13. Olive Branch

13

I still had half my midterms to grade when the weekend came around. Having unintentionally woken up early on Saturday morning, I decided it would be more productive to actually get something done, as opposed to lying in bed and thinking about Chance.

I was no closer to figuring out what he was up to, but I was at least sure that a romantic entanglement was quite unlikely, though I still worried about what danger both of them thought they might be in. It felt as though the answer was on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't figure out how to arrange the pieces to make them fit together to form a bigger picture.

Rolling out of bed, I refused to change out of my pajamas, wanting to be as comfortable as possible.

I glanced up at the string dangling from the trapdoor to the lounge while I brushed my teeth in the bathroom.

I missed my lounge. I was going stir-crazy having only my apartment to occupy.

"Screw Chance Harper," I declared after spitting out my toothpaste into the sink. "It's my lounge. Not his."

I scurried about my room, making a cup of coffee, gathering my papers, and tidying as I went.

It was chilly when I at last made it upstairs, and the grey light streaming through the windows from a gloomy autumn sky made it feel that much colder. I regretted not bringing my sweatshirt up with me, but I had blankets on the sofa, and the room would warm up considerably once I got a fire going.

The lounge didn't look any different since I had last been up there, but the energy had shifted, and I could almost smell the spice of Chance's cologne in the air, confirming that he'd been there. It rankled me that he knew my secret. It felt as though his knowledge of the space had somehow tainted it.

I was surprised, but pleased, to find that Chance had more than replenished the woodpile next to the fire. I scowled as I felt my heart flutter at the thought of Chance doing so to make things easier for me.

Once the fire was blazing, I found a suitable record to play on the gramophone , I remembered, as I had been so eloquently schooled on the difference between the various models by Chance.

I was able to work in peace for a few hours before I was startled by a tap on the far window.

I groaned when a second tap sounded, and got up to traipse across the lounge, finding Chance struggling to juggle two steaming mugs with one hand as he used the other to attempted to lift the window on his own.

"Hey." He beamed the moment I opened the window. He handed me both mugs so he could climb through without falling on his stupid, pretty face.

Chance was also dressed casually in a long-sleeve Henley that accentuated every single sinew of his muscular torso, arms, and shoulders. But that day he had opted for a pair of dark wash jeans instead of the pajama pants he had been sporting the first time he had invaded my space.

"What's this?" I motioned to the mugs as I stepped back to allow him space to enter the room.

"A peace offering." He chuckled sheepishly as he closed the window behind him, shutting out the cold air from outside.

I followed him as he started toward the far end of the room, but stopped abruptly alongside Chance as he wistfully gazed at the piano. "When do you think was the last time somebody played her?"

Her?

"Thirty or forty years."

My eyes widened as he took a seat on the bench, dust puffing up from the velvet upholstery. Lifting the cover from the keys, he got out a few bars of "The Entertainer" but pulled his fingers back as the notes soured, wincing at the sound. "Hasn't been tuned in longer than that."

I said nothing. I hoped he couldn't hear my heart thundering in my chest. An image of me sitting next to him on the bench, my head on his shoulder as he played a soft tune, flitted into my mind, but I quickly shoved it from my thoughts.

Chance stood from the bench and wandered toward the wall of books on the interior of the room. "Were the books already organized when you discovered them?" he asked vacantly, crouching down to read some of the titles on the bottom shelf.

"No," I said quietly, fondly remembering the hours I had spent categorizing by genre, then alphabetizing, then organizing them neatly shelf by shelf.

"Really?" He looked at me over his shoulder. "I bet it took you forever."

I nodded. I didn't think he was making fun of me.

He smiled, seemingly impressed, but quickly turned back to the shelves. "Cool! Old yearbooks!" he exclaimed, grabbing a stack from one of the shelves.

I must have audibly gasped because he quickly replied, "Don't worry, I'll put them back where I found them." He carried the books over to the study table on the opposite side of the room. "Come here."

Without permission, my legs carried me to Chance. He held up his hand and gently took one of the still-steaming mugs from my hand.

"It's hot chocolate," he noted before taking a sip.

When I said nothing and made no attempt to move, he looked up at me, eyebrow raised in jest, and said, "It's not poisoned."

I looked down at the cup, wondering what it would mean if I took a drink.

"You're not lactose intolerant or allergic to chocolate, are you?" He laughed.

"No," I replied quietly. Feeling his eyes on me, I took a sip to appease him. A soft moan escaped as the liquid hit my tongue. It was perfect. Of course. Cooled to just the right temperature, and creamy because he'd used milk instead of water. I couldn't help but go back for another taste.

Daring to glance up at Chance, he displayed only the hint of a satisfied smirk.

"Truce?"

I frowned. "Don't press your luck."

His smirk broadened in amusement as I couldn't help but take another drink.

"What does it matter if we're on good terms or not?" I leaned my weight against the heavy wood study table.

"Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?" he countered.

I scoffed.

"I like you, Violet." His gaze turned hungry. "I know you like me too. I think you hate that you do." Chance chuckled darkly.

Was I so easy to read?

I could only glare in response. My stomach flipped at his admission.

He leaned forward, slightly invading my space, his voice was low when he said, "From what I can tell, the school doesn't enforce this non-fraternization policy you keep using as justification for keeping me at arm's length. So unless you tell me to stop, I think I'll keep pushing."

"Maybe you should stop," I whispered half-heartedly, internally cursing the tremor in my voice.

"You sure about that?" Chance cocked his head.

I clenched my jaw. I didn't mean it. I knew that. He knew that.

"What are you working on?" Chance changed the subject suddenly, his fingers sliding over the stack of papers behind me on the table.

"Grading midterms." I swallowed; he was still achingly close.

"Is it okay if I stay up here for a while?" He took a step back from me, picking up the stack of yearbooks.

"Sure, whatever." I waved a hand flippantly.

He flashed me a grin, then strode past me to settle on the couch. Chance was surprisingly respectful while I worked. Save for the sound of him flipping through yearbooks and the tension still lingering in the air, I barely noticed he was there.

I had expected to feel more put out with him in the room, but I continued to feel drawn to him in a way that made me question everything. I regretted not allowing myself to enjoy the lounge for the past few weeks. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad with him around after all.

Make no mistake, I was still going to figure him out, but I didn't have to force myself to be miserable in the process.

After a couple hours, satisfied with the progress I'd made on my stack of exams, I began to pack my things. My stomach grumbled on cue, suddenly realizing it was past lunch.

"Heading out?"

"For a while," I replied. "I want to grab something to eat from the dining hall."

"Can I come?" he asked eagerly, already striding over to the bookshelf to replace the yearbooks in their proper spots, as promised.

"I need to change first." I sighed, knowing it would be awkward if I refused.

"Just knock on my door when you're ready." He gathered the empty mugs and made his way over to the far window to descend the fire escape back into his apartment.

I took a moment to gather myself as I swapped the loungewear for slacks and a polo, not wanting any students to see me looking less than professional.

I rolled my eyes as I found myself primping in the mirror. I wondered if part of the frustration I felt regarding Chance was that my mind was at war with itself when I was close to him. It was exhausting to ping pong between thoughts of desire and physiological reactions when I was near him, to having to remind myself that he had already proven himself untrustworthy between the stunt he had pulled the first night we had met and whatever he was doing with Claire DeLongpre.

But I was finding it impossible to stop the butterflies in my stomach every time he smiled at me, or spoke in that soft and low voice, trying to entice me to him. It was much easier to avoid him entirely, but he had seemingly decided to thwart that tactic.

Walking in charged silence to the dining hall, there were a million things I wanted to ask Chance; most of them were completely irrational, inappropriate, or were about what the hell he was doing with Claire. I decided keeping my mouth shut was a better approach.

"I didn't realize how late it was." Chance was disappointed when we found the dining hall had stopped serving lunch for the day. Only a few students lingered in the dining hall, either studying for classes, or eating food they'd brought themselves.

"Give me a sec."

Chance looked puzzled, but took a seat at an empty table near the entrance to the kitchen.

"Chef Lenny." I saluted upon entering.

"Lunch is over, Violet." Lenny scowled. But it was an affectionate one.

"There aren't any leftovers?" I asked sweetly.

He rolled his eyes, but tipped his head toward the service area.

I was easily able to fill two plates and quickly returned to Chance in the dining room, only after offering Lenny a "thank you" on my way out.

"Oh thank god." Chance sighed in relief. "I'm starving and the only food I have in my room other than the hot chocolate is a box of crackers."

I couldn't help but give a genuine laugh at the thought of him angrily munching away at crackers alone in his apartment.

"You have a car, you could have driven to get food in town," I suggested as I took a seat next to him on the long bench, intentionally angling my body toward him, so I could keep an eye on him.

"Been too busy," he sighed. "I didn't know you had a connection in the kitchen."

There was a glint in his eyes that made me nervous. "Yeah, well, I don't often abuse it, so don't get any ideas."

He snorted a laugh.

But then a light bulb went on over my head, and I realized he had just provided me with the perfect opportunity to ask him about his potential history at Montgomery.

"Was Chef Lenny working here when you attended?"

He froze.

GOTCHA!

"I never went here." He recovered quickly, but the damage had been done.

"You sure about that?" I glared at him, mimicking his words from earlier that morning.

"I think I'd know where I went to high school." He chuckled, but I could sense his nerves along the edge of his tone.

He was only digging his own grave.

"Who told you I was a student here?" he asked cautiously, focusing his attention on the food in front of him to keep from looking me in the eyes.

"I don't remember," I lied. "One of the faculty, I think."

Chance's eyes narrowed. It was more obvious than ever that he had gone to Montgomery at some point and that he was trying desperately to keep it under wraps.

"So when are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" he inquired nonchalantly.

"What!?" I choked. Did he know I had seen him and Claire?

Chance laughed. "What is it going to take for you to forgive me for not telling you I was teaching here the night we met?"

"Oh." I breathed a sigh of relief.

My reaction seemed to puzzle Chance.

He glanced around the dining hall. The couple of students that had been around when we'd first arrived had since left. We were alone. He leaned in so close that his lips almost brushed against the shell of my ear. "I thought we had a lovely evening, and I was looking forward to spending more time with you."

"Then maybe you should have taken me up on my offer that night because you're definitely not getting another invitation." I found I was starting to quite enjoy antagonizing him.

"Tell me how to make this right?" His fingers grazed the outside of my thigh, under the table, sending sparks of electricity up my spine.

"I don't owe you anything." It was taking everything in me not to lean into his touch.

"Do you want me to beg? I will." He smiled against my ear.

I pulled away from him, not trusting myself in such close proximity. "We're in public." I swallowed.

"You haven't answered my question," he pleaded.

"Honestly?" My tone came out short. I was frustrated and confused, and it was all his fault. I was tired of being polite. "There is something off about you—something that doesn't add up."

The corner of Chance's mouth turned up in an intrigued smirk.

"I can't put my finger on it, but I'm going to find out what you're hiding," I threatened.

Chance leaned forward one last time, his face so close that if I moved at all I could have closed the gap to kiss him. "I bet you will."