Page 8 of Untruly With You

“Growing up, I loved feeling like I was living a thousand lives through the books I read. I could float the Mississippi River or survive a plane crash or befriend a wolf. And now I want to bring books that are full of life to other kids.”

“So why not write yourself?”

He narrows his eyes a bit, as if to discern if I’m joking. Finally, he says, “No. I don’t think I have any stories worth telling.”

I shift a bit, tense in the thick silence between us. “Thank you for helping me tonight. I owe you.”

Sutton gives me a smile just big enough to hint at his dimples. “Anything for charity.”

I walk the five steps to the front door and open it for him, watching as he leaves down the hallway. Just as I turn to go back into my apartment, Sutton calls my name out, stopping me. When I spin back to him, his jaw is clenched and his lips are tight, as if he’s trying to stop himself from talking.

“This class is important enough for you to spend three hundred dollars for a few hours of tutoring?” he asks.

“Absolutely. I need to graduate. I need to prove to my parents that I can do this. And…I want to prove it to myself.”

Again, Sutton tightens his mouth before releasing a slow breath. “What is your schedule like next week?” By his expression, it looks like he is actually in physical pain from his words.

I glance over at my whiteboard calendar. “Work, then book club Monday, cookbook club Tuesday—”

“You havetwodifferent types of book clubs?”

“Yes. I’m interviewing a group of soon-to-be graduates on Wednesday. A friend has their art studio debut Thursday…” My voice trails as I try to remember any other commitments I might have forgotten.

Sutton shakes his head, looking like he’s holding in a laugh. “I’m guessing you usually have plans on Fridays, but if you ever need another tutoring session, those are the one night a week I sometimes have off.”

“Really?” I ask, my limbs feeling lighter than they have in weeks.

“Really.”

4

LAINE

THREE MONTHS LATER

At this point,I think Sutton could find his way to my apartment blindfolded. It’s been over three months since our first tutoring session. The week after the date auction, we met once. The next week, twice. And now, it’s rare that I go more than a couple of days without seeing him. At first, it was strictly for tutoring. That eventually evolved. We grab coffee before class. We meet for study sessions. We help each other rework our resumes, over and over again. Sutton often joins me at my random events and social groups.

After he came to my end-of-year party at the student paper, he told me that I had more friends than anyone he’s ever met.

“And I’d bet not one of them knows my middle name,” I told him.

“It’s Althea,” he responded immediately. “Like Ms. Carr’s name.”

I didn’t expect to become friends with Sutton. He’s a gentle giant, though, and it’s hard not to love his goodness.

I’m not the only one who couldn’t resist befriending him. Our mutual endearment toward Sutton is the first thingMom and I have agreed on in recent memory. In fact, she’s made it a habit to come around my apartment more, just on the off chance that she might see us both. She invites Sutton to networking events at different publishing houses, introduces him to other editors, and wrote him a glowing letter of recommendation.

“She likes you more than she likes me,” I told him one day after a particularly long drop-in by Mom.

“That’s not true. You’re her daughter.”

I rolled my eyes. He dropped the subject.

Even Dad bonded with him after learning that Sutton was a TA for my Shakespeare class. Dad, a playwright himself, exhausted my knowledge of the stage long ago. He started inviting Sutton to our bi-monthly dad-daughter dinners to revive the conversation. Not long after that, we started following those dinners up with movie nights dedicated to Shakespeare, including, at my request, the derivatives likeShe’s the ManandTen Things I Hate About You.

When Mom and Dad learned that Sutton didn’t walk at his bachelor’s graduation and isn’t planning on walking for his master’s either, they were in an uproar, which is why I’m now walking along the street with a massive garment bag folded over my arms.

One of Sutton’s roommates lets me in as soon as I knock, greeting me by name. Sutton’s door is slightly ajar, but I tap a knuckle against it anyway.

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