Chapter Eight — Rhett #2
She frowned.
“I can carry that.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you take it?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“That is not a reason.”
“It’s literally the reason.”
She followed me toward storage.
“You’re impossible.”
“So you keep saying.”
“And yet you hear it as encouragement.”
“Tone matters.”
I put the box on the shelf.
When I turned, she stood in the doorway.
Close.
Closer than expected.
Her gaze dropped to my hands.
Then lifted.
“What?” I asked.
“You really did not have to stay.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep treating choice like obligation.”
Her breath caught.
Barely.
I had not intended the line to cut that deep.
Maybe that was why it did.
She looked away.
The corridor light cast soft shadows across her face.
I wanted to step closer.
Not because of the cameras.
Not because of the rumor.
Because she looked tired of being the most capable person in every room.
And I wanted to be someone she did not have to manage.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She looked back.
“For what?”
“The fire.”
“That apology is late.”
“I apologized.”
“You called it a breakfast-related incident.”
“That was before personal growth.”
She folded her arms.
I continued.
“I’m sorry I made your week harder. I’m sorry I volunteered you for today. I’m sorry people are treating you like a side character in my reputation.”
Her expression softened.
I forced myself not to look away.
“And I’m sorry that every time I say something real, you have to wonder whether it’s a line.”
Silence filled the narrow hallway.
Tessa’s arms loosened.
“Rhett.”
“I don’t know how to fix that yet.”
There.
The truth.
Unprotected.
I hated how exposed it felt.
She stepped closer.
Only half a step.
Still enough.
“You don’t have to fix it all at once.”
“That sounds dangerously patient.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Her voice was softer now.
I smiled.
Then stopped myself.
Not because smiling was dishonest.
Because I wanted her to see the difference.
“I meant what I said earlier,” I told her.
“Which part?”
“You get a choice.”
“About the posts?”
“About all of it.”
Her eyes held mine.
The hallway felt too small.
Or maybe the space between us did.
“And if I choose to keep going?” she asked.
My pulse kicked.
“With the charity events?”
“With the arrangement.”
There was no easy way to answer that without wanting too much.
So I tried honesty.
“Then I keep showing up.”
Something moved across her face.
Hope.
Fear.
Maybe both.
She stepped closer again.
Now there was less than a foot between us.
No crowd.
No cameras.
No reason to pretend.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth.
I felt it everywhere.
The next move seemed obvious.
Dangerously obvious.
But there were rules.
And more importantly, there was her.
I stayed still.
Tessa looked up.
“You’re not flirting.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know whether you want me to.”
The words came out rougher than I intended.
Her breath changed.
For one second, I thought she might answer.
Instead, a loud metallic crash echoed from the rink.
We both jumped.
A maintenance worker leaned around the corner.
“Sorry. Dropped a gate.”
Tessa stepped back.
The distance returned too fast.
I exhaled.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Good,” she said.
I blinked.
“Good?”
“That you asked.”
“Oh.”
Her cheeks colored.
“Not asked. Exactly.”
“Understood.”
Neither of us understood anything.
That was becoming a problem.
We finished the last ten minutes of cleanup in near silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Charged.
Every time our hands reached for the same box, one of us moved away too quickly.
Every time she looked at me, I wondered whether she was thinking about the same almost-moment.
By the time we stepped outside, the campus was quiet.
Cold wind moved across the parking lot.
Tessa pulled her sleeves over her hands.
“You are cold,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
“You lie about very specific things.”
“I minimize.”
“Different branding.”
She gave me a look.
I shrugged off my jacket.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be cold.”
“I play hockey.”
“That does not make you weatherproof.”
“It makes me stubborn.”
“That I believe.”
I draped the jacket around her shoulders before she could stop me.
She froze.
Not from the cold.
The jacket swallowed her.
The Lakeview logo stretched across her chest. The sleeves covered her hands completely.
Something possessive and stupid moved through me.
I ignored it.
Mostly.
“You cannot keep doing things like this,” she said.
“Keeping you warm?”
“Making everything feel…”
She stopped.
“Feel what?”
Her gaze lifted to mine.
“Convincing.”
That one word changed the air.
I stepped closer.
Not touching.
Not yet.
“What if I’m not pretending?”
Her eyes widened.
There it was.
Too much truth.
Too soon.
I could have turned it into a joke.
The old version of me would have.
Instead, I let the words stand.
Tessa looked at me for a long time.
Then her phone rang.
Of course it did.
She glanced at the screen.
Her expression closed.
“Dad.”
I stepped back.
She answered.
“Hi.”
The careful voice returned.
The one that edited itself before every word.
I watched her listen.
Watched her shoulders tighten beneath my jacket.
“No, I’m leaving now.”
Pause.
“Yes, he’s here.”
Her eyes met mine.
Another pause.
“No. It’s not like that.”
The words should not have hurt.
They did anyway.
She turned away.
“I’ll call you when I get home.”
She ended the call.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she handed me the jacket.
I did not take it.
“Keep it.”
“I’m walking two buildings over.”
“Then return it tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a strategy.”
“It is.”
“For what?”
“To see you tomorrow.”
Her mouth parted.
I had not planned to say that.
Apparently honesty became addictive once started.
She held my gaze.
Then pulled the jacket tighter around herself.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’ll return it.”
“Take your time.”
“That sounded like flirting.”
“It was.”
Her smile appeared slowly.
“Good night, Rhett.”
“Good night, Tessa.”
She walked away wearing my jacket.
I stayed in the parking lot until she disappeared through the residence hall doors.
Then I pulled out my phone.
The university post was still online.
But the newest comment had been added by Tessa.
Two words.
He caught me.
My chest tightened.
It was probably about the fall.
Probably.
I read it five times anyway.
Then once more.
Because for the first time in my life, I had no idea whether a woman was flirting with me.
And I had never wanted the answer more.