#tsabtc

Sometime around the middle of the semester, she realizes that the only reason she’s passing her creative writing course is Cameron Harris. He’s the barista at the coffee shop she frequents, so it’s not like he’s supposed to have this huge impact on her life, but there he is, singlehandedly saving her GPA.

She feels indebted to him somehow, and if there’s one thing Isabelle hates, it is being in debt to people. It’s already the case with her aunt and uncle, because no matter how much she loves them and she knows they love her, they’re still taking on a lot of risk by investing so much money in her future. They believe in her- it makes her want to believe in herself- but they’re not her parents. Isabelle has to pay that money back.

What Cameron’s doing, though, that can’t be paid back in dollars, can it? That would be so cheap. She doesn’t know what else to do, though. See, Cameron’s the type of guy she can easily fall in love with. In fact, sometimes she thinks she’s already halfway there, but that’s ridiculous. How can she be in love with him? What does she even know about the guy? He’s got two older sisters, a twin brother, and a really involved brother-in-law. At some point he’s mentioned some guy named Drew who he thinks doesn’t like him- which is ridiculous, because he’s Cam, how does someone not like him?

Wait.

She didn’t mean to think that.

No, no, see, he’s Cameron, the kind of guy that is so very wrong for her that he could derail all her future plans. He’s got a big heart, sure, but he’s also sitting around wasting that great mind he’s got, and Isabelle really can’t be involved with a guy like that. It sounds horrible, and it is, but she’s had this dream, this FBI dream for so long, that the need to achieve it is a part of her blood now. This is about her, her parents and the family- the life- she never got to have. One boy who says maybe he wants to write a book some day, that’s not going to cut it. He’s the worst kind of distraction, with those mischievous eyes and kind smile, and even though she spends every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday talking to him for hours, she’s not going to let it go past that.

Even though Isabelle really wants to.

Even though he understands what it’s like, to not have your parents around.

Even though he shows her a completely different way of thinking, one that doesn’t have to do specifically with numbers and logic and hard facts.

Even though he can make excellent coffee and sometimes she just wants to kiss him when he smiles and hands her a cup.  

She tables those thoughts until December, at which point she finds herself staring at his name written in big, bold letters on her Christmas shopping list. Well, what the hell. He’s done a lot for her, and she’s known she needs to repay him since the semester began. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she acknowledges that maybe, the presence of his name stems from more than just that A she’s pulling in Creative Writing 201.

Eventually, Isabelle decides to just take him up on his offer. Cam has a bad habit of asking her out on a regular basis, no matter what, and even though she says no on a regular basis, it’s like clockwork, the Thursday evening invitation. He’s not expecting anything by this point, but his hand still reaches up to rub his neck, and he’s kind of quiet about it, but when she says sure, it’s like his whole face lights up.

Really, it should be illegal for someone to look that happy just because of her. She doesn’t want that responsibility, she wants to shout to the universe. This boy deserves better than his chain being yanked around.

And yet she can’t stop herself from going out with him, letting him rub his hands over hers when she gets cold, buy her warm apple cider. She listens intently as he talks about his book, the manuscript that, in his words, he’s finally writing because of her. Isabelle accepts his gratitude, and she holds back tears when he tells her that when he’s done with it, she’s going to be the first person that gets the chance to read it.

“I mean, if you want to,” Cam says quietly, looking down at her with an intensity she really should have known he has. He’s a writer, after all. There’s got to be that little bit of broodiness in him.

“I will always want to read everything you write, Cameron Harris,” she tells him, putting her arms on his shoulders so that she can reach up and brush her lips against his. It is barely anything, a peck, if that, but it is farther than she ever thought they’d get.

Isabelle interlocks her fingers with his and pulls him forward when she starts walking. He tries to pull his hand away, probably so he can wrap it around her waist, but she stops him before he can.

“Cam,” she says. “We’re not on a date. Not yet.”