Ian Grey adjusted the strap of his helmet as the wind rushed past his ears. The early afternoon sun was warm against the back of his jacket, and the streets weren't too busy.
He took a sharp left off the main road, tires skimming the edge of the curb. Probably a little too fast, but he'd done worse.
A red-and-yellow sign blinked lazily up ahead. Burgers. Grease. Probably cold fries.
But his stomach didn't care.
He pulled into the lot, cut the engine, and kicked the stand down in one practiced motion. His helmet stayed on as he stepped inside the fast food place — mostly out of habit, partly because he didn't feel like dealing with small talk.
He walked straight to the counter.
"Hey," he said to the bored-looking kid behind the register. "Just give me the usual."
The kid blinked. "Uh... what's the usual?"
Ian paused. "Right. Sorry. Uh, double cheeseburger, no onions, large fries, and... uh, coke. No, wait. Sprite. No, you know what—Coke."
He could almost hear the kid judging him silently, but whatever.
As he waited, he glanced around the place — and he saw her.
She was sitting in a booth near the window, a plastic cup in her hand and a book open on the table. Tessa.
Of course it'd be Tessa.
Ian stood there for a second, like an idiot. Not sure if he should wave, nod, pretend he hadn't seen her, or all three.
She looked up, their eyes met. She smiled, just a little. The kind that curled one corner of her mouth. He walked over, awkward steps and all, still wearing his helmet.
"Hey," he said, voice slightly muffled. "Didn't know this was your go-to spot for lunch."
She looked up from her drink and smiled. "It's close. Cheap. And the fries don't taste like regret. Most days."
He chuckled, pulling off his helmet and letting his hand rake through his hair....like it would help. It didn't. "Strong review. Very convincing."
"I could be a food critic," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "If I didn't have to work."
There was a small pause, comfortable enough.
"Oh," she added, leaning back a little, "I've been meaning to ask...would you be down for a hike sometime? Nothing intense. There's this trail I keep hearing about. Supposed to be quiet, pretty views."
Ian blinked. "A hike? You… hike?"
She laughed. "I want to hike. Haven't gotten around to it yet. But I figured, if you're up for it…"
"No, yeah — definitely," he said a little too quickly. Then coughed. "I mean… yeah, that sounds cool. I could use a little nature."
"Good," she said, sipping her drink. "I'll text you. Saturday maybe?"
"Perfect," he replied, trying not to look like a golden retriever who just got offered a walk.
His order number was called. Saved by the bell.
He gave her a small wave and a crooked grin. "Catch you later."
"Later, Grey."
He grabbed his bag of food and walked out, feeling lighter than he had ten minutes ago. The engine rumbled to life under him, and he eased back into traffic.
Few minutes later, he was pulling into the university lot. He took the stairs two at a time, food in one hand.
After all, he had a class to teach.
And maybe… a hike to look forward to.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder, the lecture hall buzzed with chatter — forty or so students scattered across the seats, most half-draped over their desks, some munching on snacks like they hadn't eaten in days. A few were scrolling through their phones like he wasn't even there yet.
Ian dropped the fast food bag on the table at the front, letting it crinkle louder than necessary.
"Alright, alright," he said, not shouting but just enough for his voice to cut through. "Let's pretend we're all here to learn something today."
A few students straightened up. A few didn't bother. One guy in the back actually yawned right into his face, which Ian chose to ignore.
He pulled a chair behind the desk and sat, leaning forward and dragging his fingers through his hair out of habit. The fries smelled too good, he'd probably sneak a few before the class really got going.
At twenty-four, Ian was almost the same age as most of them, a couple of his students were probably even older than him. It didn't help that he didn't dress like a "real" professor. Half the time he showed up in jeans, boots, and a button-up that looked like it hadn't been ironed since the semester started.
But he was smart. Smarter than most people in the building. That's what got him the job. He'd published books before he turned twenty-two. Knew how to talk about dead civilizations like they were old roommates. Knew how to make history sound like something that still mattered.
The girls in the front row always seemed to lean in a little more than necessary when he spoke. Some smiled too long when he passed their seats.
It didn't go unnoticed.
Especially not by the guys.
They didn't like him. Not really. Not because he did anything wrong. But because he was tall. Sharp jaw, clear skin. That kind of face that always looked like it was about to say something clever. Red hair, not fiery, but deep — like autumn leaves after a rain. A bit messy, always looked like he'd just gotten off a bike… which, well, he had.
They didn't respect him. Too young. Too confident. Too... there. But Ian didn't care. Not really.