Chapter 7 — Lena
Lena
Lena Brooks had survived the fundraiser.
She had survived the banner typo.
She had survived glitter water, surprise dunk tanks, Mason Cross existing near craft supplies, and Carter Hayes kissing her in enough semi-public locations that she was starting to view campus architecture as personally suspicious.
What she was not surviving was the word trying.
Trying sounded harmless.
Reasonable.
Mature.
A good, responsible word for two people who had accidentally turned a charity event into a slow-motion emotional hazard.
Except Carter had texted it like a promise.
Trying.
And Lena had stared at that one word for a full minute in her dorm room, smiling like an idiot while glitter sparkled in the bottom of her tote bag like evidence.
She was still staring at her phone when her roommate, Paige, flopped backward onto her bed and said, “You look disgusting.”
Lena blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Happy.” Paige shuddered. “It’s upsetting.”
“I am not happy.”
“Your face has gone soft.”
“My face is tired.”
“Your face is texting a boy.”
Lena immediately set the phone facedown on her desk.
Paige shot upright. “Oh my God.”
“Who is it?”
“No one.”
“You have a no one face?”
“I have a normal face.”
“You have a kissed-in-a-parking-lot face.”
Lena froze.
Paige’s eyes widened. “I guessed that.”
“I did. But now I know I’m right.” Paige scrambled off the bed. “Who kissed you in a parking lot?”
“No one kissed me in a parking lot.”
“Lena.”
“It may not have been technically in a parking lot.”
Paige gasped. “Technically?”
Lena turned back to her laptop. “I’m working.”
“On what? A denial statement?”
“I have donor follow-up emails.”
“Was it Carter Hayes?”
Lena’s fingers stopped on the keyboard.
Too late.
Far too late.
Paige screamed into a pillow.
Lena spun around. “Do not scream. This is a shared dorm.”
Paige surfaced, eyes huge. “You kissed Carter Hayes?”
“Lower your voice.”
“You kissed Carter Hayes?”
“Paige.”
“Carter Hayes, as in Ridgeview Hockey Carter Hayes? As in walking red flag with cheekbones? As in campus ‘good luck, babe’ in human form?”
Lena winced. “That description feels unfair.”
“Which part?”
“The human form part.”
Paige grabbed Lena’s desk chair and spun it around so Lena faced her. “Details.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“We are trying.”
Paige’s expression shifted immediately from scandalized to suspiciously tender.
“Oh,” she said.
Lena hated that.
“What does oh mean?”
“It means this isn’t just kissing.”
“It is not not kissing.”
“Does he like you?”
Lena looked toward her phone.
It sat facedown on the desk, quiet and dangerous.
“I think so,” she said.
“You think so?”
“He says so.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
Lena tucked one foot under her chair, suddenly very interested in the frayed edge of the rug beneath her desk.
“I believe that he means it right now.”
Paige’s face softened. “But?”
“But Carter is…” Lena searched for the safest word and failed. “Carter.”
“Extremely.”
“And hot?”
Lena closed her eyes. “Regrettably.”
Paige nodded. “That’s a tough combination.”
“He’s trying.”
“You said that.”
“He really is. He showed up for the fundraiser. He helped. He gave this speech that was actually beautiful, and he was honest in a way I didn’t expect, and then he keeps doing things like bringing me muffins and asking me to text when I get home.”
Paige stared at her.
“What?” Lena asked.
“You are so gone.”
“I am not gone.”
“Lena, you said muffins like they were wedding vows.”
Lena groaned and covered her face.
Paige laughed, then sat on the edge of Lena’s bed. “Okay. Serious question.”
“I hate serious questions.”
“Do you like him?”
Lena lowered her hands.
That was the problem with friends. Real friends. They asked things plainly.
Carter asked like a dare.
Paige asked like she already knew the answer and was only waiting for Lena to stop insulting both of them.
Lena looked at the phone again.
Then nodded.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I like him.”
Like admitting she was holding something heavy made it easier to carry.
Paige smiled softly. “Then maybe trying is okay.”
“What if trying is how people get hurt?”
“Not trying also hurts.”
Lena hated that.
Mostly because it was true.
Paige pointed at her phone. “Text him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I texted last.”
“That is a fake rule invented by people who want to be miserable.”
“You’re staring at your phone like it’s a hostage negotiator.”
Lena picked up the phone before she could overthink it.
The thread with Carter was still open.
Lena: Donor emails are done. Glitter damage remains unresolved.
His reply came almost immediately.
Carter: I can investigate.
Lena: You are not qualified.
Carter: I have seen glitter before.
Lena: That is not a credential.
Carter: I also know the suspect personally.
Lena smiled.
Paige pointed at her face. “Disgusting.”
Lena threw a pillow at her.
Her phone buzzed again.
Carter: Also, I have a question.
Her stomach dipped.
Lena: That sounds dangerous.
Carter: It is. Are you free tonight?
Lena stared at the screen.
Paige leaned over her shoulder.
Lena shoved her away. “Privacy.”
Paige whispered, “Say yes.”
Lena typed too slowly.
Carter: A real date. No curtains, no printers, no charity logistics.
Carter Hayes was asking her on a real date.
A date.
She put the phone down.
Paige gasped. “You’re panicking.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You put the phone down like it bit you.”
“It asked me on a date.”
“Good?”
“Yes, good. People who like each other sometimes do that.”
“This is moving fast.”
“You kissed him multiple times yesterday.”
“Thank you for the timeline.”
“You’re welcome. Say yes.”
Lena picked up the phone again.
She could make an excuse. Donor follow-ups. Exhaustion. Homework. A sudden need to reorganize every drawer she owned.
She could slow things down by not moving at all.
But then she thought of Carter in the stairwell saying he wanted to be worth the risk.
Carter: Yes to the date or yes to danger?
Lena: Unfortunately, both.
Carter: Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 7.
Lena: Where are we going?
Carter: Trust me.
Lena stared at the words.
Carter: Then I’ll earn it. Casual dinner. Public place. No surprises you can’t veto.
From the unbearable inconvenience of Carter Hayes being decent.
Lena stared at it, then set the phone down carefully.
Paige watched her, smiling.
“What?” Lena asked.
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“I’m just enjoying watching the most organized woman I know fall for a man whose best personality trait used to be shoulder definition.”
Lena grabbed another pillow.
By six-fifty, Lena had changed clothes four times and was furious about it.
The fourth was the winner by exhaustion: fitted jeans, soft cream sweater, ankle boots comfortable enough for whatever suspicious walking Carter had planned, and a light jacket because Ridgeview evenings could not be trusted.
Paige approved by saying, “Cute but emotionally guarded.”
“Perfect,” Lena said.
Carter: Downstairs. No pressure. Only mild charm.
Lena smiled despite herself.
Paige pointed. “There’s the face again.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Have fun. Don’t marry him tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“But you thought about it.”
Carter stood outside the dorm entrance under the amber glow of the walkway lamp.
That might have been the most dangerous thing about him.
His eyes moved over her, warm and appreciative, but not careless.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Lena’s face warmed. “You can’t keep saying that every time you see me.”
“I can if it keeps being true.”
“Carter.”
“What? You want me to lie on our first date?”
The phrase curled warmly in her chest.
She stepped closer. “So this is officially a date?”
His smile softened.
“If you want it to be.”
She liked that he asked.
She hated that she liked it.
“I do,” she said.
The words were quieter than she meant them to be, but Carter heard.
Then he held out his hand.
“Then yeah, Brooks. This is officially a date.”
No rush.
No performance.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Food first.”
“That’s specific.”
“Very. I planned it.”
“You planned something?”
“I know. Everyone’s concerned.”
“I’m proud of you.”
He looked at her.
She smiled. “Too much?”
“Maybe.” His voice had gone a little rough. “But I’m getting used to it.”
They walked off campus toward Main Street, where Ridgeview’s college-town strip glowed with restaurant signs, coffee shops, thrift stores, and the kind of pizza place that existed entirely because students believed sleep was optional and cheese was medicine.
They ended up at Rosie’s, a small diner-style place two blocks from campus with red booths, chalkboard specials, and the best loaded fries in walking distance. Lena had been there plenty of times, usually with Paige or after late events.
The hostess recognized him immediately.
Of course.
“Carter! Booth or table?”
The hostess looked at Lena, then at their joined hands, then smiled in a way that said Ridgeview gossip had just gained a new department.
Lena resisted the urge to release him.
Carter felt the tiny shift in her hand and looked down.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
“Want me to let go?”
His smile was small, private.
They slid into a booth near the back.
Carter sat across from her.
Lena noticed that too.
“You’re being very well behaved,” she said, opening the menu.
His brows lifted. “Is that disappointment?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I am simply observing growth.”
“I can misbehave if the date is suffering.”
“The date is not suffering.”
The waitress came by, and Carter ordered loaded fries for the table without asking.
Lena raised an eyebrow.
He pointed at the menu. “Comfortable shoes and fries. That was the whole plan.”
“You said food first. What’s second?”
“You’ll see.”
“Carter.”
“You can veto it.”
“Mostly.”
“Why mostly?”
“Because you might like me more afterward.”