Chapter 139
Summer's POV
The hallway felt too bright after the chaos of the cafeteria. I pressed my back against the cool wall, trying to slow my racing heart, trying not to think about Blake's smirk or the way the entire school had watched me lose it.
Then I saw him.
Kieran stood at the end of the hall, half-hidden in shadow near the stairwell. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his right hand was shoved deep in his pocket while his left hung loose at his side. He'd seen everything. Had to have.
For a long moment, we just looked at each other.
Then he started walking toward me, and something in my chest loosened even as it tightened, because whatever was coming next, at least I wouldn't have to face it alone.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the exhaustion etched into his face. His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"You did good back there," he said quietly. His voice was rough, like he'd been holding something back for too long.
The words hit me harder than they should have. All the anger and humiliation from the cafeteria came rushing back, mixed with something else I couldn't name. "I hate that they always—" I started, but my throat closed up.
"They don't matter." Kieran's left hand lifted, his fingers brushing the corner of my eye where tears threatened. "You know that, right?"
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.
"I saw you," he continued, his thumb grazing my cheekbone with a gentleness that made my chest ache. "I saw how strong you were."
That broke me. The tears spilled over before I could stop them. I turned my face away, embarrassed, trying to wipe them with my sleeve. "I wasn't trying to be strong. I was just... angry."
"Then you should be angry more often." There was the ghost of a smile in his voice. "It suits you."
I looked up at him through blurry vision. His expression was soft in a way I'd never seen before, like all his usual walls had crumbled just for this moment.
"Come on," he said, tilting his head toward the back exit. "Let's get out of here for a bit."
"We can't just leave—"
"We can." His tone left no room for argument. "Just for a little while."
I shouldn't have agreed. We had afternoon classes. Ms. Thompson would notice if we skipped. But when Kieran looked at me like that, like I was the only thing that mattered, all my objections disappeared.
---
The coffee cart was tucked into a corner near the back gate, its owner bundled in a thick coat and wool scarf, steam rising from the espresso machine in white clouds that dissipated into the cold December air. The bare branches of the oak trees overhead clattered in the wind, and I could see my breath forming small puffs of vapor as we approached.
Kieran ordered without asking what I wanted, which should have annoyed me but instead made my heart do something complicated.
"Two hot chocolates," he said to the vendor. "Extra whipped cream on one."
The vendor grinned, clearly recognizing a regular. "The usual for you, Cross? And treating your girl today?"
Kieran's ears went red, but he didn't correct him. "Yeah. Something like that."
My face burned despite the cold. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, watching as the vendor prepared our drinks with practiced efficiency. The rich scent of chocolate and cinnamon filled the small space, warm and comforting against the bite of winter wind.
Kieran paid before I could offer, his body blocking me when I reached for my wallet. "I got it," he said, low enough that only I could hear. The words carried a weight that had nothing to do with coffee.
He handed me the cup with extra whipped cream, and I wrapped both hands around it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my frozen fingers. We walked to a low wall nearby, partially sheltered from the wind by the building's overhang, and sat with our thighs almost touching. I could feel the cold seeping through my jeans, but the hot chocolate more than made up for it.
The first sip was heaven—sweet and rich, the whipped cream melting on my tongue. I let out a small sigh of satisfaction before I could stop myself, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.
When I glanced over, Kieran was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Soft. Hungry. Careful.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"You always smell like strawberries," he said. Not like he was making an observation. Like he was confessing something.
My face went hot despite the winter chill. "You... noticed?"
"Yeah." He looked down at his hot chocolate, ears going red. "Every time you sit next to me. It's... nice."
The simple honesty of it made my throat tight. "I like that you noticed," I managed.
We sat in silence for a while, shoulders almost touching, the space between us charged with everything we weren't saying. Around us, the wind whistled through the bare branches, and somewhere in the distance I could hear the muffled sounds of the school—doors opening and closing, the faint rumble of voices. But here, in our small sheltered corner, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
Then I felt it—the lightest brush of his pinky finger against mine on the wall between us.
My breath stopped. I didn't pull away.
Slowly, carefully, Kieran's little finger hooked around mine. Then his whole hand covered mine, our fingers lacing together like they'd been waiting for permission. His palm was warm from holding the cup, and I could feel the rough calluses on his fingertips, the slight tremor that might have been from cold or something else entirely.
I turned to look at him. His ears were bright red now, but he kept his eyes on the horizon, pretending this wasn't the bravest thing either of us had done all day.
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
He glanced at me, defensive. "What?"
"Nothing." I squeezed his hand. "Just... you're cute when you're trying to act cool."
His face went even redder, but he didn't let go. If anything, he held on tighter.