Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 18713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“That is”—I cup a hand over my forehead—“that is really hard to believe, actually, because I was such a distracted mess yesterday.”
He studies me for a mysterious beat. “Well, it didn’t show.”
I make fists, hold them up at shoulder height, and do a little dance. I am so fucking elated.
Callum watches me with sparkling, amused eyes. “Can I take you out to dinner?”
His question comes out of absolutely nowhere, and my fists drop like stones. “What?”
“Dinner.” He cutely mimes spooning food into his mouth. “Sun goes down. People eat.”
“Like a date?”
“I hope so? I intend to flirt.”
“When?”
He smiles and gives a happy shrug. “Whenever you want.”
It feels genuinely impossible that this is happening. Callum Sundberg is asking me out on a date? After two and a half conversations and zero makeup or wardrobe efforts on my part? I look behind me.
When I turn back, he’s fighting a laugh. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“Double-checking there wasn’t someone behind me.”
He releases the laugh, tilting my face up with a finger under my chin. “I’m asking you.”
Something crystallizes when our eyes meet, and I realize this is actually happening. “I’m in.”
His reply is instant. “Tonight?”
I nod, numbly, and when he holds out his hand, palm up, I carefully set my mittened hand down upon it.
Callum laughs again. The sound is addictive. “No. Give me your phone, Terra.”
“Oh.” I reach into my pocket, pull my phone out, and hand it over.
He texts himself and hands it back. “Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
In shock, I watch him walk away.
I look down at my phone. He’s created a new contact with his number.
The Hot TA.
Oh my God.
Until you’re able to be right in front of me, connecting my face to my initial, don’t feel guilty for spending time with other people and wondering about them, even romantically.
Suspicion rears its head again, and I have to shove it away, climbing on my bike and pushing off.
My heart hammers the entire ride to the lab. When I get there, my phone pings with another email from C, and I tap my phone awake with electricity flowing through my fingers.
From: c.sun16@email.com
To: t.sol18@email.com
Date: February 17, 2024
Subject: Re: Emerging from the hungover study cave
Four things, now? Okay: my middle name is Jude, after the song. My first concert was the Jonas Brothers with my oldest sister, Annika. Other than the guinea pig, Freckles, we had an adorable but really (I mean truly) stupid cocker spaniel. And I currently live in Philadelphia.
C.
From: t.sol18@email.com
To: c.sun16@email.com
Date: February 17, 2024
Subject: Re: Emerging from the hungover study cave
C . . . my hands are shaking right now. I am freaking the hell out.
I live in Philly, too. And I think you know that.
He replies with a phone number. And when I enter it into a text box, an existing contact pops up on-screen.
The Hot TA.
Chapter Twenty-Three
FEBRUARY 17, 2024
Terra
Getting ready for my date with Our Lord and Savior is an all-hands-on-deck emergency. While I prop my foot in the sink and carefully guide a razor up my leg, Jamie runs the flat iron through my hair and Elise attempts to put makeup on me. I screamed my way into the apartment an hour ago, sending Elise diving for her phone to get Jamie here for reinforcement. It took nearly a half hour of them shouting, “Callum Sundberg is Terra’s pen pal!” at each other before it seemed to sink in for any of us. And yet! How on earth is it even possible that I am going on a date with Callum Sundberg, who also happens to be my longtime valentine?
“Bonkers,” Elise whispers again, sweeping some blush across my cheeks.
“Insanity,” I agree again.
“This feels like a dress situation,” Jamie says. “Are you going to wear a dress?”
Even I concede that this situation calls for a little dressing up. I put on a black long-sleeved, scoop-neck dress that is much sexier than it sounds and pair it with my favorite booties and a few necklaces so I don’t look like I’m part of a string quartet or attending a memorial service.
When I step back and look at myself in the mirror . . . I have no idea what Callum will think. He saw me in a dress just three days ago, but I was crouched in a dark, cramped closet looking up at him like a bush baby caught in a hole in a tree trunk. He had lunch with me while I wore a plain gray thermal long-sleeved shirt and no makeup. He asked me out while I was wearing my puffy red Fjällräven jacket with pillow creases on my face and my bedhead shoved under my beanie. I realize he doesn’t need me to dress up, per se, but I can’t really get that thought cemented in my brain.
As if it isn’t enough that it’s Callum Sundberg picking me up in—oh, shit—five minutes, it’s also that it’s C. It’s the boy who thanked me for replying to his typo email and who sent me a note the following year to make sure I got at least one valentine. It’s the guy who gave me advice about going away to school and asked me how my mother was doing after having breast cancer. It’s the man who lost his father to cancer in the depths of the pandemic and worried about how to best support his mom and his sisters while still pursuing his dream of going to graduate school. It’s my soup-dumpling buddy. It’s my conundrum wrapped in a mystery tied with a puzzle shoved in a pickle jar.