When his lips find mine, he tastes like rain and chocolate, too.
“Come upstairs,” I say, and I don’t have to tell him twice. I grab a pair of spoons from the kitchen before following him.
From my bed, Edith regards him with a swish of her tail before looking up at me, as though she needs confirmation she should not pounce on him. Tarek makes a move to pet her, but I hold out a hand to stop him.
“She responds best to people who ignore her.” Much to Asher’s chagrin. “The cat equivalent of playing hard to get.”
“Well, sure.” He proceeds to stand up straight, determinedly not looking at her. She figure-eights around his legs, brushing up against his calves. “She seems to not hate me?”
“You must smell good to her or something,” I say. Seeing him here in my bedroom, my cat warming up to him, makes me feel a certain way.
Maybe being a prisoner up here wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
“I’ve never had a boy in my room,” I tell him. “I’ve never had a boy come to my house, actually.”
His mouth quirks up at that. “So I’m special.”
“A little.”
“Is it okay to eat in here?” Tarek sits down on my bed next to Edith, who takes a tentative step into his lap. He scratches her head, behind her ears.
“You’re asking the girl who hoards boxes of processed microwavable desserts in her room. Yes, it’s okay.”
I hand him a spoon and sink onto the bed. I carve out a hunk of chocolaty goodness and lift it to my mouth, and… yeah. I could die right now and I’d only be a little mad. “It’s perfect. But you already knew that.”
“Never hurts to hear it,” he says with a grin.
We sit in this comfortable silence for a while, our spoons clinking against the ceramic mug. The rain pummels my windows. Up here in the tower, it feels like we’re taking shelter from an apocalyptic storm, like we’ve slipped out of summer and into another season entirely. Like I’m sitting on someone else’s bed with this sweet boy who bakes sweet things.
“No pressure,” he says, “but if you need to talk about whatever happened today, I’m here to listen.”
“It’s just work.” I bury a hand in Edith’s fur. “Victoria and Lincoln’s wedding, the camera crew, everyone freaking out about it. I’m used to my parents treating me like an employee, but lately they’ve been treating me like their least-qualified employee.”
“I’m so sorry.” He links his fingers with mine, thumb rubbing my palm.
“I have to quit. After Asher’s wedding.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, feeling more certain about this than I have about anything in a while. “And then I’ll start school in a month and study… something.” Despite the calming motion of his fingers stroking mine, I let out a deep sigh. “Even if I don’t have it figured out, shouldn’t I at least have some idea? Am I broken?”
“No. You are not broken.” He says this with such conviction. I want to believe him so badly. “You know you don’t have to have it figured out right now, and the degree doesn’t have to perfectly align with whatever you end up doing. I mean, my mom has a degree in marine biology. And your dad studied…”
“European history,” I say.
“Which I imagine he’s using every day,” he says. “And you don’t necessarily need a degree to do what I want to do. But I love learning. I wanted a degree to fall back on in case I change my mind later.”
I get what he’s saying, and it’s not anything I haven’t thought before. There are a hundred different majors that don’t segue neatly into a career. I allow myself to wonder what would have happened if I’d applied to other schools instead of sending the one application to the one school my parents and Asher had gone to. They had rolling admissions, and I figured I’d deal with it later if I didn’t end up getting in. But I did, back in December, rendering the rest of my senior year nearly pointless. I thought I’d be thrilled, but that college acceptance was just another thing tethering me to my present with no opportunity for change. Another thing keeping me prisoner in this tower.
That’s what I’ve been chasing, too: change. I said yes to everything my parents wanted because it was easier to go along with what had been decided for me long ago. To grow up and grow into this role.
“I know a creative career isn’t easy, if that’s what I decide I want to do. And it’s probably even harder with an instrument like the harp. Orchestra jobs are extremely competitive. Playing with Maxine, though… It’s made me realize there’s other stuff out there. That I don’t have to keep doing something that makes me unhappy.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “I don’t like the idea of you being unhappy.” We scrape at the mug with our spoons for another minute before he says, “I’ve always liked hearing you play. Even when we were younger. You were the cute harpist my parents worked with.”
Gently, I shove his shoulder. “You did not think that. You’re just saying that to butter me up.”
He lifts his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “Is it working?” Too well, probably. “I’m serious, though. It was this massive instrument and you were this tiny thing, and I couldn’t believe the way you controlled it. You became a different person when you were playing, and it was a person I wanted to know better.”
Hearing this reminds me how I first fell in love with the harp, how I’m falling in love with it again. And it’s not entirely dissimilar to how I feel with Tarek, which is accompanied by a sharp layer of dread.
Yet somehow I keep
