by Farlow, LK
“Need?” Stella spins in a wide circle before turning down the next aisle. “I don’t know, but Target will tell me. Trust the bullseye.”
I roll my lips inward to keep from laughing. “If you say so.”
“I know so! It’s like, science, or something.”
“Or something,” I snort, tossing a basic white duvet insert into my cart.
“Trust the process, Emmy. Trust the process.”
“You’re crazy.” A giggle punctuates my words.
“The best people are.”
For the next half hour, we continue up and down the aisles, stopping when something catches our attention, until our carts are full.
Stella’s is a mishmash of things, while mine is loaded down with essentials, since I came to Georgia with nothing more than a single bag of clothing, my phone, and beloved laptop.
Oh, and Oreos—but those are essential for me.
“Are you going to any of the Welcome Week events?” Stella asks as we load our bags into the trunk.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I read online you should, but...”
“But nothing! Personally, I plan on hitting up the ice cream social tonight.”
“I do like ice cream.”
“Perfect. We’ll go together.”
And just like that, I have plans with a friend on my first night at college.
Chapter Four
Emmy
Something pulls me from a deep, dreamless sleep. My eyes pop open and I bolt upright in my bed, desperately searching the small room for what pulled me from my slumber.
Goose bumps dot my skin, sweat beads my brow, and my heart is thundering in my chest. My body is on high alert; I just don’t know why.
I clutch my stuffed rabbit to my chest and will myself to calm down, breathing deeply.
When that doesn’t help, I count back from one hundred.
By the time I’m down to single digits, my breathing has returned to normal and I’m able to take stock of the situation.
The realization of what has me so out of sorts hits me like a ton of bricks.
I slept well.
No tossing, no turning. No nightmares. No waking up crying with the sheet clutched to my chest.
How sad is it that sleeping through the night is such a foreign concept to my brain and my body that I still woke up terrified?
Baby steps, I suppose.
Rolling to my side, I grab my phone and check the time. It’s five past eight, which is easily the latest I’ve slept in years. I listen for sounds of life from Stella, but the suite is quiet. She must still be sleeping.
I fling off the covers and swing my feet over the edge of the bed. First things first: a steaming hot shower.
Some people say their best ideas happen in the shower, but for me, my mind goes totally blank the second I pull the curtain closed. It’s like the water washes my worries right down the drain.
If only they’d stay gone.
Once I’m squeaky clean, I towel off and dress in a pair of cut-off shorts and another thrift store sweatshirt; this one is tie-dye and reads Poor Little Rich Girl in swooping cursive. I love it mostly because my mom loathed it.
I braid my damp hair and slather my face with moisturizer before brushing my teeth and calling it good. It’s easy to be low maintenance when you have no one to impress.
By the time I pad back into the kitchen, Stella is awake and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Want some?” she asks through a yawn.
“Always.”
She passes me a mug, which I graciously accept. Stella stares wide-eyed as I sip down the piping beverage.
“What?” I ask.
“You just drink it... black?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” I say, looking down into my mug. Mom always said cream and sugar make for thick thighs, so I learned to like it without. “Force of habit, I guess?”
Stella pulls a face as she moves to the fridge and loads her mug with some kind of flavored creamer. She takes a sip and sighs. “Ah, sugary goodness.”
We drink our beverages in silence for a minute, before Stella randomly bursts out laughing.
“What?” I ask, because seriously... who just cracks up out of nowhere?
“I was just thinking. I’m blonde and like lighter coffee. You’re brunette and like dark coffee.” She shrugs and takes another sip. “I don’t know, it just made me laugh.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her. “And I love it.”
“Duh. I’m lovable AF.” She finishes her mug and refills it. “What are your plans today?”
“I need to get my books, but that’s pretty much it.”
“Oh my God! That reminds me—we haven’t compared schedules or anything! What are your classes? Do you know your major?”
“Psych major,” I say, ducking my head, before rattling off my class schedule.
“Oh, we have history together!” Stella remarks, rinsing her mug and then the carafe. “I’m an education major. Every woman in my family since basically the dawn of time has been a teacher.”
“That’s really cool.” I mean it, too, seeing as the only degree my mother ever earned was her Mrs.
Stella nods. “Most people think I want to teach because it is expected of me, but I truly have a heart for it. The thought that I could impact a child’s life... to help them on their path... I don’t know, it makes me happy.”
“I think that’s amazing.”
“Thanks! So, do you know what you want to do with your degree?”
Right as I go to reply, there’s a knock on our suite door.
Stella checks the peephole on the door before unlocking it and swinging it open. “Hey, Melanie,” she says in greeting, waving the lanky brunette into our space.
“Good morning, ladies,” she chirps, stepping into the room with a folder clasped under one arm.
“Hey,” I murmur, glancing down toward the floor.
“We didn’t get to meet yesterday,” Melanie says, stepping closer to me. “I’m the RA for your floor. I stopped by yesterday, but y’all were out.”
“Sorry.” I wipe my hands across the front of my shorts. “I’m Emmy, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Melanie smiles, seemingly unbothered by my sudden bout of nerves. “This is for you,” she says, holding the folder she brought with her out toward me. “It’s a little welcome pack from me to you. You’ll find the dorm rules, along with some useful info.”
“Oh, thanks.” I clutch the folder to my chest.
“For sure. Are y’all settling in all right? Getting along okay?”
I step back and let Stella take point. “We are. Emmy and I are a match made in roomie heaven.”
Melanie beams. “Glad to hear it. If you ladies need anything, my number is on the last page in your welcome packet.”
“Perfect. Thanks so much.” Stella walks her back to the door.
Our RA offers us one last smile before stepping back into the hallway.
“She seems nice,” I murmur, hating myself a little for shutting down in her presence.
Stella nods before smoothly changing the subject. “Let me get dressed and we can head to the bookstore together.”
I pop my now cold mug of coffee into the small microwave and sip on it while Stella gets ready. Luckily, she’s fairly low maintenance as well and doesn’t keep me waiting long.
* * *
The sun is high in the sky and shining brightly when we exit the dorm. It’s unseasonably warm out, which is why the chill skittering over my skin has my back stiffening and the fine hairs on my body standing on end.
It’s the same feeling as yesterday, as though someone is watching me. It’s a fight not to frantically search for the prying eye that has my skin feeling like it’s covered in ants, itching and crawling.
“Are you okay?” Stella asks, somehow tuned in to my discomfort.
As discreetly as possible, I survey our surroundings.
Once again, there isn’t anythin
g or anyone suspicious.
I shake off the feeling and force a grin. “Yup, just got a chill.”
“Do we need to go back so you can change?” Stella nods down toward my shorts.
“No, I’m good,” I assure her. After all, paranoia isn’t something you’ll find in the weather app on your phone.
She regards me, doubt darkening her pale eyes, before finally nodding. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We fall into step together, making our way across the campus to the student center, where the campus bookstore is housed.
It takes a few minutes for the feeling of being watched to fully dissipate; luckily, Stella is a talker, and her endless chatter quickly distracts me from my demons.
“Do you plan on going to any football games?” she asks as we enter the student center.
“I don’t know. It’s never really been my thing before.” The lie rolls off of my tongue so easily it should worry me. But that part of my life is in the past, locked away under lock and key.
Plus, it’s really only a half-lie. I don’t know football from any other sport, game-wise. I only ever cheered and shook my pom-poms on the sidelines. I was too busy nailing my stunts and routines to ever bother learning the actual game.
“Well, I plan on experiencing every college-y thing there is. So that means you’re going to at least one game with me.”
“Every college-y thing?” I raise a dubious brow.
“Yes. Every.” Stella wags her brows and leans into me. “Including ditching my V-card.”
My eyes widen at her candor, and she laughs.
“Don’t look so scandalized, Emmy. It’s the twenty-first century; women can talk about sex.”
“No, right, of course, they can.” I pinch my eyes closed and shake my head, dispelling the dark thoughts that try rolling in.
“Have you”—she leans in, so only I can hear her—"had sex?"
Dread drops into my gut like an anvil, the weight of it threatening to plummet me straight into the bowels of hell.
Misreading my misery for embarrassment, Stella nudges me with her elbow. “No worries, Emmy. Just because women can talk about sex, doesn’t mean they have to.” She laughs under her breath. “My mom would love you... she says modesty is a woman’s best accessory.”
I offer her a grateful smile at her easy reprieve as we step into the bookstore.
“Let’s split up and grab our books and then afterward, maybe we can get some food?”
“Sounds good.”
Chapter Five
Emmy
Another night of peaceful sleep down, and hopefully a lifetime more to go.
Seriously, a girl could get used to not waking up sobbing or screaming.
Stella has plans with her family today, which leaves me on my own; apparently, they do a big family dinner after church.
Remembering a little on-campus cafe, I decide to throw on a slip dress and a pair of sherpa-lined Van mules. I brush my teeth, spray a little dry shampoo in my hair and call it good.
There’s a slight chill in the air compared to yesterday, but I relish the bite of it against my skin. It reminds me that I’m alive, safe and well.
I let my mind wander as I walk, not really thinking about anything in particular. Which is why it comes as a total surprise when I slam straight into a wall.
No. Not a wall, a man. Unless you count rock-hard muscles as a wall. It certainly feels like one.
“Oh, God. I’m so-I’m so sorry.” I take a step back, but still have to crane my neck to look at the behemoth of a man I just plowed into. “Are you... okay?”
Mr. Muscles grins down at me. “Pretty sure I should be asking you that. You slammed into me pretty hard, sweets.”
I can feel my cheeks heat to near nuclear levels. “I’m fine,” I squeak.
“That you are. Got a name?”
My knees threaten to drop me on my ass, not out of attraction, but fear. All at once, it dawns on me how close this giant, strange man is. He could do anything to me, and I’d be helpless to defend myself. He’s built like a brick shithouse, nearly three times my size.
“Um.” My entire body shakes as I back away from him.
“Hey, whoa.” He holds his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweets. You’re safe.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until he reaches out and wipes away my tears.
Is it possible to die from humiliation? I scoff at myself. I know good and well it’s not, because if it were, I’d have been six feet under long ago.
“S-s-sorry,” I stammer out the single word, wishing like hell I could teleport myself back to the safety of my suite.
Mr. Muscles smiles down at me in a way that’s far too soft for his size. “You’re good, no apologies needed.” He takes a small step back, his hands still held out in front of him. “Let’s try again. I’m Gabe, and you are?”
“Emmy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Emmy.” He reaches out to shake my hand, but seems to think better of it and lets his arm drop before I can clasp his hand.
“It’s, um, nice to meet you, too. And I’m... really sorry for running into you.” I toe at the ground. “And I’m sorry for being such a mess, too.”
“What did I say? No apologies needed.” He winks. Any other guy, and I’d scoff, but somehow Gabe makes it work. “Am I allowed to ask where you’re headed?”
I hesitate to answer him, a fact that doesn’t escape him.
“Before you go thinking I’m a stalker, I’m only asking because I’m hungry and was hoping you’d do me the honor of joining me.”
I gulp, torn on how to reply. On one hand, Gabe’s intentions could be strictly platonic; on the other... well, I’m not even remotely prepared to consider the other. For a second it felt like he was flirting, but I’m so out of touch with anything resembling romance that I can’t be sure.
“Listen,” he says, leveling me with a look that’s as warm as it is stern. “No offense, but you remind me a little of a lost puppy, and I’ve never been able to resist feeding a stray. So, brunch, on me. No strings, no funny business. Just a meal between potential friends.”
I weigh his words, searching for the truth. When I don’t see as much as a hint of deception in his crystalline green eyes, I find myself accepting his invitation.
“I was actually on my way to eat, so um, I guess we could do it together. Eat, I mean. We could eat together.”
Gabe quirks a brow, like he’s not quite sure what to do with me.
That makes two of us, Mr. Muscles.
“Where were you headed?”
“Holy Roasters.”
He rumbles his approval. “After you.”
I shoot him a weak smile and resume walking.
“You’re a freshman, right?” Gabe asks.
“That obvious?”
He imitates a dog whimpering. “Little. Lost. Puppy.”
Indignation burns in my chest. “I was doing just fine until we collided.”
A deep, masculine chuckle is his only reply.
“What?”
“Sweets,” he sighs. “You were walking with your eyes trained on the ground like it held all of the answers to the universe. I’d been standing still when you walked into me. You legit didn’t notice me. I’m six-five and two-hundred-and-eighty pounds. I’m kind of hard to miss.”
“So, maybe I was a little distracted?”
He reaches past me, holding the door to the cafe open for me. The smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon greet me, beckoning me inside.
“Or…” He lets the door close behind him. “Maybe you didn’t want to draw attention by making eye contact with anyone.”
Or maybe I felt like someone was watching me and the feeling made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out... potato, po-tah-to.
“Something like that,” I murmur, scanning the menu.
Gabe hums thoughtfully, but the barista greets us before he can reply.
“Welcome to Holy Roasters, what can I get y’all
today?”
The beast of a man behind me prompts me to order first. “Um, a coffee, black, and a cinnamon roll.”
“And you?”
“Oh, we’re separate,” I mumble, but Gabe talks right over me. “I’ll also take a coffee, black, but with room for cream. A green smoothie, a breakfast burrito, a banana, and a blueberry muffin.”
My jaw practically unhinges at the amount of food he orders.
“Gotta keep my figure.” He winks and pats his belly.
“That’ll be twenty-two fifty.”
“But, we’re not—”
Gabe bustles me behind him and then passes the barista his card, paying for my order along with his, despite my protests.
“Y’all’s coffees will be at the end of the bar, and we will bring the rest out when it is ready.”
Smooth as butter, Gabe maneuvers me to where our steaming paper cups are waiting. Gabe adds a healthy dose of cream and sugar while I simply pop a lid onto mine and call it good.
“How about that table by the window?” he asks, not actually waiting for me to reply.
Our seats offer us an unfettered view of both the cafe and the campus. I ignore the bustle around me and focus on the students milling about on the other side of the glass. People watching has always been a hobby of mine; there’s something about assigning stories and traits to strangers that thrills me.
Maybe it’s because, for a short time, I can see everyone as good. Who knows?
“Zone out much?” Gabe asks, knocking his knee into mine.
“Just taking in the scenery.”
An employee drops off my cinnamon roll, along with his mountain of food.
“Where are you from?” He takes a massive bite of his muffin, sending crumbs scattering across the table.
“Texas, you?”
“Alabama, but only just past the state line.”
“What made you decide to come to Central Valley?” I ask, for lack of anything more interesting to offer. Plus, if I keep the focus on him, it won’t be on me.
“Football.”
“Oh, yeah? Is the program good?”
His cheeks spread into a shit-eating grin. “Nope.”
