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I glance over to see even more teachers standing around Daniel, who is now unmistakably weary.
“Someday, Mac, you’re going to realize exactly how much I enjoy staring at you all day.”
“He’s a rich guy trying to woo you; you’re a witty, well-read commoner who is trying to convince yourself you want nothing to do with him. You’re one saving-your-little-sister-from-a-ruined-reputation situation away from falling madly in love.”
“Don’t.” “Don’t what?” I ask, confused. “Don’t fidget. Don’t adjust. You look…” he stops himself and swallows. “You look fine.” My hands fall a little helplessly at my sides. “I’m all sweaty.” And I’m starting to feel even hotter under his scrutiny.
He would own a cardigan, I think.
“I would never gloat,” he says, mock-offended. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he concedes. “I would gloat, but I won’t today because you said ‘please.’”
“That’s the beauty of literature. It makes us feel. Or maybe a better description is that it allows us to feel in a safe space.
“Isn’t doing what makes you happy a good enough reason to do anything?”
“What if I told you,” his eyes meet mine at that and he steps closer still, “that I had an ulterior motive to ask you to dinner tonight?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t cover yourself. Don’t shrink away. You can say no to me, but don’t for one second think that you need to cower or feel embarrassed. You are fucking beautiful. You are beautiful tonight, and you were beautiful when I scared the shit out of you on your run, and you are beautiful every damn day from the minute you walk into my line of sight until the minute you walk out.”
These past few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind, but one thing I know clearly is that I want to be here with you, Mac. With all of you. Even the messy parts.”
