Chapter 9
NINE
People might start thinking we’re a thing if you
keep wearing my clothes
SOPHIE
Lately, I’ve been sleeping better, which is surprising, considering what happened with Carter not too long ago.
But I don’t jolt awake as often, and when I do, the knot in my chest doesn’t feel so tight.
I can actually breathe. It’s almost unsettling in a way, to feel calm when my body’s trained itself to expect the opposite.
But the side effect of sleeping better is, unfortunately, oversleeping.
I’m half-jogging across campus, my backpack bouncing against my spine and sneakers scuffing the pavement, completely undignified.
I barely had time to tug a random crewneck over my head before running out the door.
No makeup, hair in a simple low ponytail, and no breakfast. Just a sweatshirt, jeans, and the faint hope my professor won’t notice me slipping in late again.
By the time I slide into a seat at the back of class, my pulse is still racing.
The windows are wide open, gray clouds hanging heavy over campus.
They look swollen and ready to burst. Great.
I didn’t even glance at the forecast before rushing out.
Of course today would be the day I don’t have an umbrella—or even a hoodie to cover my head from the rain.
When class ends, I head toward the doors with every intention of taking some time to study at the library before my next class.
Somewhere halfway through the lecture I heard the first drops of rain hit the windowsill.
But the library is only across the quad.
A minute if I run, maybe two at most. I'll get a little wet, but I'll survive.
When I push open the doors, it's not sprinkling. It's pouring. Sheets of rain come down so hard they bounce off the pavement. Students huddle under overhangs, clutching umbrellas. Others sprint into the storm, shrieking and laughing like it's fun.
I wish I had that luxury. I'm on campus all day, and if I soak through my clothes this early I'll be miserable for every hour of the rest of the day.
I hesitate, calculating the distance, chewing the inside of my cheek. I can make it if I run. My bag’s water-resistant enough. My sweatshirt? Not so much. My hair will be dripping wet. But I have no choice.
I’m about to step forward anyway when I spot a familiar figure across the way, exiting the library. Even from here, I recognize him instantly—the way his shoulders square, confident without even trying.
I’m seeing Micah more often than I should. And I’m definitely happier to see him than I should be.
There’s a girl beside him. She’s tall, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes that I can see even from here.
She’s very pretty—effortlessly so. And of course she is.
All the girls Micah seems to be associated with are.
Like Ella—outwardly beautiful, at least. Seeing them together does something uncomfortable to my chest. I get a quiet, unwanted realization I don't particularly want to acknowledge.
Of course that's the kind of girl he's used to having around.
She’s tucked close to him, under a black umbrella he’s angled more toward her than himself, making sure she’s fully covered while his own shoulder takes the rain.
And I accept that this isn’t something he does just for me. The care, the instinct to shield, to look after—it’s embedded in him. It’s how he moves through the world. He’s kind to everyone. Thoughtful with everyone. I shouldn’t take it to heart. Shouldn’t mistake it for something meant just for me.
They look like a couple pulled straight out of a rom-com, framed perfectly by the rain, laughing about something.
Then his gaze lifts. Somehow, impossibly, he spots me across the storm.
He slows, says something to her, a quick smile and a goodbye I can’t hear.
He hands her the umbrella, then pulls the hood of his windbreaker over his head.
And then he’s moving—jogging straight toward me through the downpour, long strides eating up the distance between us.
The rain soaks him, but he doesn’t seem to care.
My stomach betrays me and flips again.
By the time he reaches me, his hair is damp at the edges, drops of water sliding down his jaw. He looks maddeningly unbothered.
“You weren’t seriously about to run in that, were you?” His voice is half amusement, half reprimand.
“Maybe.” I hug my arms around myself. “Well, you did.”
“Well I’m a big boy, Lenny.” He takes off his hood. “Did you sleep alright last night?”
My heart trips. “I did. Too much, actually. I overslept.”
“So I assume you weren’t able to eat breakfast?”
Again with his obsession with whether I have eaten or not.
“I did,” I lie.
He arches a brow. “Sophie.”
“I’ll have coffee later.”
“Coffee isn’t breakfast.” He sighs, like he wants to argue but decides to let me win this round. “Where are you headed?”
“The library.”
“Of course you are.” The corner of his mouth curves like he finds me predictable.
I shrug, ignoring the warmth in my chest. “Some of us need to study.”
His gaze dips briefly to my bag before returning to my face. “You don’t have an umbrella, do you?”
“Nope. Told you I overslept. I left it at home. Unlike you.” It comes off sharper than I intend.
“The umbrella back there belongs to my friend, Hannah. She offered to share with me. But unlike you, I’m prepared.” He says as he tugs at his jacket.
I glance at his black windbreaker. “That doesn’t count.”
“Sure it does. Umbrellas are a hassle. You bring them inside and they drip water everywhere. I’d rather just have this.” He flicks his hood.
I hesitate, then curse myself for it. I can’t seem to stop the words before they’re out. “So Hannah, huh?”
He looks at me, waiting.
“The girl you were with,” I add quickly. “You two—” I trail off. You looked good together, I don’t say. Like a frame from a movie.
A corner of his mouth lifts, like he knows exactly what I’m doing and finds it mildly amusing.
“She’s just a friend,” he says easily.
“Oh,” I reply, aiming for neutral and probably missing.
His smile widens, teasing and knowing. “I didn’t know you were also the jealous type.”
My mouth opens, then closes. Then it opens again. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Mm.” He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I was just curious,” I say. Then, I’m unable to control my mouth once again. “You two looked friendly, that’s all.”
“Friendly,” he repeats, amused.
Rain drums harder around us, his hood shadowing his eyes as he watches me like this is the most entertaining thing he’s done all day.
I change the subject and keep my voice even. “Do you have another class to get to?”
“I’m done for the day. I’m heading to Boston now.” He tilts his head, studying me again. “What about you?”
“Two more classes. And then the closing shift at the bookstore.”
“Long day.” His gaze lingers, like he wants to say more.
Then, without warning, he unzips his jacket.
I blink. “What are you—”
He shrugs it off, revealing a white t-shirt beneath that clings in all the right places. Not too tight, but snug enough to show the definition of his chest and arms. My brain short-circuits for a second.
Before I can recover, he’s draping the jacket over my shoulders, tugging the hood up over my hair. His fingers brush lightly against my temple, sending a spark down my spine.
“Micah,” I protest weakly. “What are you doing?”
“You need it more than I do. You’ll be on campus all day and it’s supposed to rain until tomorrow morning.”
“You’re wearing short sleeves and it’s cold.”
He shakes his head. “I’m going to my car now, and I always keep extra clothes in there. I’ll be fine. But you won’t, so take it. Please.”
I tug the jacket closer around myself, the warmth of it still carrying his body heat. It’s huge on me. And it smells like him. My heart unsteadily thuds against my ribs.
“You can’t just—”
“I can. And I did.” His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “Don’t argue with me, Lenny.”
I open my mouth, ready to insist, but he steps back already, hands lifting in surrender. “I really do have to go, though. Traffic’s going to be brutal if I don’t leave now.”
“Micah—”
“I’ll text you later.” His smile is quick, almost boyish, before he turns and jogs toward the parking lot. He doesn’t wait for me to answer—doesn’t give me a chance to shove his jacket back into his hands.
Then he slows.
He stops a short distance away, and then turns back like he’s forgotten something important. Rain darkens his hair, plastering it to his forehead.
“Oh—hey!” he calls, raising his voice over the rain. “Take an Uber after work, okay? It’s gonna be wet and cold!”
A few people glance our way. Heat rushes to my face.
I just lift a hand and wave. I can’t afford an Uber, and I’m not going to make a promise I don’t intend to keep.
He grins and waves in return, then turns and jogs off. I stand there a moment longer in his jacket, my heart still racing, trying to convince myself this doesn’t mean anything more than what it is.
I stand there under the building’s awning, his jacket heavy on my shoulders, watching his figure disappear through the rain. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ll probably be waiting for that text from him.
MICAH
My dad had me in Boston all day yesterday, and it was grueling.
He insisted I drive down in the morning to shadow him, which basically meant sitting in a string of meetings where I wasn’t needed.
He’s been on my case nonstop about taking the company more seriously now that I’m a junior.
As if my life here—classes, exams, papers, actual responsibilities—doesn’t count for anything.
It’s like he forgets I’m still a student, or maybe he doesn’t care. In his head, my degree is just a box to check off before I step into the role he’s carved out for me. It’s more important that I make a good impression on the members of the board.
The worst part? The whole day was pointless.
I could’ve joined those meetings on Zoom, given the same fake smile, nodded at the same meaningless chatter.
Instead, I drove hours in the pouring rain and traffic just to shake hands and make small talk with people who know me because of my last name.
My dad calls it exposure, and I call it a waste of time.
I also had the added pressure of wanting to get back in time to give Sophie a ride home after work. I knew she had the closing shift at the bookstore, and some part of me wanted to be there at the end, just in case. No doubt she’d try to walk home in the rain.
Meetings ran late, traffic was a nightmare, and by the time I finally pulled into my parking garage, it was past midnight.
Maybe I should’ve called.
I pull up to campus at nine in the morning.
The rain finally stopped an hour ago, leaving puddles scattered across the quad, and the sunlight now bounces off the damp concrete.
But at least the air is cooler than it’s been in weeks.
Students weave in and out of each other with steaming cups of coffee, shoulders hunched against the early chill.
I’m halfway across the quad when I see her.
Headphones in, coffee in one hand, phone tucked in the other. She’s walking slowly, eyes focused on something ahead. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks.
It’s my jacket.
The same black windbreaker I draped over her yesterday. She’s wearing it again, zipped halfway up over her hoodie. The sleeves are too long, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
And damn if it doesn’t do something to me.
I tell myself she’s just cold. Maybe it was just there, and she didn’t think twice before slipping it on. Still, something about her walking across campus in my clothes makes my chest tighten, and a warmth that I can’t quite shake settles in.
I try not to smile like an idiot, but it’s impossible.
Before I can overthink it, I lengthen my stride until I’m right beside her.
“Morning.”
She jumps a little, tugging one earbud out. “Woah—hi. You scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to.” I nod at her coffee. “Early start?”
Her mouth quirks. “As usual.”
I chuckle, falling into step with her. “Did you get home okay yesterday in the rain?”
Her gaze flickers to mine briefly, then away. “I did. It calmed down a bit by the end of the day, so the walk was alright,” she says softly.
I arch a brow. “Pretty sure you promised you’d Uber.”
She stops short, turning to face me. “I did no such thing.”
“You waved,” I say. “That’s basically a promise.”
She scoffs. “I wave at strangers, Micah. Doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to anything.” Then her eyes narrow, just a little. “Besides, I keep my promises. Unlike you.”
Oh.
I know immediately what she means. The text. The one I said I’d send.
First she was jealous of Hannah, and now this. Which means she noticed. Which means she waited.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “Things ran late and by the time I got home it was past midnight. I thought about texting, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
She hums, unconvinced.
“I mean,” I add lightly, “you knock out hard. Like a sedated walrus. You probably wouldn't even have woken up.”
Her mouth drops open. “Excuse you. I sleep like a princess.”
“You're right. You're a sleeping beauty.” I leave it to her interpretation.
We walk a few more steps, the rhythm of our strides easy and natural. And then I can’t stop myself. I glance down at her, at the oversized sleeves brushing her fingers, and let the grin slip through.
“So,” I say casually, “You like my jacket, huh?”
Her eyes widen and she looks flustered. She glances down at herself, as if just realizing she’s still wearing it.
“Oh my God,” she mutters, tugging at the zipper. “I forgot I had this. Here, I’ll give it back—”
I reach out, catching her wrist gently before she can peel it off. The touch is fleeting—just the brush of my fingers against her skin. Her hand is soft, delicate, though a bit cold. She looks up at me, lips parted. And this view does something to me I don’t quite understand.
“Don’t,” I say, voice lower now. “It suits you.” I let a beat pass, holding her gaze. “And I kind of like seeing you in it.”
Her cheeks flush a shade pinker than the morning chill can account for. She swallows, tugging lightly against my hold, but I don’t let go just yet.
I tilt my head, pretending at nonchalance. “Careful though, Soph. People might start thinking we’re a thing if you keep wearing my clothes.”
That earns me an eye roll, though the smile on her face betrays her. “Literally no one will think that, Micah.”
“You don’t know that.” I finally release her wrist, letting my hand fall back to my side. “But I’m serious. Don’t give it back. I want you to keep it. It looks so much better on you than it ever did on me.”
“Only because this is actually really warm and it’s cold today,” She surrenders.
“Of course.”
She shakes her head, but she doesn’t unzip the jacket. Nor shove it into her bag. She just keeps walking beside me, the sleeves still brushing her hands, my jacket still wrapped around her.
And for some reason, that feels like the best damn win I’ve had in a long time.