Page 97 of The Tartan Thesis

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

“I don’t know, Frey,” I say. “If he tells me, I guess we’ll find out.”

An incoming call flashes across the screen.

“Who’s calling?” Freya asks. “Do you need to go?”

“It’s Beau,” I say quietly. He hasn’t called me all term. We usually text.

“Answer it,” she says. “I’m hanging up. Love you.”

“Wait—” I start, but the line cuts off, and I’m left wondering if my sister is a witch who can conjure calls from fit Texans.

I tap the button to answer.

“Torin?”

Just my name in Beau’s deep voice sends a spark of longing through me.

“Aye,” I say after too long of a pause. I clear my throat. “Sorry. I’m here.”

“Howdy, Torin. Um—” I hear him breathe in before he continues in a rush. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

My grip on the phone slips. “Shite—” I mutter, fumbling, catching it just before it hits the floor, and pressing it back to my ear like nothing’s happened.

“Torin? You still there?”

A date. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I know what I should say. I’ve been managing this—us—carefully, keeping everything just on the safe side of controlled. This would tip it. I should tell him it’s not a good idea. That now isn’t the time with midterms coming up. I open my mouth to say it, to explain, to deflect, to do the sensible thing, but my mind betrays me with flashes of his hand in mine. His excited smile at the simplest of things. His beautiful blue eyes watching me like I’m something to be cherished.

“Aye.”

“Yeah?” he asks. The cautious excitement in his voice, like he’s just as nervous as I am, has my heart fluttering.

“I’d love to,” I say, wanting his enthusiasm to bubble over. Enthusiasm at going on a date. With me.

“Great,” he says, and I can hear the smile now, the relief threaded through it. “And I don’t want to distract you from midterms, so why don’t I make a reservation for Saturday when they’re over.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, because it does. Having something to look forward to would be nice, but knowing it’s with Beau makes it so much better.

“Great,” he says again.

We both go quiet, but it’s different now. Not awkward, just… new. Like we’re both reeling at the idea of our new paradigm. One where Beau and I go on dates.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then,” Beau says, recovering first.

“Study, study,” I confirm.

“And, Torin?”

“Aye?”

“Good luck this week,” he says. “Not that you need it. You’re going to be great.”

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