6 #2
“He asked why I chose a feminist framework when the assignment allowed broader social criticism, and apparently ‘because I wanted to’ wasn’t enough.”
“It should’ve been.”
“That’s what I said.”
Ryan paused, his attention sharpening. “You said that to Brown?”
“I gave him a considerably more academic version.”
His grin widened. “What happened after that?”
“He kept pushing.”
“And you did what?”
“I defended it.”
“Did you change the argument?”
“No.”
“Did you apologize?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I didn’t apologize.”
“Did you tell him he made you nervous and then rewrite the whole thing tonight?”
“I’m beginning to regret telling you.”
Ryan laughed and caught my wrist when I tried to walk past him. His hand slid down until our fingers threaded together.
“What did he say?”
My irritation weakened beneath the look on his face. “He said I was finally more interested in defending my argument than finding out whether he approved of it.”
Ryan stared at me for a second before that dimple appeared.
“Fuck yeah.”
I laughed. “That’s your academic response?”
“That’s exactly my academic response.”
He pulled me closer by our joined hands and kissed my forehead.
“Look at you, mi hada.”
The pride in his voice landed harder than the A had.
“I’m still taking Klein in the fall, so celebrate carefully.”
“You’re going to love Klein.”
“She frightens me.”
“You’ll frighten her back eventually.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“It seemed unlikely you’d tell Brown his question wasn’t enough three weeks ago.”
I smiled into my coffee while Ryan released my hand and turned toward the table.
“Sit down. I brought you something.”
“You always bring me something.”
“Stop complaining.”
“That wasn’t a complaint.”
“It sounded dangerously appreciative.”
I pulled out the chair beside his. “Maybe I’m getting soft.”
His gaze slid toward me as he leaned closer. “Careful.”
The word carried enough heat that I immediately looked at the books instead.
Ryan noticed. He always noticed, and his smile deepened before he reached into the canvas bag.
“First, your formal introduction to embarrassing educational publishing.”
He handed me a bright yellow paperback.
I looked at the cover, then at him. “Spanish for Dummies?”
“It’s useful.”
“Are you calling me dumb during our first official Spanish lesson?”
“I’m saying whoever named the series was an asshole.”
“That wasn’t reassuring.”
Ryan dropped into the chair beside mine and opened the book. “If I thought you were dumb, I wouldn’t waste my afternoon teaching you. I value my time.”
I pressed the book against my chest. “That was almost romantic.”
“Don’t tell anybody.”
“Your reputation would never recover.”
“Exactly.”
He pulled a thick Spanish-English dictionary from the bag next. The corners were worn soft, several pages bent, and his name had been written inside the cover years ago in handwriting less controlled than it was now.
“That one was mine,” he said. “You can keep it.”
My fingers paused against the cover. “You want me to keep it?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t use it?”
“I haven’t needed it in years.”
I opened the front carefully. The pages smelled like old paper, faint dust, and something that made me think of his apartment. His hands had moved through this book, and maybe his mother’s had too.
The thought made the gift feel heavier.
“This is yours.”
“I’m aware.”
“What if I ruin it?”
“Then I’ll make you replace it.”
“With another thirty-year-old dictionary?”
“Preferably one that survived several foster homes and one very questionable backpack.”
I looked at him. “You carried this through foster care?”
“For part of it.”
“And you’re giving it to me?”
Ryan’s expression barely changed. “It’s a dictionary, Charm.”
“It’s your dictionary.”
“That distinction feels emotionally dangerous.”
“You started this.”
“I handed you a book.”
I ran my thumb over the worn edge. He had given me pieces of himself before through stories about his mother, Spanish words, and books he trusted me to touch. This felt different because he was telling me the dictionary belonged with me now.
Keeping something of Ryan’s shouldn’t have made my throat tighten. Lately, the idea of keeping anything connected to him had become complicated.
Ryan reached into the bag before I could say more and pulled out a black composition notebook. CHARM had been written across the front in his slanted handwriting.
“What is that?”
“Open it.”
I did.
Several pages were already filled with Spanish phrases beside translations and pronunciation notes, along with small explanations beneath words Ryan apparently thought I would misunderstand.
Buenos días — Good morning.
Buenas noches — Good night.
Mírame — Look at me.
Ven aquí — Come here.
Respira — Breathe.
Mi hada — My fairy.
My fingers slowed over the last one.
Beside hada, Ryan had explained that it meant fairy, while mi hada made it personal. Beneath that, he had written that endearments didn’t always translate cleanly because sometimes the feeling attached to a word mattered more than the dictionary definition.
I looked up. “You wrote all this?”
“Last night.”
“You spent your night making me a Spanish notebook?”
Ryan leaned back like the question confused him. “You asked me to teach you.”
“That didn’t obligate you to build a curriculum.”
“I like being prepared.”
“You mock Cade for spreadsheets.”
“Cade makes spreadsheets for recreational purposes. I have standards.”
I turned another page. He had included numbers, greetings, questions, basic verbs, and a warning that insulting someone’s mother in Spanish could escalate a conversation considerably faster than insulting almost anything else.
I laughed. “How often do you anticipate me needing that?”
“With you, I’m covering possibilities.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It’s admiration with reasonable caution.”
I smiled and kept reading.
The notebook wasn’t full. Maybe twenty pages contained his handwriting, leaving the rest waiting behind them, and the sight of those empty pages pulled my attention toward a thought I had been avoiding for days.
Ryan was leaving for Flint.
Training, his apartment there, his team, and the road games waiting once the season began belonged to a life that had existed before whatever this was between us. That life would keep moving whether I was ready for it or not.
I looked at the blank pages and wondered how many we would finish before he left.
Ryan tapped one finger beside the first pronunciation guide. “Start with vowels.”
I looked at him. “When do you go back?”
His hand stopped.
The question had come out too abruptly, and I immediately looked down.
“To Flint,” I added unnecessarily.
“I figured.”
“Obviously.”
Ryan studied me for a second before answering. “A couple weeks.”
My stomach sank despite already knowing it would be soon. “That soon?”
His expression changed slightly. “Yeah.”
I traced the edge of the notebook. “Right.”
Ryan didn’t move on to the vowels. Instead, he watched me pretend the answer hadn’t mattered.
“You worried about something?”
“I’m not worried.”
“Terrible lie.”
“I’m not.”
“That one was worse.”
I gave him a look. “You’re supposed to be teaching me Spanish.”
“I can teach you how to lie in Spanish if you want, but you’ll still suck at it.”
I tried not to smile. “Fine. Teach me something useful.”
He waited until it became clear I wasn’t going to offer more, then picked up the pen.
“What do you want to know?”
I looked at the page, and the answer came before I could filter it.
“How do you say I miss you?”
Ryan’s pen stopped above the paper.
Heat moved into my cheeks. “For vocabulary purposes.”
“Obviously.”
His mouth twitched when I nudged his arm.
“Write it down.”
He wrote Te extrano beneath the other phrases, his handwriting darker than everything around it.
“Say it,” I told him.
“Te extrano.”
I repeated the phrase, and Ryan shook his head.
“Try it again. You’re losing the n.”
“I knew you were going to find something wrong.”
“I’m teaching you.”
“You’re enjoying correcting me.”
“That too.”
He said the phrase slowly, and I repeated it until his expression softened with approval.
“Better.”
I stared at the words. “How do you say come back?”
Ryan turned his head toward me. “Planning ahead?”
“I’m learning verbs.”
“Sure you are.”
“Ryan.”
He smiled and wrote Vuelve beneath the first phrase.
“Vuelve,” he said.
I repeated it.
“Again.”
“Vuelve.”
“That was better.”
I looked at the two phrases sitting together on the page.
Te extrano.
Vuelve.
Seeing them together made everything I wasn’t saying feel embarrassingly obvious.
Ryan rested his forearm against the table. “You planning to order me back from Flint?”
“I might require additional tutoring.”
“You’ve got my number.”
“That isn’t the same.”
The words escaped quietly, and Ryan’s smile disappeared.
I wanted to take them back, but the anxiety still lingering beneath my skin had left me too tired to build another polished answer quickly enough.
He turned farther toward me. “No, it isn’t.”
I looked down at the notebook while Ryan’s knee pressed against mine beneath the table. He didn’t move it, and neither did I.
“I’ve gotten used to this,” I admitted.
“To Spanish?”
I looked at him, and the softening at the corner of his mouth told me he knew exactly what I meant.
“You’re enjoying making me say it.”
“A little.”
I rolled my eyes, but the nervous pressure in my chest stayed.
“I’ve gotten used to you being here.”
Ryan didn’t tease me, which made admitting it worse.
“I’ve gotten used to being here too.”
“You’re going to leave.”
“I’m going to Flint.”
“That is leaving.”
“It’s two hours away.”
“You know what I mean.”
His eyes stayed on mine. “Tell me.”
I hated when he used that word gently. It meant he wasn’t giving me anywhere to hide.
“You’ll have practice every day.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll have games and travel.”
“Hopefully a lot of both.”
“New teammates too.”
“Some.”
I stared at the notebook. “You’ll have an entire life there.”
Ryan leaned back slightly. “I already have an entire life there.”
That hurt more than it should have, and he saw it before I could hide the reaction.
“Charm.”
“I know.”
“No, look at me.”
I didn’t.