Chapter 165 The Normal Guy

Chapter 165 The Normal Guy
Nate dropped me off at Alverstone that morning.

He didn’t say much during the drive — just rested his hand on the back of my seat like he needed the contact to stay grounded. When I opened the door, he said, “Text me when you’re done,” in that low, steady voice that meant he wasn’t asking.

I nodded, shut the door, and watched him pull away.

My phone buzzed before I reached the lecture hall.

ELIZA:  

‘Can you meet me after class? Something happened.’

No emojis. Just Eliza — clipped, urgent, but not upset.

I typed back:

Yeah. I’ll come to the community campus.

She sent a thumbs‑up.

That was new.

She hadn’t used a thumbs‑up since middle school.

By the time my last lecture ended, the cold had settled over the quad in a thin, biting sheet. Students hurried across the walkways with their jackets pulled tight, breath fogging in the air. I crossed campus quickly until I reached the community college building, where Eliza took her Child Psychology elective.

She was already outside, sitting on a bench beneath a bare tree whose branches rattled in the wind. Her backpack was at her feet, her braid slipping loose over one shoulder. She looked… different.

Not lighter or happier.

Just awake.

She spotted me and waved me over.

“Okay,” she said the moment I sat down. “I met someone.”

I blinked. “What?”

“In class,” she said, leaning forward. “Child Psych. He sits behind me. He dropped his notebook, and when I picked it up, it was covered in dinosaur doodles.”

I stared. “Dinosaurs.”

“Full‑on T‑rex sketches,” she said, grinning. “And he wasn’t embarrassed. He just said, ‘I like dinosaurs,’ like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

I laughed. “That’s actually adorable.”

“It gets better,” she said. “He asked me what I was studying, and when I told him Elementary Ed, he said, ‘That makes sense. You look like someone who’d be good at teaching tiny humans.’”

“That’s… really sweet.”

“It was,” she said. “And then he asked if I wanted to get coffee after class.”

“Immediately?”

“Immediately. No hesitation. No weird pauses.”

I felt something warm bloom in my chest. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Wow.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting the strap of her backpack.

“His name is Caleb,” she said. “Caleb Miller.”

“Miller,” I repeated. “That’s… normal.”

“It is,” she said. “And he’s normal. In every possible way.”

She said the word like it meant something.

“He doesn’t have a security detail,” she continued. “He doesn’t have a legacy or a penthouse or a father who owns half the city. He has a beat‑up Honda with a cracked bumper and a smile that looks like it belongs to someone who actually sleeps at night.”

I swallowed. “That sounds… refreshing.”

“It is,” she said. “He’s average. In the best way.”

I nodded slowly. “And you like him.”

She hesitated — just a flicker — then nodded. “I think I could.”

We sat there for a moment, letting the quiet settle between us. Students filtered past, bundled in scarves and gloves, laughing, talking, living their normal lives. Eliza watched them with a softness I hadn’t seen in weeks.

“What did you talk about?” I asked.

“Everything,” she said. “He works part‑time at a hardware store. He likes hiking. He hates olives. He wants to adopt a dog someday. He said he’s terrible at math but great at remembering birthdays.”

I smiled. “He sounds… good.”

“He is,” she said softly. “He’s good.”

She looked up at me, eyes bright. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know if it’s anything. But it feels… uncomplicated.”

“You deserve uncomplicated,” I said.

She nodded. “I really do.”

She leaned back against the bench, breath fogging in the cold air. For a moment, she looked like the girl I’d grown up with — the one who used to braid my hair before school, who used to steal my fries, who used to swear she’d never date anyone who made her cry.

She nudged my shoulder. “You okay?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About Nate?”

I nodded.

She didn’t push. She didn’t pry. She just sat with me, the way she always had.

“Things feel weird,” I said quietly. “Like everything’s shifting.”

“They are,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s all bad.”

I exhaled slowly. “I hope not.”

She bumped her shoulder against mine again. “Hey. If I can survive Gavin Hollis, you can survive whatever Nate’s brooding about.”

I laughed — a small, shaky sound. “Fair.”

She stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Come on. Walk me home?”

“Of course.”

We started down the sidewalk together, our boots crunching over patches of frost. The wind cut across the street in sharp bursts, tugging at our hair and reddening our cheeks. Eliza tucked her braid into her jacket and kept talking, her voice bright in a way I hadn’t heard in weeks.

“So, Caleb,” she said. “He drinks his coffee black. Like… aggressively black.”

“That’s a red flag,” I said.

She laughed. “Right? I told him he was basically drinking hot bean water.”

“That’s worse.”

“I know.”

We waited at a crosswalk while cars crawled past, exhaust fogging in the cold air.

“He also has this stupid keychain,” she said. “A tiny rubber chicken. It squeaks.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“He said it makes him laugh.”

“That’s… honestly kind of cute.”

“It is,” she admitted.

We crossed the street. A gust of wind hit us head‑on, and Eliza yelped, pulling her jacket tighter.

“Okay, but listen,” she said. “He asked me what my favorite childhood book was, and when I said The Velveteen Rabbit, he told me he cried reading it in fourth grade.”

“That’s a green flag.”

“Right? I didn’t know normal boys cried in fourth grade.”

“Normal boys cry all the time,” I said. “They just don’t write essays about it.”

She snorted. “True.”

We turned onto her street. The Jones house sat halfway down, its porch light glowing against the early winter dusk. Eliza slowed her steps, her breath fogging in steady puffs.

“I’m not rushing into anything,” she said. “I’m not trying to replace anyone. I just… liked talking to him.”

“That’s allowed,” I said.

She smiled — small, tired, but real. “Thanks.”

We reached the driveway. She shifted her backpack on her shoulder and nudged me again.

“You want to come in? My mom’s making soup. Grace and Zoe should be home from school in a couple of hours.”

“Tempting,” I shook my head. “I should get back. Nate’s expecting me.”

“Okay.” She hesitated, then hugged me — quick, tight, warm. “Text me later.”

“I will.”