Page 12 of Written in Scent

He looks faintly flustered, which makes no logical sense considering I’m the one who walked into him.

I give him a small smile, intending to escape while I still can.

“Hey, wait,” he says, and this time there’s the beginning of a grin tugging at his mouth. It softens his whole face, and when it lands fully, two dimples appear at the corners of his smile like they’ve been waiting for an excuse.

His gaze drops briefly to my hands, checking for a bonding ring.

The realization sinks in unmistakably. He isn’t just being polite. He’s making sure I’m available.

“So,” he says, the grin lingering, “this might be a strange way to meet someone, but since you’ve already run into me once, would you maybe want to do it again sometime on purpose?”

The dimples deepen.

My body chooses that exact moment to betray me.

Heat flickers low in my chest, quick and treacherous, but the barrier of my scent blocking panties hold. Thank every sensible decision I made after yesterday.

I should answer him.

I don’t.

Instead, I do what any rational person would do.

I run.

Sophie is right behind me.

I hear her shoes on the path, quick and uneven, and when I glance back I see that she’s half running, half laughing, one hand clutched to her chest like she’s trying not to lose a lung. Beyond her, farther across the quad, Jamie still stands where I left him, watching us go.

From the growing distance, I can tell he hasn’t moved.

Something twists unexpectedly low in my stomach.

Why do I feel disappointed?

I tear my gaze away before I can examine that too closely and keep moving until Sophie makes a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a protest.

“Elodie— wait—”

I slow, then stop, mostly because she looks seconds away from collapsing theatrically onto the grass. She bends forward with both hands braced on her knees, breathing hard in exaggerated pulls of air.

“What,” she manages between breaths, “was that?”

“I—” I start, and then stop, because I genuinely have no idea how to summarize what just happened in a way that sounds reasonable.

Words trip over each other on the way out anyway.

“I ran into him,” I say, which is technically true and wildly insufficient.

Sophie straightens, eyes wide with delighted disbelief. “Yes,” she says. “I saw that part.”

We start walking again, leisurely this time, angling toward the dorm building. The evening air has cooled just enough to take the edge off my flushed skin, though my pulse still hasn’t entirely forgiven me.

“I think,” I say carefully, “that I may have had… a reaction.”

Her brows lift.

So I tell her.