CHAPTER TWO :
" I can't believe it's you," he smiled. It was a genuine, friendly look that sent my heart dancing. He still had that effect on me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that when I opened them, he'd be nothing but a cruel illusion—a trick of the light or my own lonely mind. I didn't want him standing there, wearing that beautiful smile that made my pulse erratic. But when I finally looked, he was still there, solid and real. I gulped, pinching my leg under the table in a desperate attempt to steady myself.
He looked even better than he had seven years ago. His jawline had sharpened, losing the last traces of boyhood, and his shoulders had filled out beneath his dark jacket. His hair was styled with a messy sort of intent, and his eyes— were still radiant and beautiful.
I didn't want him smiling at me like that. If I had seen him first, I would have gathered my things and bolted, pulling my hoodie low over my face. I couldn't be around him anymore.
"Mind if I join you?" He didn't wait for my reply before making himself comfortable in the seat opposite mine. "How are you? It's been so long."
His eyes twinkled as he spoke. I forced a small, tight smile. "I've been alive. You?"
He threw his head back, a throaty laugh escaping his lips. "Still the same old Ophelia, never giving anything away," he grinned. "I've been doing okay. Even better now."
Fuck, no.
My hand shot out instinctively, fumbling for the bangle on my wrist. I'd worn it so long it felt like a part of my skin. His gaze flickered down to my hands, then back to my face, his smile softening into something faint and sad.
"You still wear it?" he whispered.
I froze. How could I tell him I'd never been able to take it off—not even when I tried to hate him? I nodded slowly, my eyes secretly scanning his neck for the silver necklace I'd given him. A sharp pang of hurt flared in my chest when I saw only bare skin.
"Don't you?" My voice came out strained and crooked, betraying the very emotions I was trying to hide.
He smiled and reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out the familiar silver chain. "I was doing a little field work and had to take it off," he let out a small laugh.
"Oh." I didn't know what else to say. A silence enveloped us—one that was comfortable and suffocating all at once. I looked up from my coffee, I had taken a sudden I interest in. He was watching me with a wide, soft expression. It was the way he used to look at me seven years ago; like I was the only person in the room, a rare treasure he couldn't quite believe he'd found.
My chest felt tight, caught between the warmth of his gaze and the cold reality of our history.
It was easy to be Ophelia, the ice queen when he was thousands of miles away, but with him sitting right here, all my defenses were melting into a puddle of "what-ifs."
I cleared my throat, returning my focus to my cup. "I thought you were in Canada."
"I came back last year after I graduated college," he said. "I was hoping to run into you ever since. I'm glad I did."
We enveloped into a silence that was comfortable and not at the same time.
"What's that?" He motioned to my laptop. I immediately snapped it shut.
"Just a new book I'm working on," I mumbled.
His grin widened. "You still write?"
"Yeah."
"I'm glad. Are you ever going to let me read your work?" I shook my head, a tiny smile finally reaching my lips as I remembered his countless, failed attempts to sneak a peek at my notebooks in the past.
"Look, Ophelia, can we talk later?" He sighed, glancing at his watch. "I have an important meeting, but I want to catch up properly. Maybe grab dinner? What do you think?"
I nodded, brushing off a sudden, traitorous flick of disappointment as he stood up to leave. He stopped, turning back to me with one last devastating smile.
"Unblock me, Ophelia. I'll text you this evening."
**********************
"Ophelia?"
I spun around at the unfamiliar voice, surprised anyone else in this school knew my name except from that clingy dark skinned. I must have turned too fast, because I collided instantly with a hard, broad chest.
A low rumble of laughter vibrated against my forehead. I frowned, stepping back to meet the owner of the voice. My eyes landed on a pair of dreamy, piercing blue eyes.
Orton Jay.
He was staring down at me with a sly, amused smile. His messy dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead in a way that was far more attractive than it had any right to be. I knew Orton was tall, but I'd never been this close. He towered over me, making me feel tiny—and I wasn't even short.
"Cute," he murmured.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, staring at him in shock. I snapped out of my daze, my brows furrowing in confusion. Why was he talking to me? More importantly, how did he know who I was?
"How do you know my name?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
"You mean how do I know the name of the incredibly hot new girl every senior is talking about?" He cocked his head, his smile widening.
Of course. I had tried to ignore the looks I get every time I walked some judgmental, some curious, others lustful but even though I had prompted to staying on my own, I couldn't stop the words that were passed around. Whether they were nice or mean, I didn't want to know although I did find it appalling how they thought me anything but ugly and plain.
I rolled my eyes and walked away, ignoring him completely.
"You know, you have quite the reputation," he said, falling into step beside me. He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "What is it they call you? Ah, hah! Ice Queen."
"People are unbelievably creative," I deadpanned.
He chuckled, bumping his shoulder playfully against mine.
"Hey, it's not that bad."
I glared at him. It was infuriating how he talked to me like we were lifelong best friends.
"I'm Orton."
"I didn't ask," I mumbled, slipping into the library.
I gave a small nod to Mrs. Thirea, the librarian, before stalking toward my usual spot in the back. No one ever used the library, so I'd basically claimed it as mine. I didn't miss the way Mrs. Thirea narrowed her eyes at Orton; before sending me a questioning look, I just shrugged and sat down.
He sat right next to me. I tried desperately to ignore him, fixing my eyes on the book I'd brought—a cliché trope about a clique of friends being torn apart. I found it interesting as much as I found it had to read cringing at every little drama. I couldn't concentrate. Not with a pair of blue eyes boring holes into the side of my face and the annoying drumming of his fingers on the table.
Finally, I snapped. I turned my head and hissed, "Can you stop?"
"I'm not doing anything, Small."
I narrowed my eyes, making no effort to hide my irritation at the nickname.
"Small?"
"Yes," he broke into a grin. "You're so small and cute."
He reached out to pinch my cheek, but I swatted his hand away with a huff. Instead of pulling back, he caught my hand mid-air, his fingers wrapping firmly around mine. His eyes widened, twinkling like a child who had just been handed a bag of candy.
"It fits perfectly." He held up our intertwined hands for me to see. My heart did a weird, traitorous somersault.
In that moment, I knew I had to stay far away from Orton Jay.