Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Passing Notes
Jasmine Chamberlain
“I’m leaving for class!” I yell as I put an apple danish in a Ziploc bag.
After spending a few hours with Shepherd yesterday, I came home and told the girls the whole story while making the sticky, sweet pastries.
Since I have a class with him this morning, I figured I could take one and tell him they were leftovers from what I made for the girls.
Which is the truth. I definitely did not have his dimpled grin in mind while making them.
Saylor pokes her head out the door, at the exact stage of her routine that she always is at at this time. Hair in rollers, contour on but not blended. The first sign of the apocalypse will be her breaking routine.
“Have a good day! Enjoy class with your boyfriend,” she sing-songs.
I laugh, my life feeling as sweet as the pastry in my bag. “I will. Hope your day is—”
“Productive,” she inserts.
“Restful,” I counter.
“Balanced?” she compromises.
I nod in agreement, to which she gives me a sparkling smile.
“See you later. Love you!”
“Love you too,” I say as she shuts her door. I’m almost positive she started scheduling in this interaction and I went over my allotted time.
Aurora and Marigold give muffled goodbyes as I make my way to the front door, neither of them chipper enough to move from bed.
I fling open the door with a bright smile, ready to take on the day, and freeze in my tracks.
There, blocking my way out, is Jameson Sinclair.
The Traitor. He widens his eyes as if he’s surprised to see me too.
His dark hair is wet, making it look onyx in the mediocre hall lighting.
He’s wearing a Thrashers Hockey hoodie—is he on the team?
—with dark jeans. There’s a slightly puffy cut above his right eye that makes me think he must be a hockey player.
“Can I help you?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to see if any of the girls have come out. All clear, I look back at him.
He holds up a worn copy of Emma by Jane Austen.
“Goldie left this in the library yesterday. I tried to find her to give it back, but I…couldn’t.”
Because she’s been avoiding him.
“Goldie?” I question, as though I don’t know exactly who he is and who he’s referring to.
“Marigold,” he clarifies in a tone that says he’s onto me.
I cross my arms. “How do you know she lives here?”
He grimaces. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m a stalker.”
I raise a brow and channel my inner Aurora. “Too late.”
He sighs and holds out the book. “Please just give it to her. It’s one of her favorites, and I know she’ll be upset if she thinks she lost it.”
There are pink and sage green tabs poking out of the side of the book, and the cover is curling at the corners. I slowly take the book from him.
“I’ll give it to her.”
“Thank you.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “We have a Shakespeare exam this week,” he says.
I glance down at my watch. This is cutting into my time with Shepherd before class starts. “I know; we have a shared calendar.”
He bobs his head. “We used to get ice cream floats after big exams. I think she’d like that.”
Marigold would be very upset with my soft, romantic heart right now. Because even though Jameson’s earned the title she gave him, he also seems to really care about her. Could she be mistaken, the way I was?
“Thanks for telling me. I have to get to class now.”
Pain flickers through his dark eyes. It’s in that moment that I know I’m not ever going to get an ice cream float with Marigold. If I did, it would hurt them both too much. That memory—for better or worse—is theirs.
“Okay, thanks again,” he mumbles before turning and stalking off toward the elevators.
I go back inside and leave the copy of Emma on the counter, next to the plate of pastries Marigold is going to need for emotional support when she finds it.
Book returned, I finally set off to see Shepherd.
Every part of my walk seems brighter than usual.
The sunlight overhead warms my skin, but the cool of the morning ensures it’s not too hot.
Leaves crunch under my feet. Autumn always drags her feet on her way into Georgia, but she’s starting to settle in.
I swing the bag with my danish as I walk, tempted to skip down the winding path instead.
I pass through the revolving door to the Nadine Wilks Business Building with a bright smile.
All around me, students trudge to their 8:00 a.m. classes with the despondency of a soldier heading out to fight a losing battle.
I stand out today with all my cheer. I can’t temper it, though.
I don’t even want to try. It’s already going to be hard enough not to throw my arms around Shepherd at first sight.
The lecture hall is almost full when I arrive, but not my seat. Shepherd’s backpack is in it, just like it was on our first day. He grins at me from the second row. My heart stutters at the sight. Yeah, it’s going to be hard to focus today.
I walk up the risers, and when I get close, Shepherd pulls his backpack to the floor. I take the seat without saying anything, set his apple danish between us on the table, then pull out my laptop.
“What’s this?” he asks in a low tone that makes my toes curl.
“I made apple danishes for the girls last night. We had an extra one…”
“So, it’s mine then?”
The word mine makes me think of being on his couch. His lips on my neck. My face heats, and he smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking of.
“If you want,” I reply in a breathy tone.
He slides it toward him, then opens the bag, tears a piece off, and pops it into his mouth. A low hum escapes him.
“Delicious,” he whispers while looking right into my eyes.
My face is so warm, it feels sunburnt. I tear my gaze from his right as the professor claps his hands together at the front of the room.
“Happy Monday, everyone!” Dr. Poulter cheers. “We are starting the week off in a new unit: Customer Acquisition. Would anyone like to define the term in their own words before we begin?”
A few students raise their hands. I can barely breathe, much less think of an answer, so I don’t move. Shepherd moves, though, but not his hands. He relaxes back in his seat, and similar to our first day, lets his knee rest against mine. This time, I don’t pull away.
Someone answers the question, but it goes in one ear and out the other.
I pull up my notes document to attempt to focus.
The lights dim around us as Dr. Poulter projects his slides onto the smartboard.
I start typing as he speaks, but all my focus is on the singular point of contact between me and Shepherd.
I feel something brush my leg, making me startle.
Shepherd’s hand is palm up on my knee, his fingers splayed in a dangerous invitation.
I glance at him, but he’s looking straight ahead, opting to write his notes on a tablet instead of type them.
Neither of those options would work for me, though, because he’d be taking my right hand.
An idea comes that I know will be just as distracting as holding hands, but at least I can pretend to be typing.
I pause my note-taking to take his hand and flip it over on my knee.
He squeezes my leg in response, a small smile on his lips.
I go back to typing. I make it through a few slides with decent focus, but my attention span is ripped apart at the seams when Shepherd starts drawing lazy circles with his thumb.
Each swirl sends a tidal wave of heat washing over me.
I grab a piece of paper and a pen out of my backpack to scribble a note to Shepherd.
You’re going to pay for this, Captain.
I slide it over. His eyes cut to me, curiosity shining in them, then he pulls the note closer to look at it. He takes my pen I left on the table and writes his reply.
I hope so, Chef.
Our gazes catch. I mouth, Not a chef. He grins as he mouths back, yet.