Page 20 of Uxpectedly Ever After

"You're overthinking it again, Freckles," Banks says from across my tiny dining table, his deep voice cutting through the chaotic mess of my thoughts. "The concept really isn't as complicated as this textbook is trying to make it."

I glare daggers at my Business Analytics textbook, silently wishing it would spontaneously combust into a pile of useless, knowledge-repelling ash. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a final project due in, oh, let me check… three freaking days."

"True." He takes a long sip of his coffee—his third cup tonight, which should make sleep impossible for a normal human being, but the man could probably doze off in the middle of an earthquake. "But this is basically just applied statistics witha bunch of unnecessarily fancy words thrown in. I took it for my engineering major."

I look up at him, my brain momentarily short-circuiting as I try to process this new, completely unexpected piece of information. "Wait. You have an engineering degree? Since when?"

He just shrugs those unfairly broad shoulders, the movement causing his worn, soft-looking vintage Tool t-shirt to stretch across his chest in a way that sends an inconvenient little pang straight to my ovaries and dries out my mouth. "Since about seven years ago. When I went to college," he eyes me like I’m dense, “with your brother.”

"But… you're a firefighter."Duh, Clover, way to state the obvious.

"Wow, Freckles, youareobservant." His lips quirk up in his half-smile that does this unholy things to my body.

"I graduated, worked for a corporate firm downtown for about eight miserable months, hated every single second of being stuck behind a desk staring at spreadsheets, and decided to follow in my dad's footsteps instead."

I just stare at him, genuinely surprised. In all the years I've known Banks, he's always just been Kasen's cocky, perpetually unserious firefighter friend with the easy smile and that permanent five o'clock shadow. The guy who teases me mercilessly and looks way too good in his uniform.

Not… this.

Not a man who can casually explain complex data visualization concepts while making it sound like he's talking about the weather. Not someone who willingly gave up a cushy office job to run headfirst into burning buildings because it felt more meaningful.

"Why didn't I know that about you?" The question just slips out.

His eyes meet mine across the small table, and there's this unexpected flicker of something soft, almost vulnerable, in them. "You never asked."

The simple, honest truth of his answer lands in my stomach like a lead weight. He's right. In all these years, I've never really asked Banks anything real about himself. I've been so busy keeping my guard up, maintaining my armor against his relentless teasing and that impossible attraction that I’ve never been able to fully escape that I never bothered to look any deeper.

I guess I was too afraid of what I might find.

"Okay," I say, pushing my textbook aside and leaning forward. "Well, I'm asking now."

His eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. "Alright then, Clover James. What exactly do you want to know?"

"Everything." The word tumbles out of my mouth before I can overthink it and clam up. "Start with why engineering. Then why you decided to ditch that for running into burning buildings. Then just… work your way forward from there."

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from just being unfairly handsome to something genuinely devastating. "That might take a while."

I glance down at my phone. It's 10:28 PM. My final project isn't due until Friday, and right now, in this moment, actually getting to know the person sitting across from me feels a hell of a lot more important than working on my regression analysis.

"Lucky for both of us," I say, leaning back in my chair, "I've got time."

And so, over the next hour, Banks starts telling me his story. How he was always good with numbers and had this weird knack for spatial reasoning even as a little kid. How his dad, who only had a high school education, had really pushed him to go to college and pursue engineering, wanting him to have moreopportunities. How college was a constant financial tightrope walk, but he somehow managed with scholarships and working a million part-time jobs. How that first and only corporate gig left him feeling hollow and empty inside despite the decent paycheck.

"The day I finally quit, my dad was so confused," Banks says, a laugh bubbling up at the memory. "He'd drilled into my head that I needed that degree, that it was my ticket to a better life. When I told him I was applying to the fire academy, he honestly thought I'd lost my damn mind."

"So what changed his mind?"

Banks's expression softens again, becoming almost sweet. "He saw me after my first week of training. Said he'd never seen me look that alive before." He runs a hand through his hair. "He died proud of me, at least. That's something."

My heart clenches at his words. I've known about his dad's death—Kasen had gone to the funeral, and I remember how quiet and shaken my brother had been when he got back—but Banks and I have never actually talked about it. "I remember when it happened. Kasen was really torn up about it for you. I just… we never really talked about it."

Without thinking, I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine. His skin is warm and calloused in places, and holy crap, what am I even doing right now? My heart does this little leap the second my skin makes contact with his, but it would look bad if I just yanked my hand back, so I take a deep breath and just… lean into how right it feels to touch him.

"No, we didn't," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, sending unexpected little bursts of electricity all the way up my arm. "It wasn't exactly the kind of conversation we usually had."

"I'm sorry, Banks," I say, and I actually mean it, more than I would have expected. "That must’ve been awful. Losing him like that."

He turns his hand over, our palms pressing together, and then his fingers slowly intertwine with mine. It's the first time we've touched on purpose, without the flimsy excuse of reaching for the same remote or awkwardly brushing past each other in the kitchen.

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