3. Frankie

All I wanted wasa hot cup of coffee and a shower. Instead, I ended up with scalding coffee burning my skin—a sensation I could definitely have done without.

"Fucking hell!" The pain sears through me as the hot coffee drenches my shirt, the shock of the burn jolting me back to a harsh reality. My hands fly to my shirt, fumbling with the fabric, the urgency to remove the scalding layer overriding any concern for modesty or the company I'm in. With a hasty yank, the shirt comes off, hitting the floor with a damp slap, leaving me gasping from both the burn and the sudden exposure.

"Shit, are you alright?" The concern in his voice cuts through my haze of pain, and before I can process the situation, gentle yet firm hands are on my hips. Any other day, such a bold touch would have met with fierce resistance, but there's something in the earnestness of his action, a palpable worry that dulls my instinct to retaliate. He lifts me with surprising ease, setting me on the high counter to examine the extent of the burn, our eyes locking in a moment charged with an intensity I wasn't prepared for.

This eye contact, under the fluorescent lights of this cramped room, reveal ocean eyes that glow with concern and something else, something deeper. The pain from the coffee spill recedes slightly, replaced by a curious flutter of a connection unexpected and unexplored. Here, atop the counter, the physical space between us has closed, and in its place, an emotional bridge begins to form, tentative yet unmistakable.

At this height, we're level, putting him at over six feet tall. Clad in a tight white T-shirt that outlines every muscle and worn, low-slung jeans, he embodies the essence of a dream, and he's barefoot, making him seem even more out of place. A forgotten backpack lies next to my spilled coffee cup at his feet.

"Let me look," he murmurs, his attention shifting to the reddened skin of my stomach, the concern in his gaze softening the edges of my embarrassment and pain. It's a vulnerability I'm not used to allowing others to see, yet in this moment, with him, it feels almost natural.

From the shadowed corner of the room, a voice, sharp with derision yet tinged with a superiority that seems to know no bounds, cuts through the tension. "Oh, delightful, placing the injured damsel upon the counter," he muses, his words dripping with a contempt that fills the cramped space. "One would hope such... care extends to maintaining the cleanliness of this esteemed establishment."

"Man, can't you see she has burns?" The man before me looks over my shoulder at the desk jockey.

"And I couldn't care less," he replies in a dull tone, almost as though he's trying to make his voice sound as bland as possible.

"Then at least make yourself useful and get my keys," he grumbles while prodding at my stomach.

"Name."

"Leo Calderwood," he answers absentmindedly.

"How original."

The man known to me only as Leo stiffens at the comment, his irritation palpable. He casts a brief, scathing glance over my shoulder. I can't help but notice the way his jaw tightens and the subtle shift in his stance—a defensive posture that speaks of the underlying friction between them.

"Yeah, and who the fuck are you?" Leo's hands clench on my thighs.

"Dorian. Second year," the voice continues, a smirk audible in his tone as he steps into the light, revealing a meticulously tailored appearance that contrasts sharply with Leo's casual demeanor. Dorian's presence commands attention—not just for the aura of unearned entitlement that clings to him, but for the keen intelligence that gleams in his eyes, marking him as an adversary.

"Your full name," Dorian repeats, seemingly taking pleasure in the monotone delivery.

"Leonardo Calderwood. Third year." Dismissing the pest, Leo looks at me. "Slight burns on your stomach, but you look like you'll heal easily enough."

"Ah, but I'm still out a cup of coffee." My eyes roll over him. He doesn't look my age. In fact, he looks like a grown-ass man with a beard growing in who shaved his head. Actually, I hate his shaved head. It doesn't suit him, yet I've only just met the man.

His lips twitch, and those ocean eyes lock on mine. "Leo."

"Frankie," I reply. "I'd shake your hand, but it looks like we've already moved onto third base."

"Get her off there," the pest snaps, slapping keys down beside me. "I don't wish to wipe her juices off my sanitized counter."

"Ah, one should be so lucky." Leo lifts me up before setting me down on my own two feet. "I know I'd be lucky."

He winks and then smiles at me, flashing me dimples as though he damn well knows they'd disarm me, and they do. I'm a slut for dimples.

"Disgusting," the pest mutters.

"Oh, now what a shame." Leo looks over my head. "I love the taste of an aroused woman. Maybe you're so cranky because you've never had the pleasure of tasting a woman who is actually into you."

I bite back a laugh and lean down to grab my backpack to get a clean shirt.

"How dare you?" the pest growls. "Do you have any idea who I?—"

"Don't care." Leo grabs his keys and turns to me. "Do you know where CT38 is?"

"Sure do." I grab a new top and tug it over my sports bra, then pick up the wet one. Now, I'm also sticky. Shit, I hate feeling sticky. "I'm heading there right now."

"I'll grab you a fresh cup of coffee on the way," Leo promises. "You might have to lead me to the mess hall."

"Good, please leave," the pest tacks on. We both ignore him as we step out of the office.

"So, Frankie…" He waits until the door clicks shut before giving me his full attention. Usually, I'd hate that attention. Having someone look at me so completely as though they can see me inside and out always unsettles me. But Leo? There's this vibe about him that's low-key and easygoing, as though everything in life for this man is just, well, easy.

"Leo." I tug my strap over my shoulder. "I'm guessing you are an out-of-stater?"

"Caught." He smirks. He needs to stop doing that, or else I can't be held accountable for my swooning actions. "Maine."

"Ah." I turn away and begin to lead him out of the building. "Arizona," I tell him. "You're new."

"Caught again." He rushes forward and grabs the door for me.

I pause, staring at him in confusion, then I look around, because surely he isn't grabbing the door for me, except we are the only two in here. Now, he's standing there awkwardly, holding the door for me, while I gape at him with my mouth open. Move your ass, Frankie.

Nodding like an awkward penguin, I shuffle by him with a muted, "Thanks."

Leo just chuckles at me as though he can see right through me and pulls freaking sunglasses from his backpack, making him look like an aviator. It's hot as hell and only makes my attraction to this man grow. How dare he be so handsome and a gentleman? He won't stay single for long, and if he isn't a scholarship student like me, then it means he comes from money. I inwardly sigh and try not to lump him into the same little box as the guy in the office.

"Maine, huh? Quite the journey to an island for college. What lured you to Shadow Locke University, of all places?" I adjust my bag on my shoulder and lead him across the courtyard toward the Celestial Tower, only to make a change of direction because it looks like the cafeteria is open.

Leo slides his sunglasses into place, a gesture so effortlessly cool it almost seems rehearsed. "Adventure, you could say, and the university's unique programs. It isn't every day you get to study on an island with a reputation like Shadow Locke's." He flashes me a quick, charming smile. "What about you? Always been an islander, or did the sea call you here?"

"Arizona, remember?" I correct.

"That's right." He smacks his forehead, making a slapping sound in the process. It's charming in a way.

I laugh, the sound lighter than I expected. "I was drawn here by the promise of escape and, ironically, grounding. There's something about the ocean that puts everything into perspective. Plus, Shadow Locke has its mysteries, so it keeps life interesting. Oh, and I'm a scholarship student." I might as well get that out of the way now since that apparently makes me an outcast. Aside from Tori, Leo is the first person to really talk to me here.

He nods, appreciating the view that stretches beyond the campus. "I can see that. The ocean has a way of making you feel both insignificant and infinite. So, guide, what's the first lesson for a mainland transplant?"

"Lesson one: respect the sea. It gives and takes indiscriminately." I start leading the way to a path that offers a panoramic view of the coastline. It also leads to food. "Lesson two: Shadow Locke's legends aren't just stories. They say the island chooses its students. Each one of us is here for a reason."

Leo looks at me, his interest piqued. "And why do you think the island chose you?"

I consider the question, the ocean breeze playing with my hair. "To learn its secrets, maybe, or to find something I didn't know I was searching for." I glance at him, his curiosity mirrored in my gaze. "What about you?"

"Perhaps to meet someone who could show me the island through their eyes," he replies, his tone light but sincere. His words hold so much depth that they make me blush. Is he talking about me? "To discover adventures I never knew I needed."

Our eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between us—a tentative, undeniable connection. I swear I feel sparks. "I might know a few hidden gems around here," I offer, a playful challenge in my voice. "Like the cove where the stars reflect on the water's surface at night, making it look like you're walking among them."

Leo's smile widens. "That sounds like an adventure worth experiencing. Lead the way."

"I'd love to one of these nights, as long as you promise to keep an open mind," I say, stepping forward. "Shadow Locke is full of surprises."

"Deal," he agrees. "I'll hold you to that, Frankie." The way he says my name sends a shiver through me, as though he's been practicing it in front of a mirror and knows how to say it to make my toes curl. Leo Calderwood is disarming with his dimpled smile and warm gaze.

I need to steer clear of him. He is a walking, talking heartbreaker.

Good thing I don't have a heart to break.

I lead him to the cafeteria, which is buzzing with new students wearing excited smiles on their faces. I know what that feels like. The only difference is the groups of people they are with, as though they all came together. Something about it makes me feel lonely.

Leading Leo to the coffee bar, I instantly begin to make a fresh cup, even as my shirt continues to dry in my backpack.

"You weren't fucking around." He laughs, stepping up beside me and choosing tea.

"There it is." I point to his cup. "I knew you were too perfect and that if I just waited, your flaws would show."

His laugh booms out of him, infectious and light. "You think I'm perfect?"

"Ugh. I regret speaking." I use far more sugar than I'd normally use. "I take it back. All of it."

"No, no." He pours his hot water in. "No take backs."

Wiggling my nose, I rip my last packet of sugar open. "Perfect is subjective," I say instead.

He leans down close to me, making me freeze. Usually, when people get into my space uninvited like this, I freeze up. My heart pounds, and sweat pools under my arms, but with Leo, I catch the scent of cedarwood, just like his namesake, and instead of feeling panic, I feel… safe, which is just as unsettling. I don't feel safe with people. Ever.

"And I think you still believe I'm perfect," he whispers just for me. His breath rolls over my skin, creating pleasurable goosebumps that race from my ear to my neck then across my chest. Ever so slowly, he backs up, an arrogant smirk on his face. With him out of my space, I exhale a shaky breath and glance at him from beneath my lashes.

"Arrogance suits you." Again, he laughs. Me? I look away and put a lid on my coffee cup.

"You know, they say that if you drink your coffee black, you just might be a sociopath," he observes.

I grab a banana and an apple as I head toward the cashier, rolling his words over in my head. "I take my coffee with sugar, but it wouldn't be the first time someone called me crazy," I mumble, not thinking he heard me.

He does, of course. "Ah, but Frankie, do you think you're crazy?"

What an odd question.I don't answer as I step up to the cashier. Crazy? Maybe. I do love to watch men die, but does that make me crazy?

No, I decide. They had it coming.

"Is this all?" she asks, raising a brow.

"Nope." Leo grabs a handful of granola bars they always keep at the register just in case. "These, and it's on me."

The cashier rolls her eyes and begins to ring everything up.

"Thanks," I say, sipping my coffee.

"It's the least I could do for spilling your other cup." He hands over his student identification card, freshly printed.

As she finishes ringing everything up and popping it all in a bag, which he hands to me, I think about his question again. For some reason, it just hits wrong. Do I think I'm crazy? No. I don't. Not really, at least, aside from a little homicide.

I mean, come on, what's a little homicide? Besides, those days are over. I'm reformed. Kind of. Maybe. Probably not.

"Don't overthink it." He bumps my shoulder gently, so he doesn't cause me to spill my coffee again.

"Well, clearly I am going to overthink it now." I roll my eyes, leading him around the cafeteria that is slowly getting louder.

"Leo!" a voice yells.

"Oh, hey, come meet the other rugby players." Leo tries to tug me toward them.

"Yeah, no, that sounds like a lot more socializing than I signed up for today." I pull away, and he lets me go.

"Shit, you were going to show me where the tower is." He looks torn, glancing from me to the group of guys calling his name.

"Huge tower toward the back of the island. You can't miss it." I look over at the table full of jocks. Of course he plays rugby. It's one of the only sports this school excels at. "Go. I have to shower and leave for work." They are all barefoot. Well, that answers that question.

"You sure?" He looks down at me, a frown deepening the color of his eyes.

"Yeah, it was nice to meet you, Leo." I take a step back, ready to bolt.

"Frankie," he says in a lazy drawl, as though he has all the time in the world. I swallow because I want him to keep saying my name just like that—slow and deliberate, as though he is practicing moaning my name.

"Hmm?" I reply distractedly.

"You owe me that date."

"Date?" Did he ask me out?

"Oh yes." He focuses entirely on me, and it makes my legs itch to run. It's been a long three months since I've been able to run the perimeter of the island. "The cove where the stars reflect in the water." He's serious.

"Well, Leo, you'll just have to find me one of these nights."

"Oh, I intend to."

"Welcome to Shadow Locke." The words feel inadequate for the swirl of emotions bubbling inside me. I turn to leave, each step away from Leo feeling heavier than the last. His presence behind me is almost a tangible force, compelling yet something I consciously resist acknowledging. My heart beats a frantic rhythm, betraying my outward composure.

All the way out, his gaze lingers on me like a touch I can feel, enveloping me in a warmth I didn't realize I craved until now. A battle rages within me. Part of me yearns to turn back, to see if what I felt in those few moments was mirrored in his eyes, while another part steels myself against the vulnerability such an action would reveal.

I force my feet to move, telling myself it's the right thing to do, yet with each step, I can't shake the sense that I'm walking away from more than just a person—I'm leaving behind a possibility, a what-if that's as intriguing as it is frightening. The logical part of my brain catalogs this as just another encounter, but my heart whispers of missed connections and paths that might converge again.

"Goodbye, Leo," I whisper under my breath, a farewell he won't hear but one that marks the significance of this encounter. The doorway to the outside world feels like a threshold between two realities—one where Leo Calderwood is a curious footnote in my day, and another where he might be the start of a story I hadn't planned on writing.

Stepping into the sunlight, I allow myself one last indulgence—a glance back through the glass doors. The cafeteria, now a backdrop to a day that suddenly feels charged with new meaning, blurs before my eyes. I don't need to see him to feel the connection, brief yet undisputable.

As I walk away, the echo of his voice, the warmth of his gaze, and the promise of adventures yet shared haunt my steps. Shadow Locke, with all its mysteries, has just presented me with the most compelling one yet.