Chapter 14 Lunch Invitation
Mercer smiled faintly, the kind of smile that wasn’t really a smile at all and pulled Lila toward the door. “Gladly.”
The hallway outside felt too bright after the shadow of Beckett’s office. Lila’s pulse hadn’t yet slowed. Mercer didn’t speak until they’d reached the stairwell.
“Sorry you had to see that,” he said, releasing her hand. “Beckett’s temper gets the best of him.”
Lila rubbed her wrist. It wasn’t that he’d hurt her, but there’d been something urgent in his grip. “What was that about? Why would you say something like that?”
Mercer hesitated at the top of the stairs, then sighed. “You deserve honesty. Henry Beckett is brilliant. But not stable. I’ve seen him unravel before, and I don’t want you near that.”
She frowned. “You think he’s dangerous?”
Mercer’s voice softened. “I think he’s the kind of man who can’t let go of the past. And people who can’t let go tend to destroy what reminds them of it.”
Lila looked down at the worn steps, her throat tight. Serena, she thought. He dated her. He lost her. Maybe he never recovered.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be,” Mercer said. His tone gentled again, almost paternal. “You’re not the one who needs forgiving.”
He smiled then, small, warm, and disarming. “Come on. You look like you could use lunch. My treat.”
Lila blinked. “Lunch?”
“Yes. Food helps after unpleasant things.” He tilted his head slightly. “Unless you have a class?”
She shook her head. “No. I just..”
“Good,” Mercer interrupted lightly. “There’s a café down by the college. You’ll like it.”
Lila hesitated, then said, “Can I invite my friend? Asher?”
Mercer’s smile widened. “Of course. The more the merrier.”
The café, Haven’s Corner, sat tucked between the art building and the library, a quiet place with hanging plants and warm, amber lighting. By the time Lila and Asher arrived, Mercer was already seated near the window, a book open beside an untouched cup of coffee.
He looked up when they entered. “Ah, the detectives,” he said with an amused smile. “Come, sit. I’ve already paid.”
Lila blinked. “You didn’t have to..”
“I insist.” His voice carried that easy warmth that made refusal feel rude.
They sat. Asher leaned back casually, glancing between the two professors’ names on Lila’s schedule. “So, Professor Mercer, Lila says you’re in photography and philosophy, too?”
“Indeed,” Mercer said. “Though my interests are more abstract. I prefer studying people rather than theories.”
Lila smiled weakly, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You mean psychology?”
He shook his head. “No. Philosophy of behavior. Why we do what we do? What pushes a person from love into obsession. And I love photography more.”
The last word hung in the air like smoke.
Asher broke the silence first. “Sounds heavy for lunch talk, sir.”
Mercer chuckled. “You’d be surprised. Some of my best discussions happen over food.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes twinkling. “You two remind me of my students years ago. Always sitting together. Always asking too many questions.”
“Did they find the answers?” Lila asked.
Mercer’s smile faltered for just a second. “Some of them did.”
A waiter appeared, pad in hand. “Can I get you anything?”
Mercer waved it off. “Whatever’s best today. For all three of us.”
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
Asher laughed. “You didn’t even look at the menu.”
“I’ve eaten here a hundred times,” Mercer said. “And besides, sometimes it’s nice to let someone else make decisions.”
Lila nodded slowly, but a prickle ran up her arms. That’s what he said to Serena once maybe? She couldn’t remember if it was her imagination or something Serena had told her in one of her late-night stories before she died.
“Professor Beckett said something strange to me today,” she said quietly. “He told me not to go to the photography wing at night.”
Mercer’s eyes sharpened. “Did he?”
“Yes. It…it was weird.”
“I bet it was,” Asher said. “That guy gives everyone the creeps.”
Mercer’s lips thinned, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he said softly, “You know, Henry has always struggled with boundaries.”
“Boundaries?”
“Between thought and feeling. Between what he teaches and what he desires.” Mercer folded his hands. “Don’t be too close to him, Lila. Curiosity is a dangerous teacher.”
Something in his tone made her uneasy. It wasn’t what he said, it was how gently he said it, like a father warning a daughter. But underneath, there was a faint hum of control.
She forced a small laugh. “You sound like him. You both think I’m in danger.”
Mercer’s eyes softened again. “I don’t think, Lila. I know.”
The waiter returned with three plates of pasta glazed in olive oil, bread still steaming, small bowls of salad sprinkled with pomegranate. Mercer thanked him with a nod before either of the students could open their mouths.
“You really didn’t have to pay,” Lila said again.
“Call it gratitude,” Mercer said. “For your effort. For reminding me of old times.”
She gave a hesitant smile. “Old times?”
He looked past her, out the window, where the wind stirred the red leaves on the path. “There used to be a student I worked closely with. She was remarkable. Brave. Like you.”
Lila froze.
Serena. Lila knew it was her sister.
Mercer caught her expression and smiled faintly. “She loved photography too. You remind me of her every day.”
Her throat tightened. “You knew my sister?”
Mercer’s smile didn’t fade, but something dark flickered in his eyes. “Everyone knew Serena.”
Asher looked between them, sensing tension. “Let’s, uh, eat before it gets cold.”
They did, though Lila barely tasted the food. Mercer spoke lightly about art, travel, small campus stories. He laughed easily, the kind of laugh that made people lean closer. Yet every time she met his eyes, something unreadable flickered there like he was measuring her.
She found herself studying his hands, the faint ink stains on his fingers, the way he adjusted his watch whenever he spoke about something personal.
When the plates were finally cleared, Mercer leaned back, content. “Dessert,” he said simply.
Lila raised a brow. “You really don’t have to..”
But before she could finish, the waiter returned.
“Compliments of the chef,” he said, placing a small plate before her.
It was a dessert, it looked delicate, and beautiful like a rose.
Made of chocolate and crimson glaze, its petals curling like velvet.
Lila’s breath caught.
Mercer smiled, watching her reaction. “Fitting, isn’t it?”
Asher chuckled awkwardly. “That’s some fancy chocolate.”
Mercer didn’t take his eyes off Lila. “Red always suited you.”
The fork slipped from her fingers, clattering against the plate.
The sound made a few heads turn. She flushed, mumbling an apology, but Mercer only smiled, unbothered.
“Don’t be frightened of beauty, Lila,” he said softly. “Even when it’s fleeting.”
Her chest ached. His words sounded so much like something Serena once said to her that she almost forgot to breathe.
But then the waiter leaned in close, just as he set down Mercer’s coffee. His voice dropped to a whisper, low enough for only her to hear. “He said you’d like it.”
Lila froze.
“What?” she whispered.
But the waiter had already turned away, smiling politely as he vanished into the kitchen.
Lila’s pulse hammered in her ears. She looked at Mercer. He was still smiling. Still calm. Still watching her.
And on the table between them, the chocolate rose gleamed under the café light, red, perfect, and far too familiar.
Lila stared at the dessert, unable to move.
Outside the café window, across the street, a camera flash went off brightly and fast.
When she looked back, the reflection on the glass showed only two people sitting at her table.
Mercer was gone.