Chapter 24
Gabrielle
The light in the room had changed.
It slanted in through the windows at a new angle—longer, softer, threaded with the copper tones of late afternoon. The golden kind of quiet that only comes when a day is trying to linger.
I didn’t mean to check the time. But my eyes flicked toward the clock anyway.
Almost five.
The thought lodged in my chest like a splinter.
My calculus notes were tucked neatly away, my laptop closed.
I’d managed to make it halfway through the physics problem set earlier this afternoon—my usual strategy to stay ahead.
If I could wrestle with the structure before class, the concepts clicked faster when I heard them out loud.
Aunt Suzy had helped me figure that out last semester, back when I was barely keeping my head above water in Dr. Watkins’s class.
I hadn’t asked Cal for help. And I wouldn’t. That wasn’t how I learned. I needed to prove—to him and to myself—that I could hold my own in the room, no matter who I was outside of it.
Still, once he sat beside me with that quiet, amused smile and the soft press of his shoulder against mine, the rest of the problem set never stood a chance.
It wasn’t confusion that stalled me. It was him—the pull of his nearness, the way his voice dipped when he explained things, the glint in his eye when I finally caught on.
It was nearly impossible to focus when all I could think about was how little time we had left before he’d have to take me home.
I heard him before I saw him—the quiet pad of his steps on the hardwood—and then the soft clink of a mug settling on the table in front of me.
Tea.
I looked up. He didn’t speak, just eased down beside me again, his expression soft around the edges in a way that made something inside me ache.
“Thanks.” I curled my hands around the mug. It was warm, earthy, and grounding. Of course it would be exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
We sat like that for a long time, neither of us speaking, the office wrapped in fading sunlight and quiet resignation. My throat was tight, like if I spoke, it would all collapse into the one thing we weren’t saying: the weekend was over.
I let my head fall back against the sofa and closed my eyes, feeling him settle closer beside me. “You know what I hate?” I asked softly, eyes still shut.
His shoulder brushed mine. “What?”
“Time.”
He went quiet, like he was weighing how much meaning the word could hold. “It’s not very kind,” he agreed eventually.
I opened my eyes and turned to look at him. His face was close—so close I could see the faint stubble on his jaw, feel the steadiness of his breath.
“You’re a world-renowned theoretical physicist,” I said, watching the sunlight gild the edge of his cheekbone. “Can’t you do something about it?”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Only theoretically. Unless you’ve secretly designed a vessel that can approach the speed of light and dilate time.”
“Not yet.” I gave him a sidelong look. “I guess I’ll have to finish my engineering degree first.”
He turned toward me, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “That means you’ll need to pass my course.”
“That sounds like extortion.”
“That sounds like the curriculum.” He lifted his mug, eyes never leaving mine.
I stared at him, pulse fluttering. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Terribly.” He took a slow sip of tea, then set the cup down. “But I’m afraid there’s no stopping Monday morning from arriving.”
Cal’s words hung in the stillness between us: There’s no stopping Monday morning from arriving.
“I know,” I said quietly, fingers tightening around the mug. I set it down with care, then let my hands fall to my lap, suddenly unsure what to do with them.
I wasn’t ready to go. Not even close.
“I just…” I hesitated. “I don’t want to go back to real life yet. To being just another student in your eight o’clock physics class. To pretending you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He turned fully toward me, one arm sliding along the back of the sofa until his fingertips brushed my shoulder. “Then don’t,” he said. “Not here. Not with me.”
I looked up at him, studying the way he was watching me. It made everything inside me tilt. Warm. Steady. Unshakable. Like he already knew what I meant, even if I hadn’t said it yet.
“I know this isn’t…simple,” I said, my voice thready. “I know what we’re risking.”
His fingers brushed a slow path along my shoulder. “It was never going to be simple.”
“But it’s real,” I said, my eyes locked on his. “Isn’t it?”
His lips parted like he might answer—but no words came. He just took my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist.
Then he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It is.”
My breath caught in my throat. The moment expanded around us, stretched thin by everything we wanted and everything we couldn’t have. Not here. Not yet.
Cal exhaled slowly, thumb still tracing along my skin. “I should probably take you home at some point.”
I didn’t move. “Not yet,” I said.
He smiled—soft and crooked and so full of ache it knocked the air out of me. “No,” he agreed, pulling me into his arms. “Not yet.”
My apartment felt smaller than I remembered.
I set my bags on the floor and stood in the middle of the living room, listening to the muted hum of traffic through the closed windows.
The plaid couch stared back with dull familiarity, and even the bright vintage aviation prints on the wall seemed to accuse me of abandoning ship.
Cal’s car had barely left the parking lot before regret followed me inside, coiling tight around my chest and refusing to let go. Not regret for the stolen weekend. Regret that it had to end.
I sank onto the couch, its worn cushions swallowing me whole. The silence, heavy and suffocating, pressed in from all sides. Normally I loved being alone, loved the lack of expectation and noise. But now? Now all I wanted was his voice curling close to my ear, his breath warm against my neck.
A sudden pulse startled me back into the present as my phone vibrated where it lay forgotten in my purse. I fumbled for it, almost hoping to see his name on the screen.
No such luck.
Aunt Suzy. Eleven missed calls, four voicemails, and a cascade of increasingly frantic texts. A knot formed in my stomach as I scrolled, each message a small explosion of guilt: Where are you? Why aren’t you answering? Did you get my other texts? Call me!
I took a deep breath, braced myself for impact, and called her back.
She picked up on the first ring. “Gabrielle! Oh, thank God! I was about to call the police!”
I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “Hey, Aunt Suzy.”
“Hey? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Her voice hit like a rapid-fire assault, equal parts panic and exasperation. “I thought maybe you’d fallen into a volcano or joined a cult or something!”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really.”
“Where have you been all weekend? Why didn’t you text me back?”
I hesitated too long.
There was a pause on the other end of the line—the kind that sounded suspiciously like gears turning. “You were with that ‘friend’ from physics again, weren’t you?”
I walked to my bedroom and flipped on the light. “Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Any trace of worry vanished, replaced by gleeful intrigue. “Good for you, Gabrielle! Now, tell me everything. I want all the details.”
I took a breath and let it out slowly. “We went to dinner Saturday night,” I said, dropping onto the bed. “And…studied.” The word felt radioactive on my tongue, like it might give too much away.
Silence stretched for a beat. “You ‘studied’?” she repeated, skepticism bleeding through the line like ink.
“Yes.”
My clipped tone didn’t deter her. “Did you at least have fun?”
I hesitated again, then found myself saying, “I did. We went to this really nice restaurant, and he’s…”—my mind scrambled for something safe—“he’s smarter than I expected.”
“Smarter?” She practically cackled, the sound popping through the quiet like a flashbulb. “That’s a first! Just your type, then?”
“It was nice,” I said, evading with more skill than I knew I had. “He’s nice.”
“This sounds serious,” she mused, almost singing. “Did you spend the whole weekend with him?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, twisting my fingers in the duvet. “And he helped me with some homework. There’s a big problem set due this week.” That much was true, at least.
“Do I at least get to know his name?” she pressed.
I hesitated. “Cal.” His name slipped out too easily, too familiar. I fumbled to recover it, to cover. “Calvin.”
She snorted, a sharp burst of disbelief that made me wince. “Calvin? Please tell me his last name isn’t Klein.”
“It’s not,” I said weakly, trying not to dwell on the fact that I didn’t actually know what Cal was short for.
“So…when do I get to meet this Calvin?”
I froze. “Uh,” I said, my mind going blank. “I don’t think we’re anywhere near that stage.”
“Gabrielle, really,” she said with exasperated fondness. “What’s the point of getting to know him if you’re not going to bring him home?”
“We’re just hanging out,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to scare the poor guy off.”
“How would I scare him?” She laughed as if the prospect was delightful. “If he can’t handle me, he’s not worth your time!”
“He’s probably not worth my time then,” I deflected, but the words felt unsteady and wrong. “Anyway, it’s not that serious.” Sandpaper on my tongue.
“Not yet,” she said knowingly, nearly singing again.
I pictured her on the other end of the line—sitting at the kitchen table back in Houston with a mug of coffee, a bright red nail tapping against its rim as she plotted my romantic future to the last detail.
“I’m glad you’re finally meeting people,” she said after a moment, her voice softening. “I was worried you were getting too buried in your studies, not getting out into the world at all.”
There was no censure in it—only relief. But guilt coiled tighter around my chest, pressing against everything I wasn’t saying. Everything I couldn’t say.
I mumbled something noncommittal and promised to call her later.
After I hung up, the silence returned—heavier now, threaded through with things I didn’t have the courage to voice.
Later, in bed, I lay staring at the ceiling, the sheets cool against my skin and far too much space on either side of me.
My phone buzzed—sudden in the stillness.
I miss you already.
That tightness in my chest unfurled just a bit. Sweet. Dangerous. All want. I typed before I could stop myself:
It’s too quiet here. Can’t sleep.
His reply came almost instantly:
Neither can I. My bed’s empty, and I don’t like it.
A smile tugged at my lips despite the ache in my chest.
Maybe you should’ve kept me.
Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.
I smiled, imagining how he’d say it—half-sarcastic, half-serious.
What stopped you?
Your future. Your physics grade. My job. Take your pick.
Terrible excuses.
Terribly noble, thank you.
I shifted beneath the covers, the phone warm in my hand, heat curling low in my belly.
What would you have done if I’d asked to stay?
There was a pause. A longer one this time.
Locked the door. Hidden your backpack. Called it an act of God.
Might need to test that theory sometime…
Careful, Gabrielle. I’m still very awake. And very imaginative.
My cheeks flushed. My thumb hovered for a second, the playfulness thinning just enough for something more honest to slip through.
I didn’t think I’d feel it this much.
Another pause.
I know. I feel it too.
My throat tightened.
What do we do now?
His reply came slower, but steady.
We survive Monday. Then Tuesday. Then whatever comes next.
I stared at the screen, the ache in my chest sharper but somehow sweeter.
I wish you were here.
So do I, love. More than you know.