all that.”
“My mom likes to say that blood is thicker than cream cheese because, although inaccurate, that expression fits in better with our lifestyle. My parents own a bakery.”
She laughs. “Nice. Free pastries for life, right?”
“Almost. We earn the free food. All the Becks kids have to work at the Costas Bakery for a while. My dad says it builds character.” I look over at Lucy. “You should come by one morning. I’ll hook you up with a latte. No bet required.”
Lucy smiles broadly. “That sounds great.”
I hit the blinker with my thumb, turning into the roundabout of the apartment complex. When I stop in front of the adobe-style office, I glance at the time, and my leg begins to bob with impatience. I hate being late for class.
“Thanks so much for this, Claire,” Lucy says, unbuckling her seat belt. Her voice is velvety and deep, endearing. I feel a sudden burst of nostalgia, although I can’t quite place why. Either way, I’m honest when I tell Lucy it was my pleasure and that I hope to see her later.
She climbs out of the Jeep, pausing to look around at the buildings. The Cordova Apartments are a bit run-down, and Lucy hesitates a moment before pulling open the office door and walking inside.
When she’s gone, I drive through the roundabout, struck again by a sense of familiarity—and maybe a bit of loss. It’s so odd. I check my rearview mirror, watching the yellow building get smaller, and it isn’t until it’s out of my view altogether that the feelings fade.
“Ah, Miss Becks,” Professor Roth says when I walk into the small lecture hall. “I’m sorry if my class interrupted your . . . surfing?”
The room erupts in giggles, and I hold up my hand in acknowledgment before slipping into my seat in the back of the room next to Soleil. I’m still in my wet suit, and it squeaks against the hard plastic of my chair. Although there’s a duffel bag of clothes in the Jeep, I didn’t want to change and risk being even later for class. In hindsight, I’m not sure five more minutes would have made a difference.
My professor is barely out of college himself, and his suit and tie make him look like he’s playing dress-up. He’s easily my and Soleil’s favorite teacher. “We’re on page ninety-four,” he calls, pointing to the text on his podium. I nod, pulling the philosophy book from my backpack, and glance sideways at Soleil.
Her brown hair is braided and woven into a bun, her dark skin slightly pink on her cheekbones and nose. Soleil spends half her life surfing, and even now her red bathing suit strings are tied behind her neck, hidden beneath an oversize T-shirt. She bites on the end of her pen, hiding her smile, and Professor Roth continues his discussion on metaphysics—a subject I normally find riveting—but my attention falters when I notice a new student sitting across the room. The second stranger I’ve seen today.
There’s a small spike in my heart rate, and I have to admit, I’m a fan of the disheveled look he’s got going on. His brown hair is too long, tucked behind his ears; his chin scruffy and unshaven; his jaw sharp and strong. His Nirvana T-shirt looks worn and soft, stretched over his impressive biceps. I could probably stare at him all morning, but I’m interrupted by Soleil bumping her shoulder into mine.
“Told you there was something you had to see,” she whispered. “He’s just my type, isn’t he? Looks like a real troublemaker. I talked to him earlier.” She shoots a cautious glance at our teacher before going on. “I’ll tell you the rest after class.”
“You better,” I murmur, continuing to watch the guy, my curiosity piqued in a way I’m sure my boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate. Still . . . I can’t look away. I’m fascinated by him.
As if sensing me, the guy casually glances in my direction. But when he pauses to look at me, I hold my breath. His eyes, almond-shaped and green hazel, are beautiful. The corners of
“My mom likes to say that blood is thicker than cream cheese because, although inaccurate, that expression fits in better with our lifestyle. My parents own a bakery.”
She laughs. “Nice. Free pastries for life, right?”
“Almost. We earn the free food. All the Becks kids have to work at the Costas Bakery for a while. My dad says it builds character.” I look over at Lucy. “You should come by one morning. I’ll hook you up with a latte. No bet required.”
Lucy smiles broadly. “That sounds great.”
I hit the blinker with my thumb, turning into the roundabout of the apartment complex. When I stop in front of the adobe-style office, I glance at the time, and my leg begins to bob with impatience. I hate being late for class.
“Thanks so much for this, Claire,” Lucy says, unbuckling her seat belt. Her voice is velvety and deep, endearing. I feel a sudden burst of nostalgia, although I can’t quite place why. Either way, I’m honest when I tell Lucy it was my pleasure and that I hope to see her later.
She climbs out of the Jeep, pausing to look around at the buildings. The Cordova Apartments are a bit run-down, and Lucy hesitates a moment before pulling open the office door and walking inside.
When she’s gone, I drive through the roundabout, struck again by a sense of familiarity—and maybe a bit of loss. It’s so odd. I check my rearview mirror, watching the yellow building get smaller, and it isn’t until it’s out of my view altogether that the feelings fade.
“Ah, Miss Becks,” Professor Roth says when I walk into the small lecture hall. “I’m sorry if my class interrupted your . . . surfing?”
The room erupts in giggles, and I hold up my hand in acknowledgment before slipping into my seat in the back of the room next to Soleil. I’m still in my wet suit, and it squeaks against the hard plastic of my chair. Although there’s a duffel bag of clothes in the Jeep, I didn’t want to change and risk being even later for class. In hindsight, I’m not sure five more minutes would have made a difference.
My professor is barely out of college himself, and his suit and tie make him look like he’s playing dress-up. He’s easily my and Soleil’s favorite teacher. “We’re on page ninety-four,” he calls, pointing to the text on his podium. I nod, pulling the philosophy book from my backpack, and glance sideways at Soleil.
Her brown hair is braided and woven into a bun, her dark skin slightly pink on her cheekbones and nose. Soleil spends half her life surfing, and even now her red bathing suit strings are tied behind her neck, hidden beneath an oversize T-shirt. She bites on the end of her pen, hiding her smile, and Professor Roth continues his discussion on metaphysics—a subject I normally find riveting—but my attention falters when I notice a new student sitting across the room. The second stranger I’ve seen today.
There’s a small spike in my heart rate, and I have to admit, I’m a fan of the disheveled look he’s got going on. His brown hair is too long, tucked behind his ears; his chin scruffy and unshaven; his jaw sharp and strong. His Nirvana T-shirt looks worn and soft, stretched over his impressive biceps. I could probably stare at him all morning, but I’m interrupted by Soleil bumping her shoulder into mine.
“Told you there was something you had to see,” she whispered. “He’s just my type, isn’t he? Looks like a real troublemaker. I talked to him earlier.” She shoots a cautious glance at our teacher before going on. “I’ll tell you the rest after class.”
“You better,” I murmur, continuing to watch the guy, my curiosity piqued in a way I’m sure my boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate. Still . . . I can’t look away. I’m fascinated by him.
As if sensing me, the guy casually glances in my direction. But when he pauses to look at me, I hold my breath. His eyes, almond-shaped and green hazel, are beautiful. The corners of
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