Chapter 18
TROY
But today, nothing. No Delilah. No scowl.
I put the car in park and check my phone. No messages cancelling. Weird.
Just as I'm about to text her, the door to her building flies open.
Delilah practically explodes outside, her short hair is sticking out in random places, a massive sketchbook under one arm, backpack hanging off the other.
She doesn't even look both ways before sprinting across the street toward my car.
“Get out!” she shouts through my closed window, gesturing frantically. “Get out of the car!”
I hesitate, wondering if I've somehow pissed her off already. It's not even 8:20.
She slaps the hood of my car, impatient. “Troy! Come on, I need to show you something!”
I kill the engine and step out, curious and a little concerned. “What's going—”
“I figured it out,” she cuts me off, breathless, like she's been up all night. Based on the dark circles under her eyes, she probably has. “The project. We've been thinking about it all wrong.”
She drops her backpack on the sidewalk and flips open her sketchbook, propping it against my car. The pages are filled with drawings, notes scribbled in the margins, a roadmap of her brain I can barely follow.
“Everyone's going to take the brief literally, right?” Her finger taps rapidly on a drawing of the toilet block. “Make something effective, productive, sustainable. Another boring green building that looks good on paper but that nobody actually interacts with or learns anything from.”
“Yeah, and?”
“What if we took it to mean something else entirely?” Her eyes are bright, intense in the morning light. “What if instead of just building something sustainable, we create a space that teaches sustainability? Something that can have a ripple effect.”
I lean closer, intrigued despite myself. “Go on.”
“I ran into Alex yesterday working on this tiny wildflower garden by the gym.
It's barely bigger than a parking spot, but she showed me pictures from summer—this explosion of color, pollinators everywhere. A whole little ecosystem.” She flips to another page, showing a rough sketch of a garden area.
“And students stop to read the little sign she put up. Classes use it for projects.”
She's so close I can smell her shampoo. She doesn't seem to notice our proximity, too caught up in her idea. But I notice. I appear to notice everything about her.
“So, what if we create a space where people can learn practical skills for living sustainably? Growing food, rewilding land, water conservation—all of it.” Her hands sketch invisible designs in the air.
“UMS students could teach community workshops for extra credit. Local schools could visit. It becomes this... exchange.”
I'm watching her face, the way animation transforms her. She's gorgeous like this—passionate, unguarded, still in what looks like pajama pants under her coat, like she couldn't wait to show me.
“We benefit the planet like the brief asked, but we also create this ripple effect of knowledge.” She finally pauses, eyes meeting mine. “What do you think?”
I'm quiet for a second, turning it over in my mind. It's not just a good idea. It's a fucking brilliant one.
“We'd have to scrap almost everything we've done so far,” I say.
Her face falls slightly. “I know.”
“And redesign the whole concept from scratch.”
“I know that too.”
“And it'll be a shit-ton of work.”
“Troy, if you don't want to—”
“It's fucking genius, Greer.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I grin, a rush of excitement blooming in my chest. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what the brief asked for—something that benefits both the campus and the planet. But it’s not the obvious answer.”
I grab her hand without thinking.
“Delilah,” I say, barely able to contain the thrill in my voice, “nobody else is going to think of this.”
She glances down at our hands like she’s trying to decide if it’s real, then looks back up at me. A slow smile starts to spread across her face—not the sharp, guarded kind I’m used to, but something softer. Brighter.
Genuine.
“You really think so?” she asks, quiet, almost like she doesn’t want to want the answer as much as she does.
“I know so,” I say, and I squeeze her hand. “This is how we win.”
And then something breaks loose between us. I’m not sure who moves first but suddenly, she’s in my arms and I’m spinning her off the ground right there on the sidewalk at 8:20 AM, traffic buzzing in the distance, the morning sun catching in her hair.
She lets me.
That alone is wild.
She lets me lift her, hold her, laugh like no one’s watching. And the sound that escapes her? It’s not a chuckle. It’s not a smirk. It’s a full-body, breathless, utterly Delilah laugh; free and unfiltered and so beautiful it stops me cold.
I set her down, but my hands don’t move. Neither do hers.
She’s still holding onto me. Still smiling. Still standing close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath and count the freckles across her cheekbones.
We’re grinning like idiots.
“Did you just giggle, Greer?” I ask, eyes wide in mock horror.
She tries to scowl. It barely lasts a second. “Shut up, Hawkins.”
“You did.” I’m glowing. I know it. I don’t care. “You giggled.”
“I swear to god—”
“I didn’t know you were capable of such human sounds. Are you malfunctioning? Should I call the IT department?”
She groans, but her hands stay on my shoulders. Mine stay around her waist. Neither of us is moving.
And in the middle of a morning that should’ve just been another work session, I realize something quietly, terrifyingly simple…
I never want to stop making her laugh like that.
“We're going to be late,” she says, but doesn't move away.
“Worth it.” My voice comes out softer than I intended. “Your idea is brilliant. You're brilliant.”
Something flickers across her face before she steps back, smoothing down her wild hair.
“Well,” she says, gathering her sketchbook and backpack. “We should probably get going."
I nod, already missing her closeness like it's a physical ache. What the hell is happening to me?
“We could skip our first classes? Go to CC's and flesh out some of these ideas?”
I really wasn't looking forward to more fluid flow dynamics anyway. This—her—sounds way more entertaining.
“Yeah. I mean I don't have a class until 11 today anyway, I just couldn't wait to tell you my idea.” She slides into the passenger seat, but the smile hasn't left her face. “That sounds good.”
I walk around to the driver's side, watching as she immediately opens her sketchbook again, diving back into her notes. Her excitement is contagious, filling the car with a kind of energy I can feel in my bones.
And right there, putting the car in drive and stealing glances at her as she works with that fierce concentration, something clicks into place inside me.
No. Not that. Anything but that.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles going white. This can't be happening. I don't do this—I'm Troy fucking Hawkins. The guy who makes jokes about commitment being a prison sentence. The guy who high-fived Jared last semester for his “three-date maximum” rule.
The guy who watched his dad walk out and his mom fall apart and swore he'd never give anyone that kind of power over him.
But the feeling's still there, pulsing beneath my ribs like a second heartbeat.
This isn't just attraction anymore. This isn't just admiration for her mind or appreciation for how she looks in the morning light with her hair falling across her face and that little crease between her eyebrows when she's concentrating.
I think I'm falling for Delilah Greer—hard and fast and completely. And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.
I steal another glance at her, pencil between her teeth, completely absorbed in her work. She has no idea what's happening inside me right now. How could she? I barely understand it myself.
She'd probably laugh if she knew. Or worse, pity me. Or worst of all, pull away completely.
So for now, I'll keep it locked down. Buried. I can't risk scaring her off—not when she's finally starting to trust me. Not when we've finally found this fragile balance.
I'll just drive her to coffee. And help her make this brilliant vision come to life.
I turn the radio up a notch, hoping the music will drown out my thoughts. Hoping that somewhere in the middle of all this, she might be falling a little bit too.
But knowing better than to count on it.