lili🐆

Working at this bookstore was hands down the best job you’d ever had in your entire life.

Seriously.

Most people probably look at a job like this and think it’s boring, super traditional, or just straight-up basic, but honestly? You were living your absolute best life in that place.

It wasn't one of those massive commercial chain stores, not even close. It was this hidden gem where the same regulars popped in all the time.

Sure, you’d get the occasional new face, usually stressed out college students or adorable old people who, by the time they hit the checkout counter, would literally curse themselves out for not discovering this spot sooner.

Your second favorite thing about working here was definitely the café just a few doors down. It was the best. Like clockwork, every single morning, you’d grab your coffee, hot or iced, depending on the vibe and the season, and sip it behind the counter or while sorting the shelves. you ’d also got super close with the barista, who sometimes would bring some coffee in the afternoon.

But let’s be real. There was a number one reason why this bookstore was your favorite place on the entire planet.

And that reason stood at a solid 6'1", had ash-blond hair that looked messy in the best way possible, and wore these simple, thin-rimmed glasses that perfectly framed the most striking blue eyes you’d ever seen.

The reason had a name: Ryland Grace.

You only knew that because he’d signed up for the store loyalty card a while back

Thank God for these gimmicks, honestly.

For about a year now, he’d been pulling up to the shop like multiple times a week.

He’d pick up the occasional thriller or a classic novel, but his main vibe was science books. We're talking high level, brain melting physics texts, but also weirdly specific middle school level science books. It didn't take a genius to piece it together: the guy was definitely a teacher.

After a few months of mutual, low-key awkwardness on both sides, you’d finally upgraded to actually making conversation. Nothing too deep or confidential, just regular small talk with the one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else in the world every couple of days.

Nothing too serious, right? Just a small, innocent, little talk.

Every time the bell above the door chimed, your brain secretly hoped it was him.

And usually, your chats were pretty standard, but there were days when his absolute lack of a filter made your entire week.

One time he was trying to explain a physics concept to you using whatever was on the counter. He picked up an orange from your lunch to demonstrate gravitational pull, tried to toss it casually in the air to look smooth, completely missed the catch, and the orange flew across the store, hitting the cranky regular customer Mr. Henderson right on the shoulder. Ryland hid behind a bookshelf for twenty minutes.

It was exactly that chaotic energy mixed with the whole 'passionate science professor' aesthetic that completely did it for you.

Today was a Friday, which meant it was one of those glorious days where he’d roll into the shop around 6:00 PM. You were counting down the minutes, literally.

Right on cue, the little bell above the door jangled, and there he was. Still in his teaching clothes, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and an energy drink gripped in his hand. The exact second his gaze landed on you, your heart did a stupid little flip. You just gave him a warm smile, and his face instantly lit up with one of his own before he vanished into the aisles.

Well, "vanished" was a metaphor, because you could still totally catch him peeking at you through the gaps in the shelves, or pretending to be deeply, spiritually invested in a book that was the complete opposite of his usual vibe, like a pastel-colored romance novel.

"Can I help you find something, Dr. Grace?" you called out, pitching your voice over the soft indie music humming through the shop's speakers.

Ryland flinched, nearly dropping his entire tower of books. He caught them with an uncoordinated scramble, his face instantly flushing a brilliant, tomato red.

"Uh! No! Well, yes. I mean—hi," he stammered, shuffling over to the counter. He offered a goofy, lop-sided grin. "Just, you know, gathering resources for the kids. Future scientists of America. Got to keep them fed with knowledge. And paper. Not literally eating the paper, obviously. That would be... not a good idea, yeah."

"Right..." you said, fighting a massive laugh as you started scanning his books.

You decided to lean your elbows on the counter, “You know, Ryland, if you keep buying out our entire science section every friday, I'm going to have to start giving you an employee discount. You're practically keeping our inventory moving."

Ryland blinked, visibly letting out a breath he’d been holding, relieved you hadn't totally called him out. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses for the twentieth time.

"Well, you know... standard supply and demand,"

"The kids have an insatiable thirst for knowledge. And by knowledge, I mean they like looking at pictures of black holes instead of doing their algebra."

“Right, right. Algebra is definitely the enemy," you laughed, but instead of finishing the transaction, you reached under the counter. "Actually, hold on a sec. I have something for you."

Ryland blinked, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit as he watched you pull out a beautifully wrapped, brand new hardcover book. It was a special, illustrated collector’s edition of an introductory astrophysics guide, perfect for middle schoolers, but cool enough for an adult, especially one like him.

You placed it gently on top of his stack. "I saw this in our new catalog last week and immediately thought of your class. I special ordered a copy just for you."

Ryland stared at the book like you’d just handed him a piece of actual moon rock. He opened his mouth, but for a solid five seconds, literally no sound came out. He looked up at you, his blue eyes incredibly wide.

"You... you ordered this? For me?" he squeaked, his voice cracking like a teenager's.

"For your students," you corrected playfully, though the faint blush creeping up your own neck probably gave you away. "Consider it a gift from the shop. No charge."

"What? No! No, absolutely not," Ryland immediately protested, his hands flying up in a frantic, uncoordinated wave. "I can't just take it. That violates basic economic principles. And store policy! I'm paying for it. Put it on the tab. Scan the barcode, i hav-"

"Ryland, stop," you giggled, reaching out and gently tapping his hand to calm him down. The moment your fingers brushed his skin, he froze completely, his entire face turning a brilliant shade of tomato red. "I already wrote it off as a promotional expense. It's totally fine. Just take the book."

"But—" he stammered, his eyes darting frantically between your hand and the book. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... I feel like a criminal. A highly appreciative, scientifically touched criminal."

"Just take it as a thank you for keeping our store alive every week," you smiled, sliding his actual total across the screen. "Now, are you going to pay for the rest, or do I need to call security on you, Dr. Grace?"

"Right. Yes. Paying. Good," he mumbled, completely short circuited by the gesture. He fished his card out with shaking fingers, accidentally dropping a crumpled receipt onto the counter before finally handing it over.

As you processed the card, he stared down at the special-ordered book, a genuinely touchedn smile spreading across his face.

"Thank you," he said, looking up at you through his lashes, his voice suddenly dropping into a tone that was way less dorky and way more sincere. "Seriously. That was... incredibly nice of you."

Now, you were the one probably looking completely red, and embarrassingly lost.

"Anytime, Ryland."

He gathered his heavy bag and clutched the whole thing to his chest. He offered one last smile, turned on his heel, and started heading toward the exit.

You watched his back, letting out a quiet, half-disappointed sigh.

Classic Ryland, you thought.

The sweetest guy ever, but totally terrified.

He made it all the way to the door. His hand was literally on the brass handle. The little bell above the door gave a tiny, premature jangle.

But then, he stopped.

He stood frozen for a solid three seconds, his shoulders tense, looking like a man who was having a massive argument with his own brain.

Suddenly, he spun around. He marched right back down the center aisle, his boots clicking loudly against the hardwood floor, straight toward the checkout counter.

He stopped right in front of you, breathing a little heavy, his face completely flushed.

"Oh, hey again” you blinked, surprised. "Did you forget something?"

"Yes. No. Well, kinda” he blurted out, his words tumbling out at a million miles an hour. He slapped his hands down on the counter, then immediately pulled them back, looking panicked.

"What I mean is... I’m terrible at this. Absolutely awful. My students have better game than me, and they’re twelve."

"Terrible at what?"

He took a deep breath, adjusting his glasses one more time, and looked straight into your eyes. "I want to take you out. I mean, I would like- love to. For coffee. Or dinner. Or, you know, a random consumption of nutrients. Because every time I come in here, I spend half my time looking for books and the other half trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like a dick”

You stared at him. A huge, genuine smile broke across your face.

Ryland’s eyes went wide, misinterpreting your silence. "Oh god, that was weird, wasn't it? 'Consumption of nutrients', seriously, Grace? I'll just go. I'll find a new bookstore. I'll move to Canada—"

"Ryland, stop," you laughed, reaching over and grabbing a receipt paper and a pen. You quickly scribbled your ten-digit number down, adding a little smiley face at the bottom, and slid it across the wood to him. "I would love to consume nutrients with you."

He looked down at the slip of paper like it was a winning lottery ticket. The sheer relief that washed over his face was priceless. A massive, beautiful, lopsided grin spread across his face.

"Yeah? Okay. Awesome." he beamed, carefully folding the paper and tucking it into his front pocket like it was made of gold. "I'll... I'll text you. Tonight. Or after a socially acceptable amount of hours."

"Tonight is perfect," you smiled.

"Great. Cool.” He nodded sharply, radiating pure joy, and turned to leave.

Except, because he was floating on absolute cloud nine his motor skills completely gave up on him. He took three confident steps toward the exit, forgot how feet worked, and tripped over the absolutely flat, perfectly level welcome mat by the door. In a desperate bid for balance, his hand shot out and accidentally hit a cardboard floor display.

“Oh- my okay” he muttered to himself, freezing in place.

For a split second, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying to whatever god was listening that you hadn't seen him. But when he slowly peeked open one eye and realized you had a front-row seat to the entire disaster, he wanted to implode.

Highly mortified, he dropped to his knees, frantically grabbing the display and trying to force it back into position.

“I’m sorry—okay, I’m leaving. Like, right n—”

“You’re okay! It’s fine!!” you cut in, desperately trying to reassure him before he literally dies of secondary embarrassment on the spot.

You leaned over the counter, flashing him a reassuring smile to stop his total mental breakdown. "Seriously, Ryland, don't worry about it. It happens all the time."

“Well, that probably isn’t true," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But thanks for being.. supportive. I’ll—I’ll text you!”

"Okay!” you smiled.

"Rocky question."

The familiar, mechanical drone of the Eridian translation software echoed through the small projector room of the Hail Mary. It was supposed to be downtime and you, Ryland, and Rocky were simply spending some hours together without the looming shadow of the Astrophages dictating your every breath.

Ryland was completely dead to the world, utterly absorbed in one of those vintage sci-fibooks salvaged from the ship's digital library.

You were leaning heavily against his shoulder,his left arm securely draped around your back, his fingers absently tracing small, comforting patterns against your arm. It was a perfect, quiet routine.

Yet, despite your best attempts tofully melt into the cushions, you had noticed Rocky’s radar-organ vibrating through the thick xenonite partition. He had been staring at the two of you for twenty minutes. And now, he had officially shattered the peace with one of his many (honestly, far too many) inquisitive outbursts.

"What's up, Rock?" you murmured, not bothering to move.

Ryland didn't even blink; his eyes were still scanning the digital page, his brain miles away from the current solar system.

"Why Grace and Y/N always stick together, question?"

You let out a soft breath, relieved.

A normal, calm, non-invasive question.

Thank the stars.

It wasn't about fuel consumption, and it wasn't a terrifying engineering crisis. Just innocent curiosity about basic human behavior.

Beside you, you felt Ryland’s head tilt slightly. He pulled his eyes away from the screen just long enough to glance down at you, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before he shifted his weight and went right back to his reading, assuming you had it fully under control.

"Well, you see, Rocky," you began, shifting slightly against Ryland’s chest as you tried to figure out how to explain the intricate art of cuddling to an alien who didn't possess skin, ears,or eyes.

"When humans are in a relationship, when they love each other, they demonstrate their affection through physical attention. Touching, being close, sharing warmth. It's a way to comfort each other. You get it?"

On the other side of the glass, Rocky’s carapace tilted sharply, his radar-organ focusing directly on the spot where Ryland’s arm met your shoulder. He was paying closer attention than a scientist analyzing a new planet.

"Rocky understands. Statement," the translator chimed in a flat, satisfied tone.

You smiled, letting your guard down. You allowed your eyes to close, sinking back into Ryland’s side, feeling proud of your brief lecture on basic human sociology.

It was a good explanation. Simple, logical, clean.

You shouldn't have relaxed.

"Rocky question."

A cold dread washed over you.

Not again.

You opened your eyes, staring through the xenonite. The problem with Rocky was that neither you nor Ryland could simply choose to ignore him. Eridians were deeply social, communal creatures; if you shut him out or refused to answer his questions about human nature, he didn't just get confused, but he got genuinely upset, turning incredibly petty and passive-aggressive for the rest of the shift.

He would tap his claws at annoying frequencies or looking at you non stop. So,sighing internally, you forced your best 'I am incredibly fascinated' expression onto your face.

"Go ahead, buddy," you said, bracing yourself.

"Why Grace and Y/N make weird noises when it is sleep time, question?"

The silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the faint hum of the life support systems. The first thing you saw was Ryland’s e-book (the one that was supposedly the mostcaptivating thing in the universe) dropping flat onto his stomach with a pathetic little slap.

Ryland was staring at the xenonite glass, his jaw slightly slack, completely and utterly blindsided by the question.

You blinked twice, the realization hitting you like a physical blow. Your face instantly flamed up, a furious, burning heat crawling up your neck.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at Ryland. You cleared your throat, a smirk breaking through your utter mortification.

"Okay. I am officially pulling myself out of this conversation. Why don't you explain that to our alien friend, Doctor Grace?"

"Don't you dare encourage him," Ryland muttered, his voice barely a frantic whisper, hiseyes wide with sheer panic as he looked at you. He spoke through gritted teeth, as if lowering his volume would somehow prevent Rocky’s highly sensitive acoustic organs from picking up every syllable.

"Why mate Grace and mate Y/N not answer, question?" Rocky prompted, his clawstapping a rapid, slightly impatient rhythm against the floorboards of his enclosure.

"You hear me. My vocabulary logs say 'weird noises' indicate pain or technical failure. But you do not look broken."

You could see Ryland’s face turning a darker, more vibrant shade of red by the millisecond.

At this point, his skin was practically glowing. You were entirely certain that if given the choice between answering Rocky right now or being sucked out of the airlock into the freezing void of space, Ryland would have gladly strapped himself into a spacesuit-less jump.

"Those are... those are private things, Rocky," Ryland stammered, his hands gesticulatingwildly in the air, a sure sign his brain was short-circuiting.

"In human culture, sleep-time activities between a couple are confidential. They are not for public"

“Well.. it depends i gue-“

“Don’t!”

“Okay”

Unfortunately, Rocky had absolutely zero grasp of the human concepts of 'private' and 'personal.'

"Rocky mate with Grace and Y/N, statement," the engineer went on, his tone shifting into that stubborn, matter of fact frequency that meant he wasn't going to drop it.

"We are a crew-unit. We share fuel. We share food-paste. We share survival. Mates tell everything to their mates, statement. Why hide ?"

"It doesn't quite work like that with humans, Rocky," you intervened, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your laughter threatened to burst out again.

"Our mating and affection customs have a lot of psychological baggage attached to them."

A long, agonizingly awkward silence stretched across the projector room.

Rocky remained perfectly still, his carapace tilted as his highly advanced alien brain processed the data. The mechanical silence was deafening, making both you and Ryland tense up, waiting for the proverbial drop of the next hammer.

Suddenly, a sharp chord whistled through the speakers.

"Ah! Rocky understand!"

Ryland let out a massive, visible breath, his shoulders slumping.

"Thank God,"

he whispered, pressing a hand to his racing heart.

"See? Yay, Rocky! We're making progress," you said, a genuine grin breaking across your face.

You turned to Ryland, nudging his side playfully with your elbow. "I told you to have some faith in him. He's a literal genius, Ryland. You just have to give him a second to process human metaphors."

You looked back at the glass, feeling like a proud teacher guiding a brilliant student. "Good job, Rock."

"Yes. Grace and Y/N are trying to create a tiny human. Statement."

Ryland immediately choked on his own saliva.

He sat up so violently he almost gave you whiplash, his left arm ripping away from your shoulder as his book slid entirely off his lap, clattering loudly against the metal floor. He was coughing, wheezing, and trying to speak all at the same time.

"Oh my- ! No! No, no, no!" Ryland shrieked, his voice cracking spectacularly on the upper registers, sounding less like a distinguished scientist and more like a terrified middle school student. He waved his hands around like a pair of broken windmills.

"That is—wow, okay, absolutely not! We are not doing that! Put that thought out of your radar-organ immediately!"

Rocky’s carapace tilted so far to the left he looked like he might tip over.

"Logic error. Serious logic error. Human biology logs explicitly state: 'weird sleep-time noises' plus 'intense physical affection' equals genetic combination. Purpose of human genetic combination is reproduction. Reproduction make tiny humans. Why say no, Grace? Are your reproductive factory-organs broken?"

You bit your lower lip so hard you were fairly certain it was going to bleed. You slammed your face directly into Ryland’s shoulder, your entire body shaking uncontrollably with breathless laughter.

The sheer mortification.

"They are not broken!" Ryland yelled back, his face a terrifyingly bright shade of magenta.

He shot a desperate, wild look down at you, his eyes silently screaming for backup, but you merely lifted a hand from his shoulder and gave him a solid, unhelpful thumbs-up.

"You're doing great, babe. Explain the biochemistry," you wheezed into his shirt.

"I hate you," Ryland muttered to you before turning back to the glass, taking a deep, stabilizing breath that did absolutely nothing to calm him down.

" Look, Rocky... buddy. Listen to me. Humans are complicated biological entities. We don't just perform genetic combination to make babies. In fact, most of the time, we explicitly try not to make babies while doing it!"

Rocky’s radar-organ focused entirely on Ryland. "Explain. Why perform complex, energy-consuming physical labor if not for continuation of species? This defies evolutionary efficiency."

"Because of neurochemistry!" Ryland argued, his inner defensive school teacher taking full control of his panic. He began pacing the small room, gesturing wildly. "The human brain is wired to reward intimacy. When we are close to someone we love, the brain releases amassive amounts of endorphins, oxytocin, and dopamine. It feels good! It reduces stress! It strengthens the emotional bond between the couple! It’s a psychological necessity, not just a reproductive one! And besides, this ship is already way too small for the three of us. We do not need a tiny human running around breaking the control panels!"

Rocky went completely motionless. For a full ten seconds, the only sound was Ryland’s ragged breathing as he finished his desperate, frantic scientific lecture on the mechanics of human intimacy. Rocky’s claws tapped a slow, deeply analytical cadence, treating Ryland's outburst like a complex mathematical equation.

"Understand," Rocky finally whistled, the translator carrying a tone that sounded remarkably like a judge delivering a verdict.

"Humans perform high-energy, high-friction,noisy physical labor strictly for the fun-feelings. Sounds deeply inefficient. Huge waste of calories. Eridians find this concept highly chaotic."

You finally managed to lift your head from Ryland’s shoulder, wiping a literal tear of laughter from your eye as you leaned back against the seat.

"He’s actually not wrong, Ryland. When you look at it from an engineering perspective, it really is a massive waste of calories."

"Whose side are you even on?!"

Ryland snapped playfully, though the violent magenta flush on his cheeks was finally beginning to simmer down into a soft pink. He let out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples before slumping back down onto the bench beside you. He extended his arm again, dragging you back against his side with a chuckle.

But across the xenonite partition, Rocky’s radar-organ flared once more. His claws didn't just tap this time; they slammed against the floorboards in a stubborn refusal to drop the subject. The translator chimed back in, louder now.

"Rocky want tiny human. Statement."

Ryland’s book, which he had just sheepishly picked up from the floor, froze halfway to his lap. He slowly looked up at the glass, his eyes wide.

"What did you just say?"

"Rocky want tiny human," the alien repeated, his vocabulary synthesizer vibrating with high-pitched, enthusiastic whistles that meant he was completely dead serious.

"Space on Hail Mary is limited, yes. But tiny human is tiny! Requires small amount of food-paste. Small amount of oxygen. By my calculations, biomass increase is negligible for lifesupport systems. It is highly logical. You must make one."

You pressed your fist against your mouth, a fresh wave of helpless giggles bubbling up.

Ryland looked at you, his eyes completely bloodshot with pure desperation. "Rocky, it's notabout the food-paste consumption! It's a baby! Babies cry! They don't do science! They require twenty years of intensive training just to not destroy themselves!"

"Irrelevant!" Rocky shot back, clacking his front claws together like a judge striking a gavel. "You and yn are high-quality mates. Genius science-biomass plus genius yn-biomass. Genetic combination would create superior offspring. A backup crew member. Why say no? Rocky want backup crew member!"

"A backup crew member?!" Ryland squeaked, his voice cracking spectacularly on the upper registers. He stood up completely, pointing a wild, trembling finger at the glass.

"It's a human baby, Rocky! Not a spare engine part! You can't just breed a laboratory assistant while we’re orbiting a dying star!"

"Why not?" Rocky’s carapace tilted to a severe, deadpan angle. "Eridian crew units always lay eggs during long space journeys. If one engineer falls into a fuel tank, new engineer is already growing. It is simple redundancy. Good engineering. You and yn have low redundancy. Very dangerous strategy. Rocky want tiny human for mission safety."

"Oh my god," Ryland groaned, covering his glowing red face with both hands, his shoulders shaking.

"He's applying Eridian safety protocols to our sex life. I can't do this. I literally cannot do this. Tell him we're not a factory."

You finally lost it, bursting into full, loud laughter as you leaned forward on the bench, wiping away tears. "Come on, Doctor Grace! Convince him! Where is your commitment to mission redundancy? Think of the efficiency!"

"You are evil. Pure, unadulterated evil," Ryland muttered through his fingers before whipping his hands away from his face, turning to the glass to face his alien friend.

"Listen to me, Rocky! Look at my face. Read the acoustic pitch of my voice. We are not making a tiny human. First of all, human gestation takes nine full months. Nine months of physical strain on the body. We are in zero-g or partial-g most of the time! Human embryos cannot developbsafely without proper gravity! It would be a medical catastrophe!"

Rocky went completely still, his radar-organ tracking Ryland's frantic movements. "We have centrifuge, Grace. We can spin ship faster. Problem solved. Statement."

"No! No problem solved!" Ryland shrieked, waving his arms. "Spinning the ship faster throws off our astronomical readings! And what happens when the baby is born, huh? Eridian babies might come out ready to look at fuel valves, but human babies are completely useless! They can't even hold their own heads up! They sleep for two hours, wake up screaming, eat, poop, and repeat. It would destroy our work schedules!"

“But Tiny human can learn to clean small pipes. Can crawl into maintenance ducts where Ryland is too large and clumsy to fit. Excellent utility. Rocky can teach tiny human engineering. Will be good. I want tiny human."

"He wants to use our child as a chimney sweep!" Ryland yelled at the speaker, throwing his arms up in the air. "No tiny humans, Rocky! The factory is closed!”

Rocky let out a low, disappointed, rumbling chord that vibrated through the xenonite partition. The mechanical voice carried a tone of profound Eridian disappointment. "Humans are frustratingly stubborn. Rejecting free labor. Rejecting superior genetic backup. Deeply illogical. Rocky sad sad sad."

He paused, before he began to slowly retreat into his engineering cave, dragging a heavy piece of xenonite pipe with him.

"But fine," the mechanical voice sighed through the speaker. "I return to fuel calculations. No tiny humans. For now. But if engine break and you need small hands for small pipes, do not look at Rocky. Statement. Go back to your calorie wasting."

As the speaker went silent, Ryland dropped back onto the cushions beside you like a corpse, completely spent. I need a heavy drink and a memory eraser," he muttered, covering his eyes.

You burst out laughing, leaning against his shoulder. A few minutes of silence passed before Ryland spoke up again. "Can you imagine it, though... a baby in a mini spacesuit? Or, wait, imagine our kid with Rocky. I mean, c’mon"

You chuckled. "Rocky would teach them how to take apart the engines before they could even walk."

TAP TAP TAP.

Both of you froze. On the other side of the glass, Rocky was literally pressed against the partition. He had never left.

The translator chimed, full of enthusiasm: "You change minds, question?! Rocky heard conversation! Tiny human learns engineering in space suite! Should I prepare centrifuge for gravity now, question?!"

Wednesday morning started exactly how all the worst Wednesdays in human history start: with a snoozed alarm that had been ignored a solid four times and my phone buzzing with a level of pure violence that made my entire nightstand vibrate.

I was still face-down, half-buried under my duvet, and a total, tragic lack of dignity.

I stretched my arm out and swiped answer, dragging the phone to my ear without even looking at the caller ID.

I already knew who it was.

Only one person on this planet possessed that kind of chaotic, early-bird energy at 7:30 AM.

"Are you alive?"

Maddy’s voice piped through, loud and disgustingly chipper.

"Tell me you’re alive and you have some juicy details for me, otherwise I swear to god I’m coming over there and beating you with a pillow."

"Mads, please,”

I groaned, burying my face deeper into my pillow.

"It is seven-thirty. I am literally trying to get out of bed and get ready before I have to lock myself in the office and deal with Friday’s charity gala. And no, there are no 'details'."

"Do not lie to me!”

she insisted, completely uncaring by my suffering.

"My brother told me Ryland didn’t head back with them. He said, and I quote, ‘he vanished into the rain looking like a lovesick puppy.' Honey Bennett, did you host a middle school science teacher in your apartment last night?"

"What? No! I literally just saved him from imminent pneumonia by sharing my umbrella to the parking lot,"

I said, rolling onto my back

."Plus,"

I went on, lifting my head off the pillow like she could actually see me,

"I literally saved him from wrapping himself around a lamppost."

I said, smiling at the memory of last night.

Looks like i’m still down bad, am i?

“Ohh” Maddy said with a serious cutie voice “already worrying for him!”

“I’m going to block you now”

While keeping her on speakerphone my other hand was already unlocking my screen. Despite my vocal protests and my morally correct part of me who didn’t want to aggravate things.

Instagram icon. Search bar.

R-y-l-a-n-d.

Nothing.

Okay, let’s try with a last name.

Wait, what even was his last name? Maddy hadn't mentioned it.

I tried typing Ryland Science.

Nothing but some guy doing dry-ice experiments in Ohio.

"Oh, come on,"

Maddy pushed, the sound of her morning coffee dripping into a mug in the background.

"I know you, Honey. You don't just share your personal bubble with anyone, let alone a compact umbrella that barely fits a toddler. Usually, if a guy gets within a three-foot radius of you in the rain, you'd use that umbrella as a weapon."

"So dramatic,"

I mumbled, switching gears and googling him instead.

Ryland science teacher. A website for a local middle school popped up, featuring a pixelated staff photo that looked like it had been taken circa 2023.

There was a lanky guy in the back row who looked like he was actively trying to camouflage himself behind a giant ficus plant.

Was that him? Maybe.

I zoomed in on the ficus photo until the pixels turned into giant, blurry squares. It was definitely an old shot. The lanky guy had a massive, goofy grin on his face, holding up what looked like a giant plastic model of an animal cell.

Yep. That was him.

"Honey? You still there, or did you drop your phone in the toilet?" Maddy’s voice broke through my hyper-fixation.

"I’m here,"

I lied smoothly, quickly closing the browser tab before I could lose myself in a middle school science department’s archives.

"Just stretching. My calves are literally crying after running in those boots on wet asphalt."

"Right. Stretching,"

Maddy said, her tone dripping with disbelief.

"So, back to my previous point. Ryland. He’s cute, right? And don't give me the 'he's okay' PR-approved response you gave me in the bathroom."

I sighed, letting my head fall back onto the mattress.

"He's... different, Mads. He's really nice. And funny. But he also gives off golden retriever’s vibes”

"And that, my dear, is exactly why you need him,"

Maddy said, her voice turning surprisingly soft, shifting from her usual gossipy energy into something much more grounded.

"Think about it, Honey. Who was the last guy you seriously dated? Carter?"

I winced.

Just hearing his name made my jaw clench. Carter was an account executive at a rival firm. He wore tailored suits, had a perfectly curated five-year plan, and used Excel spreadsheets to budget his free time.

He was also a condescending narcissist who spent eighteen months slowly chipping away at my self-esteem until I felt like a glorified accessory in his perfect life.

Kinda a dick.

"Carter was... structured,"

I mumbled, staring at the ceiling.

"Carter was a robot who judged you every time you were five minutes late, Honey. He made you feel like your natural, slightly messy self was a crime that needed to be corrected. And ever since you two broke up, you’ve been trying so hard to be perfect. You got the high-profile PR job, you started training like a maniac, you locked your feelings in a vault..."

She paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her words to sink in.

"Ryland doesn't look like he even knows where his car keys are half the time,"

Maddy continued gently.

"He’s not going to judge you for being late, because he’s probably going to be late too. He’s not going to expect you to be this flawless, unflappable machine. He liked the girl who crashed into the restaurant looking like a drowned rat."

"I did not look like a drowned rat," I protested, though my throat felt suddenly tight.

"You did, but you were a very cute drowned rat," she laughed.

"All I’m saying is... don't write him off just because he doesn't fit the 'perfect on paper' mold you've been forcing yourself into. Let yourself be a little messy, Hon."

And she was right. How could I even begin to argue with her?

For my entire life, I had been chasing after the "perfect" man, desperately trying to be just as perfect for him. I used to think I was destined to end up as one of those Stepford-wife types, the kind of girl who blindly follows her wealthy, narcissistic husband wherever he goes, smiling through the teeth of his constant affairs and toxic behavior.

But admitting that I’d been dead wrong about my taste in men for my entire twenty-six years on this planet? That was a pill way too bitter to swallow.

Was she actually right about Ryland, though?

Okay, stop.

This is ridiculous.

We don't even know each other. You can't possibly get to know the depth of a person's soul in a single rainy evening.

“ I need to hang up before you start picking out names for our hypothetical, science-fair-winning children,"

I muttered, while awkwardly balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear.

Maddy let out a delighted laugh.

"Fine, fine. Go conquer the corporate world. But for the record, I think 'Arthur' has a nice, nerdy ring to it."

"Bye!!”

I hung up before she could respond, tossing my phone onto the bed like it had personally offended me.

I took a deep, stabilizing breath.

No more Ryland.

No more psychoanalyzing my taste in men at seven in the morning.

I had a thousands dollar charity gala to pull off in less than forty-eight hours, and if the catering company didn't confirm the vegan appetizers by noon, I was going to lose my mind.

Around an hour later, I was out the door and ,i guess, ready to start off my morning.

Usually, the noise of the city was enough to drown out my thoughts, but today, my brain felt like a split screen.

On one half: floor plans, seating charts, and press releases. On the other: a lopsided smile, crooked glasses, and the weight of a hand guiding me around a metal lamppost in the pouring rain.

Get it together, Honey, I scolded myself as I swiped my badge at the office. You are a professional. You do not get distracted by cute public school teachers.

And for the next two days, I actually succeeded.

Wednesday and Thursday turned into an absolute chaos. Between drafting press releases, fighting with a temperamental florist who insisted on using out-of-season lilies, and holding sessions with anxious, ultra-wealthy donors, I barely had time to eat, let alone think about men.

Well, mostly.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t glance at my phone a little too eagerly every time a notification popped up.

A tiny, stupid part of me, the part I wanted to aggressively lock in a broom closet, kept wondering if Maddy’s brother had actually given Ryland my number.

And if he had, why hadn't he texted? Was he too busy grading eighth-grade earth science homework? Or had he realized that a girl who screamed at rainstorms and wore ridiculously impractical boots was a one-time-only experience?

Who cares?

I told myself on Thursday night as I collapsed onto my couch at 10 PM. You don't care. You are an independent woman with a gala to run.

Which brought me to Friday afternoon.

The day of the event had finally arrived, and I was running on exactly four hours of sleep and two protein bars.

By 3 PM, my brain felt like scrambled eggs. I had one final walk-through at the venue in an hour, and I knew that if I didn't get a massive dose of caffeine into my system immediately, I was going to fall asleep standing up in front of the board of directors.

I practically stumbled into my favorite local coffee shop just a block away from my office.

I kept my head down, mindlessly scrolling through my work emails on my phone as I shuffled into the short line. I just needed a large iced macchiato, a quiet corner to chug it, and,

My eyes drifted to the person standing just three people ahead of me in line.

You know that feeling when a heavy weight suddenly drops from your chest straight into your stomach and you just want to spontaneously combust? Yeah, that.

I stared at the back of his head.

Messy, untamed brown hair that looked like it had been aggressively run through with hands during a stressful lesson. A slightly faded, soft gray hoodie.

And, as he tilted his head to look up at the menu board, the glasses.

Familiar glasses.

No. Way.

It was Ryland. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

For a split second, I genuinely hoped I’d have a minor heart attack.

And look, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I had anything against him, or that I didn’t want to see him.

Honestly, it was quite the opposite.

It was the sheer panic of how my body reacted the second I laid eyes on him that terrified me.

And despite trying my absolute best not to think about him for the last forty-eight hours... well, take a wild guess at how that went.

I looked down at myself.

I was wearing formal wear, way too formal for someone who literally had dinosaur and DNA stickers plastered all over his work bag.

But then again, I was being ridiculous. What was the worst that could happen?

Apparently, my own nervous system had the answer. The second he made a slight movement, like he was about to turn or step out of line, my body bolted.

I pulled off this weird, jerky half-step backward that must have looked incredibly bizarre and embarrassing to anyone watching.

I took a slow, silent step backward, preparing to make a tactical retreat out the door. I could find another coffee shop. I could survive on vending-machines energy drinks.

I took another step back, my eyes locked on the back of his messy head, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

But Ryland chose that exact second to turn around, likely checking the glass display case of pastries to my left.

His eyes swept casually over the line, then paused.

He froze. His glasses slipped a millimeter down his nose as his gaze locked squarely onto me.

Fuck my life.

Now, you’d think I would have waved or at least offered a polite little smile, right?

Wrong.

My brain completely abandoned all logic and decided my best move was to abruptly snap my gaze away, staring up at the chalkboard menu above his head like I was trying to look as nonchalant as humanly possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his blurry figure stepping out of line and moving toward me. But I just kept staring at that menu, probably making a highly questionable face, refusing to turn around. That is, until he stopped right in front of me and started waving his hand back and forth in front of my eyes.

Big hands, long fingers, with a faint smudge of red ink on the thumb.

At this point, continuing to fake it would have just been humiliating.

(As if the last thirty seconds hadn’t been a total trainwreck already).

I finally turned my head, and the first thing I saw was his slightly confused face, though his mouth was twitching into a full-blown grin. The next thing I noticed was that he had taken his glasses off, holding them loosely in one hand.

So, I decided to play it bold and try to claw my way out of this with a shred of dignity left.

“Hey…!”

I squeaked, my eyes probably bulging out of my head like I’d just seen a demon.

“I totally didn't recognize you without your glasses!”

Total bullshit.

The sheer embarrassment.

He tilted his head, a low laugh escaping his chest at my pathetic excuse.

“Wow. Yeah. I look like a completely different person… without glasses,”

he said, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

But still, I refused to let my defense strategy die.

“Right?! Yes! It's wild!”

Nobody was buying this. And indeed—

“You were ignoring me,” he said, laughing outright now as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Me? No, absolutely not,”

I stammered, but my master plan was officially dead and buried.

“Uhm—that wasn’t a question, it was a statement.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no? Yes.”

“I told you, no i wasn’t”

“Yes, you were.”

“But—why would I even ignore you? That's insane.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I should be asking you.”

"Next in line!"

the barista shouted, breaking up our little moment, giving me a break from this conversation.

Ryland didn't even hesitate.

He smoothly stepped up to the counter, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie, but kept his body turned toward me.

"I'm buying. Consider it a tax for catching you in a lie."

"You don't have to do that—"

"I want to,"

he interrupted, giving the barista a quick nod before looking back at me.

"But since I only know your emergency-monsoon order from Tuesday, you're going to have to tell me what you actually want today. What's the fuel of choice?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot, totally defeated. "Fine. Large iced macchiato. Double shot."

"See? I knew it," Ryland beamed, turning to the cashier with a triumphant look. "One of those, and a regular black coffee for me, please."

The barista took his card, swiped it, and handed Ryland the receipt. We moved a few inches to the left, waiting by the pick-up counter.

"So,"

Ryland started, sliding his glasses back onto his face. He leaned his hip against the wooden counter, looking down at me with that quiet, intensely curious expression I was rapidly losing my immunity to.

"You’re... dressed up. Like, very formal."

" Well, yeah. I just finished sorting out the final details for an event tonight."

He watched me with those curious eyes, as if begging for more details.

"A charity gala. It's the annual St. Jude Autumn Foundation Gala. I’m the PR and Event Coordinator. I've spent the last three weeks arguing with literally anyone to organize this thing.Honestly, tonight is probably going to be a total nightmare. I'm already mentally preparing myself to fake smile for six hours straight."

" Sounds..”

Ryland murmured,trying to find a perfect adjective to describe the night.

"Like a highly sophisticated form of torture."

Perfect description.

"It really is,"

I sighed, running a hand over my temple.

"I'm genuinely dreading it."

Ryland watched me for a second, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

Then, he shrugged casually, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he were just throwing a silly joke out there.

"Well," he said, "If it gets too bad... like, if you're about to throw a glass of expensive champagne at a millionaire... you can always use your emergency escape route."

I raised an eyebrow, confused

“And what route is that?"

"Me," he shrugged, shoving his hands back into his hoodie pockets.

"I’ll be on my couch tonight doing absolutely nothing. If you need a getaway driver to rescue you from the snobs, just send a distress signal. I can park around the corner, sneak you out of the ballroom, and we can go get greasy fries at a 24-hour diner.”

I stared at him, expecting him to laugh it off as a total joke, but even though he was smiling, there was this incredibly sweetness in his eyes. He was actually offering to be my safety net. For someone who spent her entire life trying to look perfect, unflappable, and entirely independent, the thought of someone waiting to rescue me when I got tired of the act was overwhelming. In the best way possible.

"Wait, are you serious?" I must have looked completely blown away, judging by his reaction.

"Yeah. I mean, you rescued me once, so I have to return the favor, don't you think?" He spoke with so much calm that it was almost terrifying.

Nobody, and I mean, none of the guys I’d ever been with, would have done something like that. But right now, the thought of finding that kind of freedom with someone felt incredibly good. And deeply comforting.

Right after he said that, my eyes happened to land on the clock mounted on the wall next to us.

My stomach did a violent flip.

I was officially late for the final walkthrough with the board of directors.

"Oh god, okay, I seriously, seriously have to run right now,"

I gasped, practically snatching my large iced macchiato from the counter as the barista set it down.

"Wait, already?" Ryland blinked, taken aback by my sudden burst of adrenaline.

"Yes! If I'm late, my boss will actually feed me to the donors," I said, already backing toward the exit at a speed that border-lined jogging. I gave him a quick, breathless wave.

"Thank you for the coffee! And for the rescue offer!"

"Anytime, and hey, good luck tonight!"

as I struggled with the glass door, I looked back in embarrassment only to see Ryland pulling a face like

‘it's all good'

and giving me a thumbs-up.I hope he won’t ever bring this moment up again.

I pushed through the exit,and sprinted down the block. I spotted a yellow cab, lunged for the door, and threw myself onto the backseat, panting as I gave the driver the address of the venue.

It was only when the taxi merged into the chaotic midtown traffic, and I finally took a long, desperate sip of my iced coffee, that my brain decided to reboot.

I froze, the paper cup hovering halfway to my mouth.

The escape route.

He said to send a distress signal.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me,"

I groaned out loud, letting my head fall back against the vinyl seat.

Neither of us had exchanged numbers.

We had been so wrapped up in our stupid, chaotic banter that we had completely forgotten the most basic, fundamental part of a communication plan.

I didn't have his number, and he didn't have mine.

And honestly? There was no way in hell I was asking anyone and especially Maddy for it.

As her best friend, I refused to give her the satisfaction of thinking she had actually successfully played matchmaker.

Not as her plan had worked, let alone the fact that I wanted to call him to actually rescue me, right?

I mean, i wouldn’t-

would i?

I stared out the window as the city blurred past when i realized there was no point in second guessing myself as i couldn’t go back and ask for his number.

Great, I thought. No greasy fries for me.

By the time the clock neared midnight, my feet were entirely numb, and my jaw was physically aching from the sheer amount of polite, corporate approved smiling I’d been doing for the last four hours.

The gala had been a massive success, which should have made me happy, but I was exhausted.

I loved my job, I loved the events I put together, but right now, I just needed some peace and quiet.

After talking with at least dozens of different people, drowning in a sea of a hundred different heavy colognes and perfumes, and getting cornered by elderly women trying to set me up with their grandsons,

I just wanted to vanish.

Just for five minutes.

So, I decided to slip out onto the penthouse balcony and just get a break in the midnight view of San Francisco.

I sighed, pulling my phone out of my evening clutch just to check the time.

11:45 PM.

Just as I was about to slide the phone back into my bag, it buzzed in my palm.

Unknown Number: How are you holding up among the high-society predators? I hope you’re not dead yet.

Unknown Number: And I’m not telling you how I got your number.

Stop.

I literally stared at that text for three minutes straight, mouth wide open, cause no way I saw that coming.

And,as you can imagine, I couldn't stop the massive smile that took over my face afterwards , let alone the laugh that followed it, and definitely not the way my heart instantly started beating faster.

My fingers were practically flying across the keyboard before my brain could even try to stop them.

Honey: I'm alive, barely. And honestly, the high-society predators are nothing compared to the terrifying fact that a certain science teacher successfully hacked my contact info”

Honey: by the way i’m currently hiding on a balcony because if I have to listen to one more pitch about cryptocurrency, I might actually jump.

Honey: And please, you didn't exactly have to pull off a top-secret heist. Maddy's brother probably folded the second you asked.

I held my breath, watching the screen. Almost instantly, the little gray typing bubbles popped up.

Unknown number: For the record, he put up a decent fight. Oh, and please don’t jump

Unknown number: and, my offer still stands. I’m still on my couch anyway

I let out a soft laugh, my heart doing a quiet, stupidly happy flutter.

Honey: You lucky, I have to go back inside for the final toast. Please, don't fall asleep on that couch because what if i need you for my rescue?

I was about to slide the phone back into my clutch, thinking that was it, but it buzzed one last time.

Unknown number: I’ll be around with my phone on, so don't worry, we’re good.

It was a simple, quiet text, but it had a level of genuine thoughtfulness that completely disarmed me.

He was there if I needed him.

“Honey? There you are! We need you inside for the champagne pour!”

Chloe’s voice called out from the French doors, snapping me back to reality.

"Coming!"

I called back, my voice sounding slightly breathless.

Statistically speaking, there are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, and yet my best friend, Maddy, had to be born on a torrential Tuesday in October.

I was currently sprinting through my apartment,nearly eating floor more than once,scrambling to throw all my essentials into my bag, and praying I’d miraculously find an umbrella.

When my phone started buzzing, I already knew who it was. I frantically grabbed it.

Mads was flashing on the screen.

I checked the time.

Shit.

"Girl," her voice came through, sounding completely resigned.

"Before you start judging, I know, I’m so sorry!" I said, still pacing around the house, grabbing my keys before realizing I had totally forgotten her birthday present, which was locked in my bedroom closet.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, running back to the room.

"You literally promised me you’d be here before everyone else!"

Look, in twenty-six years on this planet, I have never, not once, been able to manage my time properly. It always boils down to two options:

•Extremely early.

•Fashionably (or disrespectfully) late.

Today, option B won. I just had to thank my lucky stars that the restaurant my best friend picked was literally a two-minute walk from my place. Otherwise, I’d probably be banned from her birthday party entirely.

"I know, okay? I’m so sorry, I’ll be there in two minutes."

"Bring your ass up here ASAP, Hon!"

I hung up and flew down the stairs. Wearing high, painfully uncomfortable boots tonight was a stellar idea. Way to go, Honey.

Before pushing open the restaurant’s heavy glass door, I stopped in the entryway. I caught my reflection in the window and winced. Yikes. I quickly shook the rain off my coat, ran my fingers through my hair and took a deep breath. Okay. Presentable enough.

The place was cozy, warm, and packed. I spotted Maddy’s table near the back, already loud.

"She lives!" Maddy cheered as I walked up. I handed over her gift, and she wrapped me in a quick, rib-crushing hug.

"I’m letting you off the hook only because you brought the goods. Now sit, eat, and drink."

She nudged me toward the only empty chair left, right at the corner of the table. I slipped my coat off, hung my bag, and finally sat down, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief.

As I settled in, I felt eyes on me.

I turned my head. The guy sitting in the chair perpendicular to mine was just... staring.

He had messy brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses that were slightly crooked, and a half-zipped sweatshirt.

He didn’t look away when I caught him; instead, he kept watching me with this quiet, intensely curious expression, as if I were some kind of fascinating creature who had just crashed into his quiet Tuesday night.

I blinked, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious and i smiled.

Well, not those amusing smiles but one of those “why are you staring at me can you please stop i’m embarrassed” smiles.

He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he quickly adjusted his glasses.

"Oh- sorry," he said, his voice a little raspy but gentle. He gave me a soft, slightly curious look.

“Are you okay? You look like you just survived a minor natural disaster.”

Before I could even open my mouth to reply, Maddy leaned across the corner of the table, loudly interrupting us.

"Oh, good, you’re already talking!" Maddy beamed. "Honey, this is Ryland. He’s my brother’s old college friend. Ryland, this is Honey Bennett my absolute favorite person, even if she doesn't know how to read a clock”

I rolled my eyes, throwing a glare at Maddy that was 100% fake but looked highly dramatic. "Wow. Okay. First of all, rude. Second of all, I got caught in a literal monsoon for you, so a little respect would be nice."

Maddy just laughed, waving her hand dismissively before getting pulled into another conversation on her left.

I shook my head, turning my attention back to my plate, and murmured under my breath, "She’s lucky it’s her birthday."

"For the record," Ryland said, leaning slightly closer so I could hear him over the restaurant's chatter. He had a small, lopsided smile on his face. "I think surviving a monsoon is a perfectly valid excuse for being twenty minutes late."

I looked at him, catching the playful glint behind his crooked glasses. "Thank you! Finally, someone with some empathy around here”

"Oh, don't thank me yet," he chuckled, raising his beer glass slightly. "I'm only defending you because I also have a terrible relationship with clocks. My students basically use my arrival time as a daily betting pool."

"Wait, you're a teacher?" I asked, actually surprised.

“Middle school science," he shrugged. He paused, his expression shifting into a mix of confusion and genuine curiosity. "Is... that surprising?"

I leaned back slightly, letting my eyes drift over him. The messy, untamed hair, the glasses that were currently sitting a millimeter too far to the left, and that sweatshirt that looked like it had survived at least five years of laboratory spills.

"Honestly? Yeah," I said, a small, genuine smile slipping onto my face. "You don't really have the look of someone who can control thirty chaotic twelve-year-olds. You look more like the guy who gets distracted by a cool rock on the sidewalk and misses his bus."

Ryland stared at me for a second, completely speechless.

"Okay, first of all, that is oddly specific for knowing me only for five minutes," he said, holding up a finger. "I’m scared. Are you tracking my GPS?"

"Just a wild guess," I replied, my voice laced with a quiet, ironic amusement. "But the fact that you didn't actually deny it tells me everything I need to know."

He let out a soft, defeated laugh. "Okay, fine. It only happened twice. But in my defense, one of them was a piece of slag glass, which is technically man-made, but still highly—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Never mind. I am not helping my case here."

We fell into a quiet lull after that. It wasn't awkward, just the natural pause of two people who had only known each other for five minutes.

I turned to grab a sip of my drink, while Ryland got pulled into a brief conversation with Maddy’s brother about some mutual college friend.

A few minutes later, a waiter arrived to clear some of the empty baskets and placed a massive, overflowing cheese board right in the center of our corner.

There was brie, sharp cheddar, blue cheese, and goat cheese, all crowded together.

I stared at it, immediately leaning back in my chair, my nose crinkling in unfiltered disappointment.

Great, I thought. My biggest fear is standing right in front of me, staring into my soul.

Ryland, who had been in the middle of nodding along to whatever Maddy’s brother was saying, immediately caught my expression. He looked at the board, then back at me, totally bewildered.

"Don't tell me," he murmured, leaning his arm on the edge of the table. "You're allergic to lactose?"

"Worse," I sighed, shaking my head. "I just absolutely hate cheese."

Ryland froze. He stared at me as if I had just told him the Earth was flat or that gravity was optional. His eyes went incredibly wide, and with a swift, sharp movement, he took off his glasses and clattered them dramatically onto the table.

"You... what?" he asked, his voice deadpan but dripping with utter disbelief.

"I hate it," I repeated, trying not to laugh at how genuinely offended he looked. "The smell, the texture, the concept. All of it. It’s a hard pass."

"Honey, that is scientifically tragic," he said, shaking his head slowly, looking at the brie as if it were a misunderstood historical figure. "Cheese is literally the pinnacle of human culinary evolution. It’s controlled fermentation! It’s art! How can you hate melted cheddar?"

"Because it tastes like feet, Ryland," I whispered back, leaning in.

"It does not taste like feet!" he defended, his hands gesturing slightly.

"Okay, maybe some blue cheese does, biologically speaking, because of the specific mold cultures, but cheddar? Mozzarella? You’re telling me you don't like pizza?"

"I like pizza," I conceded. "I just scrape eighty percent of the cheese off."

He looked physically pained by my admission.

He is taking this way too personally, I thought, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. It’s kind of adorable how worked up he gets about dairy products.

"Okay, nm" Ryland said, looking at me with a sudden, serious determination that was highly entertaining.

"Before this night ends, I am going to find a cheese that does not offend your delicate senses. It’s a matter of principle now."

"Good luck," I smirked, leaning my chin on my hand. "People have tried. They have all failed."

"Well, they weren't science teachers”

Before I could reply to that, a hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.

Hard.

“Honey. Bathroom. Now," Maddy commanded, her voice leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

Before I could even blink, she practically yanked me out of my chair, dragging me through the crowded restaurant. I barely had time to throw an apologetic look back at Ryland, who was still sitting there holding his glasses, looking entirely confused by my sudden abduction.

Once she kicked the bathroom door open and made sure we were alone, Maddy spun around, her eyes wide with frantic, excited energy.

"Okay, spill," she demanded, crossing her arms and leaning against the sink.

"Spill what? You almost dislocated my shoulder, Mads!" I complained, rubbing my wrist and checking my hair in the mirror to make sure the rain hadn't completely ruined it.

"Don’t play dumb with me, Honey Bennett," she whispered, leaning in closer. "I’ve been watching you two from across the table. You’ve been whispering in your own little corner for the last hour. What’s going on? Should I start looking for bridesmaid dresses, or...?"

"Oh my god, shut up," I groaned, my cheeks instantly flaring up. "We were literally just talking about how much I hate cheese. There is no bubble, and there are definitely no bridesmaid dresses."

"Oh, please. The guy was looking at you like you just explained the secrets of the universe to him," Maddy smirked, nudging my hip with hers. "And you had that stupid, soft smile on your face. He’s cute, right? He’s a little nerdy, but in a very hot, 'I can explain gravity to you' kind of way."

Okay, I’m not gonna lie to you guys. He was hot. Incredibly so.

Like, the kind of hot that doesn't even try. It was in the way his messy hair looked like he’d just run his hands through it in frustration over some math equation, and how those stupid wire-rimmed glasses kept slipping down his nose, practically begging someone to push them back up. He had this quiet, low-key confidence that was ten times more lethal than any loud, gym-bro energy. It was honestly unfair. A man should not be allowed to look that good on a random night.

"He's okay," I mumbled, trying to keep my voice steady, though my inner monologue was basically screaming. "He's just... easy to talk to. But we literally just met, Mads. Don't make it weird."

"I am your best friend, making it weird is in my job," she said, giving me a quick hug. "Just... don't be your usual shy self. Keep talking to him. I’m going to go back and make sure nobody steals your seat next to him."

She practically pushed me back out of the bathroom. I took a deep breath, trying to force the blush to drain from my face, and walked back to the table.

As soon as I sat down, Ryland turned to me. He had put his glasses back on, though they were still slightly crooked. He didn't look flustered or suspicious, just genuinely curious.

"Is everything okay?" he asked quietly, leaning in a bit. "Maddy looked like she was staging a hostage rescue."

"Yeah, totally fine," I said, offering a quick, slightly tight smile. "Just... classic Maddy. Don't worry about it."

He didn't press the issue, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a knowing way. "Well, good. Because while you were gone, a heavy executive decision was made. The table has officially declared it's time for Never Have I Ever."

I winced slightly, looking at the half-empty glasses of beer and cocktails scattered across the table. "Oh, great. The ultimate tool for social destruction. I bet middle schoolers don’t even play this trashy game anymore"

Ryland chuckled, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. "Oh, they definitely don't. They’ve upgraded. They play way worse stuff now, mostly online. Trust me, this is amateur hour compared to what they do to each other."

I let out a soft laugh. "Okay, that is slightly terrifying. I officially take it back."

"Exactly," he smiled, leaning in slightly.

"So, since we’re sitting next to each other, we’re unofficially on a team to defend our dignity. Or lose it together."

"I don't have much dignity left after my entrance tonight," I warned him, leaning back in my chair. "So you might have to carry the team, Ryland”

We'll see," he smiled, adjusting his glasses. "I have a few secrets up my sleeve. Don't underestimate the science department."

Maddy clinked her fork against her glass, drawing everyone's attention. "Okay, rules are simple! Ten fingers up. If you've done it, you take a drink and put a finger down. Last one standing wins... I’ll start."

She looked around the table, her eyes lingering on me for a fraction of a second with a mischievous glint.

"Never have I ever... gotten completely lost trying to find a restaurant that was literally two blocks away from my house."

"Oh, come on!" I protested, as half the table burst into laughter.

Beside me, Ryland quietly took a sip of his beer and lowered his first finger, giving me a sheepish look.

"Wait, you too?" I asked, looking at him.

"I told you," he whispered, leaning in closer so only I could hear. "Terrible relationship with directions. I once navigated myself into a cul-de-sac and had to call a tow truck just to guide me out."

"Okay, I feel much better about myself now," I laughed, putting my own finger down.

I took a sip of my drink, the warmth of the alcohol finally starting to settle in.

Ryland didn't move back immediately; he stayed leaned in just a fraction too close, his shoulder lightly brushing against mine.

It was a crowded table, sure, but neither of us made any effort to create space.

"Okay, my turn!" Maddy’s brother called out, knocking his knuckles on the table to get everyone’s attention. He had a mischievous, slightly tipsy grin on his face.

"Never have I ever... made out with someone at this table."

A collective groan went around the group. Maddy immediately took a huge gulp of her drink, pointing accusingly at her boyfriend, who was laughing. Two other friends did the same.

I kept my hand firmly flat on the table, my fingers splayed.

Beside me, Ryland didn't move either. I caught him looking at my hand, then up at my face.

"Safe?" he murmured, a quiet, teasing undertone in his voice.

"Safe," I whispered back, offering him a small, ironic smile. "I don't usually go around kissing my best friend's relatives or college roommates. What about you? Keeping your fingers intact?"

"I am a model of pure, unblemished discretion," he replied, holding up his hand to show he still had nine fingers up. "Though, to be fair, my social life usually involves grading papers on a Friday night, so the bar is incredibly low."

"Don't worry, the night is still young," Maddy chimed in, having clearly overheard us. She leaned across the table, resting her chin in her hands, her eyes shifting from me to Ryland with a look that was entirely too calculating.

"Which brings me to my turn."

She paused, letting the silence stretch for dramatic effect. The grin on her face was pure, unadulterated trouble.

"Never have I ever..." she started, pausing just long enough to make me sweat, "...secretly hoped that a night wouldn't end too soon."

A collective, knowing “Oooooh” went up from the table.

I froze, my hand hovering over my cocktail glass. She did not. I glared at her, trying to project I am going to murder you in your sleep.

I turned my head at her and silently mimed a “Fuck you”, to only receive a smart wink.

Across the table, a few of her brother's friends casually took drinks, laughing about how they felt the same way about the weekend ending. But my heart was suddenly doing double-time against my ribs. I kept my hand still, desperately trying to play it cool. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand reach for a pint of craft beer.

I turned my head. Ryland was looking down at his glass, a quiet, contemplative smile playing on his lips. Without a hint of hesitation, he lifted it to his mouth and took a slow, deliberate sip.

My breath hitched.

He set the glass back down, his fingers curling around the condensation on the glass. He turned his head to look at me and, slowly, he folded one of his fingers down.

"Eight," he murmured, his voice low enough that it was entirely swallowed by the loud laughter of the rest of the table. Just for me.

"You drank," I said, trying to look more surprised than anything.

"I did," he admitted, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer.

"I'm having a really great time, Honey. And frankly, I’m not quite ready to go back to grading eighth-grade earth science papers."

A stupid, helpless smile broke across my face before I could stop it. The warmth in my chest had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol anymore.

"Well," I said softly, finally wrapping my hand around my own glass. I lifted it to my lips, keeping my eyes locked on his as I took a sip. "It would be pretty bad teamwork if I left you hanging."

I set my glass down and lowered my finger. "Eight."

Ryland’s smile widened, turning into that lopsided, effortless grin that was rapidly becoming my favorite thing in the world. "Good. The alliance holds."

A few rapid-fire rounds passed after that, and the drinks kept flowing. By the time the cocktail pitcher was half-empty and Ryland was onto his third craft beer, the alcohol had fully settled in. My shoulders had completely relaxed, my initial embarrassment was long gone, and the entire table was in that beautiful, loud, state of being comfortably tipsy.

My fingers were down to five after admitting to some truly questionable life choices, while Ryland was sitting pretty at six, looking entirely too pleased with himself. When i noticed his arm draped casually over the back of my chair my heart skipped a beat.

"Alright, Honey, you're up!" Maddy called out, her voice a little louder and slurred in that happy, birthday-girl way. She pointed her fork at me. "Babe, do your worst"

I sat up, though my head swirled just a tiny bit, making me giggle.

The alcohol gave me a sudden surge of liquid courage. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and looked directly at Ryland.

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, a worried grin tugging at his lips as he sensed the trap. "Oh, no. I don't like that look," he murmured,trying to avoid my eyesight.

"Never have I ever..." I began, keeping my voice low and teasingly slow, "...missed a public bus because I was too busy examining a piece of man-made slag glass on the sidewalk."

The table went dead silent for a second before Maddy's brother burst into a loud, barking laugh. "Wait, what?! Ry, did you actually do that?”

Ryland stared at me, his jaw slightly slack. Under the table, his knee lightly bumped against mine, and he didn't move it away. He looked utterly betrayed and shook his head in disapproval.

He leaned in even closer, his face just inches from mine. "Unbelievable. We were supposed to be an alliance, Honey."

"Alliances are built on trust, Professor, not secrets," I teased, my voice a little softer than before as I looked at his lips, then back at his eyes. "Drink up."

"Fine," he sighed dramatically. He reached for his beer, his fingers brushing against mine on the table; again, my stomach did a wild flip.

He kept his eyes locked onto mine as he took a long, slow gulp of his drink.

He set the glass down with a soft clink and slowly folded his finger down.

"Oh, and by the way” he paused for a second, “I'm starting to think you're a little obsessed with my rock collection."

By the time the restaurant staff started gently stacking chairs on the tables around us, the party had finally wound down. We had all successfully demolished the rest of our drinks, laughed until our ribs ached, and said our goodbyes.

Maddy gave me a long, dramatic hug outside the restaurant, whispering a highly suggestive, "Get home safe, and text me," before her boyfriend practically had to steer her away.

Ryland and I stood in the warm entryway of the restaurant for a moment.

"Well, Honey," he said, adjusting his crooked glasses one last time. He looked incredibly soft in the dim lighting.

"I'll let you get home. Try not to get lost in the two-block transit."

"I have a map and a compass," I teased, giving him a playful smile. "I'll be fine. Goodnight, Ryland."

"Goodnight." He gave me a slow, warm smile that made my stomach do another flip.

I turned and pushed open the heavy glass door, immediately popping open the compact umbrella I had miraculously grabbed from my hallway table earlier.

Left alone in the cold on my way home, I couldn't help but think about the evening. Well, not really the evening in general—something a bit more specific. You can probably guess what, or better, who.

The truth is, despite the time spent together (which was highly enjoyable, I won’t lie), I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had to be off about him.

Let’s talk facts: he’s undeniably hot, and fun, and I mean, he has a molecular biology degree. He looks sincere and spontaneous and—stop.

It has to be the alcohol.

Let’s just get home, and by tomorrow morning I’ll be healed already, right?

But about thirty seconds into my walk, I heard footsteps behind me.

Squish, squish, squish.

I glanced casually over my shoulder. Through the hazy, amber glow of the streetlights, I spotted a tall, slightly swaying figure. Messy brown hair. Familiar sweatshirt.

Ryland.

My heart did a sudden, chaotic flutter.

Is he following me?

I turned back around.

Okay, he’s probably just walking the same way.

I took a sharp left at the next corner.

Squish, squish, squish.

He took the left, too.

I knew it. He’s a stalker, or worse, a serial killer.

Great time to get killed on the night of your best friend’s birthday, really.

I stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, spinning around on my heel to face him. I waited patiently for him to notice me.

Ryland nearly ran right into me. He blinked, startled, his glasses immediately fogging up from his warm breath in the cool air.

He looked down at me, utterly confused.

"Are you tracking my GPS now, Professor?"

I demanded, trying to look imposing despite the fact that I was definitely swaying a little on my feet.

"Because this is highly suspicious behavior."

Ryland stared at me for a second, the rain dripping from his messy hair onto the bridge of his nose. Then, a grin spread across his face, and he let out a raspy chuckle.

"Look who’s here" he said, surprised, gesturing to the dark street behind him.

"As much as I’d love to tell you I’m embarking on a romantic, rain-soaked pursuit... my car is parked in the public lot just a few minutes from here. I didn't want to pay twenty dollars for the restaurant's valet."

I laughed softly, because that was exactly the kind of thing I expected from someone like him.

"Fair enough, I have to say," I replied, the tension instantly melting out of my shoulders.

"Well, not everyone is lucky enough to live two blocks away from the birthday place, you know?" he countered, a playful, self-deprecating shrug accompanying his words. He was already shivering slightly, his sweatshirt darkening rapidly under the steady downpour.

"True," I murmured. I looked at his dripping wet hair, then down at my perfectly dry, compact umbrella. The alcohol in my system made me bold, and honestly, the thought of him walking the rest of the way in a freezing October rain felt almost criminal.

I took a step closer, raising the umbrella higher and tilting it so it shielded his head too. "But since I'm a merciful savior, and you clearly had a terrible plan,I suppose I can share. Get in here before you dissolve."

Ryland didn't need to be told twice.

“But- uhm you’re gonna have to hold it, cause you’re taller than me, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, sure," he murmured, a soft, amused chuckle escaping his lips.

He reached out, his warm, slightly damp fingers brushing against mine as he took the handle from my hand.

Because of the height difference, and the fact that my compact umbrella was practically designed for a single, very small human, he had to pull me in close to keep us both dry.

He held the umbrella high enough for his messy hair to clear the metal ribs, but his shoulder was pressed firmly against mine, his arm draped just slightly over my back to guide our steps.

"Is this height-appropriate for you, boss?" he teased, looking down at me as we started walking.

"Perf—oh, wait, you’re going to kill yourself" I laughed a little, quickly grabbing his arm and nudging him out of the way just as he was about to crash face-first into a metal lamp post.

Ryland swerved at the last second, stumbling slightly before recovering his footing. He stared at the post as if it had miraculously materialized out of thin air, his cheeks flushing a slightly deeper shade of pink.

"Oh god—yeah. Eyes on the street," he muttered, shaking his head and readjusting his crooked glasses with his free hand.

"And you're the one they trust with thirty twelve-year-olds?" I teased, looking up at him with a grin. "I am genuinely concerned for the future of our youth."

“Hey, you’re—okay," he huffed, a deeply offended gasp as he looked down at me, though the massive, helpless grin on his face completely gave him away.

"First of all, my students adore me. Second of all, I teach them how to safely handle bunsen burners, so my reflexes are actually top-tier. Usually."

"Clearly," I laughed, nudging his shoulder with mine. "The lamp post never stood a chance."

"It sneaked up on me! It was in my blind spot," he defended himself, pointing a dramatic finger back at the metal pole as we kept walking.

"And honestly, you're not allowed to judge my survival skills when you walked out into a literal monsoon wearing boots that are basically beautiful, high-heeled weapons of self-destruction. How are your ankles even holding up?"

"They are holding up through sheer willpower and spite, thank you very much," I retorted, lifting my chin.

"See? We’re both highly chaotic survivors," he chuckled, leaning in just a fraction closer to keep the umbrella perfectly centered over us.

"We just have different survival mechanisms. Mine involves avoiding impact with municipal property, which I will now successfully demonstrate for the rest of the block."

"I'm watching you, Professor," I warned playfully, keeping my eyes on him.

"I count on it," he murmured, his raspy voice softening as he looked down at me.

By the time we finally reached the dry, brightly lit awning of my apartment building, I almost wished my place was a few blocks further away. I stepped out from under the canopy and turned to face him.

"Well, we made it," I said, offering him a soft smile. "And you only almost died once. I'd call that a successful mission."

“An absolute triumph," Ryland agreed. He stopped at the edge of the awning,closing the umbrella and handing it to me.

He looked down at me, his messy hair still damp, his warm eyes fixed on mine with that quiet, intense curiosity that had caught my attention at the very beginning of the night.

"Well, i have to thank you for the rescue "

"Thanks for holding the umbrella" I replied, my voice dropping to a softer tone.

"Get home safe. And... try to avoid any poles on your way to the parking lot."

"I'll do my best. Goodnight, Honey."