Silver hadn't slept much after the literature seminar. The word partner had circled her brain like a skater trapped in a death spiral, gaining momentum with each revolution until she couldn't think about anything else. No matter how many times she'd told herself she could keep their collaboration strictly professional—just another academic requirement to endure—she couldn't shake the memory of Eli's gaze across that circle of desks, heavy and unflinching and far too knowing.
By morning, exhaustion weighed on her shoulders like a training bag filled with lead. She was running fifteen minutes behind schedule, her knee throbbing with each hurried step as she navigated the maze of New Haven streets between campus and the coffee shop Americus had sworn would change her life. Blue State Coffee occupied a narrow slice of real estate between The Booktrader and a vintage record shop that always seemed to have jazz spilling onto the sidewalk, its windows fogged with steam and crowded with Yale students who looked like they lived on caffeine and academic anxiety.
She hugged her literature notebook tight against her chest like armor, already dreading whatever awkward conversation was waiting inside. They'd agreed to meet at nine to discuss their project parameters, and Silver had spent the walk rehearsing neutral, businesslike phrases that would establish professional boundaries from the start.
Sure enough, he was already there.
Eli Hayes had claimed a corner table near the windows overlooking Chapel Street, his broad shoulders filling out a navy Yale Hockey hoodie that looked like it had seen serious use. His dark hair was still damp from what had obviously been an early morning practice session, and a team-issued baseball cap rested on the scratched wooden table beside a large black coffee that steamed in the morning light. He'd been scrolling through his phone when she walked in, but the moment the door chimed her arrival, his eyes lifted and found her with the kind of precision that suggested he'd been waiting specifically for her entrance.
Sharp. Direct. Uncomfortably perceptive.
Silver froze for half a second, caught between her instinct to flee and her determination not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her hesitate. She forced herself forward through the maze of mismatched chairs and study groups, weaving around a girl with purple hair who was furiously highlighting what appeared to be an entire philosophy textbook.
She slid into the wooden chair across from him with what she hoped looked like casual confidence. "You're early."
"You're late." His tone was flat, clipped, carrying just enough edge to suggest that punctuality mattered to him in ways that went beyond simple courtesy.
Her mouth tugged downward in automatic irritation. "I had to limp halfway across New Haven. Some of us have mobility challenges."
A pause stretched between them, filled with the ambient noise of grinding espresso machines and animated student conversations. His gaze flicked briefly to her knee brace, visible beneath her jeans, then back up to her face with an expression she couldn't decipher.
"Then you should've left earlier."
The words landed with the temperature of black ice, cold enough to make her breath catch. Silver felt heat rise up her neck despite the autumn chill seeping through the coffee shop's single-pane windows.
"Nice," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "Really showing off that Minnesota charm."
"Just being honest."
She opened her notebook with more force than necessary, flipping to a blank page and uncapping her pen like she was preparing for battle. "Fine. Let's talk about this project so we can figure out how not to completely fail Chen's class."
Eli leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in a way that made their already small table feel even more cramped. The gesture seemed calculated to claim more space than he needed, a power play disguised as casual comfort.
"You don't strike me as someone who fails at anything."
The observation should have been a compliment. Instead, it felt like a probe, a test designed to see how she'd react to being seen. Silver's pen stilled against the lined paper, and she had to force herself to keep breathing normally.
"You don't know me."
Something shifted in Eli's expression—a tightness around his eyes that suggested her response had hit some kind of mark. "Don't I?"
Her pulse kicked into a rhythm that belonged in cardio training, not academic discussions. She shifted in her chair, scribbling random bullet points about American literature themes to keep her hands busy and avoid meeting his gaze directly.
"Look, this is just American Lit, not rocket science. We can split the research, divide the writing, barely interact, and both get decent grades. Clean and simple."
"Sounds perfect to me."
The silence that followed felt thick enough to cut, filled only by the persistent hum of the espresso machine and students calling out increasingly complicated drink orders to baristas who looked like they'd been surviving on their own product for weeks. Silver tried to concentrate on outlining potential themes from their syllabus—identity, reinvention, the death of the American Dream. The irony of discussing literary characters who'd lost everything and had to rebuild themselves from scratch wasn't lost on her.
After several minutes of furious note-taking that produced more geometric doodles than actual content, she risked a glance upward. Eli was watching her again with that same unreadable intensity that had unsettled her in class, like he was trying to solve an equation that kept changing variables.
"What?" The word came out sharper than she'd intended, defensive in a way that probably revealed more than she wanted.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"Am I?" His tone was maddeningly calm, completely unaffected by her obvious discomfort. "Didn't realize."
She bit back a more caustic retort, focusing instead on writing notes that might actually be useful for their assignment. American authors who'd dealt with public failure. Writers who'd had to reinvent themselves after personal catastrophes. Characters who'd learned to live with permanent physical limitations.
Her pen moved across the page with growing confidence as she found her academic footing. "We should focus on authors who dealt with identity crisis and public scrutiny. Fitzgerald after his breakdown, maybe. Or Hemingway's relationship with his war injuries."
For the first time since she'd sat down, Eli looked genuinely interested rather than merely watchful. "That's actually not terrible."
"Thanks for the ringing endorsement," she said dryly, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased. Academic discussions were safe territory—neutral ground where she could be competent without being exposed.
"I'm serious. Most people would pick something safe and boring. Death symbolism in The Great Gatsby or whatever."
Silver found herself almost smiling despite her determination to keep things coldly professional. "I don't do safe and boring. We'll get an A on this project. I don't lose."
Eli's mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a genuine smile, but his voice remained carefully neutral. "Guess we'll see about that."
The challenge hung in the air between them like a thrown gauntlet, and Silver realized with uncomfortable clarity that their academic partnership was going to be significantly more complicated than she'd hoped.