Chapter 34
Summer's POV
The words hung between us like smoke, impossible to take back.
I'd said it. Out loud. In the middle of the day, standing in this narrow corridor with ivy creeping up the brick walls and afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead, I'd told Kieran Cross that I missed him.
His entire body went rigid. I watched his throat work, watched the color creep up from his collar to his ears, watched his knuckles go white around the edge of the chocolate box I'd just given him. The pink packaging caught the light, that stupid Japanese text about kisses practically glowing between his fingers.
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at some point past my shoulder, breathing like he'd just run a mile, and I could see the exact moment he decided to run.
"I—" His voice came out rough. "I need to get lunch."
He turned on his heel, movements jerky and uncoordinated in a way I'd never seen from him before, and started walking. Fast.
"Wait!" I scrambled after him, my shoes slipping slightly on the old brick pathway. "I'm hungry too. I'll come with you."
He stopped so abruptly I almost crashed into his back. When he turned around, his gray eyes were wide and slightly panicked, mouth opening like he was about to refuse, about to tell me to go away and stop making everything so complicated.
But I was already moving, falling into step beside him before he could formulate the words, and after a second of visible internal struggle, he just... let me. His pace slowed fractionally, adjusting to my shorter legs, and we walked together down the tree-lined path toward The Commons in tense, electric silence.
I couldn't stand quiet. I never could.
"So the training's going well?" The words tumbled out too fast, too bright. "Ms. Thompson said you're doing twenty problem sets a day, which sounds completely insane, but I guess that's what it takes for USAPhO, right? And your hand—does it still hurt when you write for that long? I noticed you were favoring your left side in homeroom last week, not that I was watching you or anything weird like that, I just—" I was rambling. I knew I was rambling. "Are you eating enough? The Commons food is pretty good if you know what to get. The soup is actually homemade, not from a can. And there's this salad bar that—"
"Summer."
Just my name. That was all he said, but the way he said it made my mouth snap shut.
We'd reached the wide maple-lined walkway that led to the main dining hall, all golden autumn leaves and that perfect New England prep school aesthetic that usually made me feel safe and contained. Today it just felt like a stage, like everyone could see us walking together and draw their own conclusions.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, still not looking at me. "The training's fine. My hand's fine. I eat."
"But do you eat enough?" I pressed, unable to help myself. "Because you're working so hard and I know the scholarship lunch program only gives you the basic sandwich option and that's not—"
"It's enough."
His tone was flat, final. Conversation over.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper, forcing myself to shut up, to give him space, to not push when he so clearly didn't want to be pushed. We walked the rest of the way in silence, but I noticed—I couldn't help but notice—that his pace had slowed even more. He was matching my steps now, deliberately keeping me beside him instead of outpacing me like he easily could have.
That small concession made something warm and painful bloom in my chest.
The Commons loomed ahead, all glass doors and the smell of cafeteria food wafting out whenever someone pushed through the entrance. Kieran stopped at the threshold, finally turning to face me, and there was something careful and guarded in his expression that made my stomach twist.
"You can go now," he said.
Just like that. Casual. Like we'd been walking together by accident and now the accident was over.
"What?" The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "No. I told you, I'm hungry too."
"Summer—"
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" I could hear the hurt creeping into my voice and hated it, hated sounding so needy and pathetic, but I couldn't seem to stop. "Is that it? You don't want to eat lunch with me?"
Something flickered across his face—guilt, maybe, or frustration. His hand tightened on the door handle. "It's not—I just—"
"Then we'll eat together." I pushed past him through the door before he could argue, before he could see the way my eyes were stinging, before I lost my nerve entirely.
The Commons was packed with the usual lunch crowd, all noise and movement and the clatter of trays. I headed straight for the salad bar, trying to look casual and unbothered while my heart hammered against my ribs. When I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw Kieran standing in the doorway, backpack still slung over one shoulder, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Then he sighed—I saw his whole chest rise and fall with it—and followed me inside.
But he didn't come to the salad bar. He didn't even glance at the main food line with its pizza and pasta and the good soup I'd been about to recommend. Instead, he walked directly to a small window at the far end of the cafeteria that I'd honestly never noticed before, tucked away near the kitchen entrance. There was a handwritten sign above it: Reduced Lunch Program.
I watched him approach the window, watched the tired-looking woman behind it hand him a wrapped sandwich and a bottle of water without any money changing hands, watched him take the tray with a quiet "thank you" that I could barely hear over the cafeteria noise.
My throat closed up.
I wanted to march over there and buy him a real lunch, something hot and filling and not just a sad sandwich in plastic wrap. I wanted to slide my credit card across the counter and tell them to give him whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted, that money wasn't an object and he deserved better than this.
But I knew—God, I knew—that would destroy him. That it would be the worst possible thing I could do.
So I just stood there by the salad bar, pretending to be very interested in the cherry tomatoes, while Kieran found a spot at one of the long tables near the back and ate his sandwich in quick, efficient bites. He didn't sit down. Just stood there with his tray, eating fast like he had somewhere to be, like this was a task to complete rather than a break to enjoy.
I was still staring when he finished, when he dumped his trash and stacked his tray, when he started walking not toward the exit but toward a door marked Staff Only at the back of the dining hall.
"Wait—" I abandoned my salad and hurried after him, weaving between tables. "Kieran, where are you going?"
He glanced back, and for just a second, I saw something vulnerable flash across his face before his expression locked down again.
"I have to work," he said simply.
"Work?" I repeated stupidly. "What do you mean, work?"
"Work-study position. Dining services cleanup shift." He was already pushing through the staff door. "Hour and a half, five days a week."
And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving me standing in the middle of The Commons with my mouth hanging open and my heart somewhere in the vicinity of my shoes.
He had a job. Here. In the school cafeteria. While the rest of us were eating lunch or gossiping or doing absolutely nothing productive, Kieran was working.
I should have left. I should have gone back to my salad, found Mia, pretended this was all perfectly normal and none of my business.
Instead, I followed him through the staff door.