could remind you that it’s not due until Wednesday, but I know it’s a useless point.”
“Completely useless,” she agreed, then paused. “I’ll probably just start it when I get back to my apartment.”
I let the silence stretch for half a beat. “Is that code for ‘I don’t want to do it in front of you?’” I asked, keeping my tone light.
Her cheeks pinked. “It just feels…weird. Like cheating, or something. Even if you don’t say a word. Even if you just exist nearby.”
I smiled—softly, but not without mischief. “It’s not cheating unless I give you the answers. Which I won’t.”
“You’re not helping your case.”
“I’m merely existing nearby,” I said, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “I’ll even sit over there if it helps. I won’t so much as glance at your notes.”
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious but playful.
I moved back to my desk. “See? Back to my E&M slides.”
Gabrielle looked at me for a long moment, amused resignation softening her features. “Fine,” she said at last, reaching for her backpack. “But if you accidentally blurt out anything useful—”
“I won’t,” I promised, already settling back into my chair.
She retrieved her laptop and set it on the coffee table. “Can I at least have your Wi-Fi password?”
“Absolutely not.”
She blinked.
“I’m joking,” I said, watching her fake a glare. Then I recited the password.
Her fingers flew across the keys, presumably getting online and logging into the student portal. I pretended to focus on my slides, though my eyes kept drifting to her.
There was something dangerously domestic about it—her curled on my sofa, laptop open, talking deadlines and lecture notes like we’d done this a dozen times before. And I wanted that. All of it. More than I had any right to.
Her fingers paused over the keyboard, and she glanced at me. “Magnetism? What happened to circuits?”
I grinned. “I thought you didn’t want to mingle church and state.”
She gave a small, disbelieving shake of her head. “I don’t. I’m just surprised.”
I feigned offense. “You don’t trust me to have a plan?”
Her eyebrows arched in a way that made my chest do vaguely idiotic things. “Do you?”
“If you’re more patient than curious,” I said, savoring the way her focus sharpened, “you’ll find out in lecture tomorrow.”
She gave me a look. “And if I’m not?”
“Then I’m afraid it’ll be a very long day for you.”