Page 60 of Jingle Bell Jilt
“Does it matter?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just curious.”
He grins. “I did my undergrad work at Stanford and my master’s at M.I.T.”
“So what you’re saying is that you just barely graduated from high school?” My brows raise. That’s more what I had pictured as both schools exceed my expectations. “Stanford, huh? That’s where my ex-fiancé went.”
Evan stiffens slightly next to me. Maybe I need to stop mentioning Nathan. I’m sure Evan doesn’t like hearing about him. I know I don’t want to hear about any of his exes. Which feels completely not rebound-y. “Sorry, I won’t bring him up anymore.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal, really. And Stanford’s a great school. Your ex must have been smart. What did he major in?”
Now I’m the one who doesn’t want to talk about Nathan. “Business,” I say. “So M.I.T., isn’t that mainly like an engineering school?”
“They have great engineering programs, but they have other ones, too.” He switches to a German accent that mixes with a little Russian.
“What was your major at Stanford?”
“Computer systems.”
I have no idea what that entails, but it sounds impressive. “Cool,” I say in a very profound-sounding voice.
He grins. “You mean boring.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m sure it’s fascinating for you.” We’re pulling into the station at Diagon Alley. “What was your master’s in?”
He sighs. “Do you really want to know?”
“Of course. Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”
“Because you have to. You can’t really end the conversation at Stanford, can you?”
I guffaw. “Um, I totes can. We’re at the station and there are plenty of things for me to change the subject to.”
“Okay. I did a double master’s in civil and environmental engineering and organizational processes.”
I stare at him. “I have no idea what any of that means, but I’m duly impressed.” I lightly slug him in the arm as we step out onto Platform 9 3/4. “See, you are a smarty pants. A super smarty pants, even.”
He shrugs it off and takes my hand, possibly as much to keep me from slugging him as from a desire to hold it.
Again, I’m struck by how different he is from Nathan. I mean, I don’t get the idea that Evan is embarrassed by his education. But it doesn’t define him. It doesn’t make him who he is. It was a means to an end to get him where he is now.
Within moments of our introduction, Nathan had worked his Stanford and then Yale education into the conversation. He wore his education as a badge of superiority. That meant that in an argument, disagreement, or even a simple debate, he automatically won by virtue ofhis better education. Even if he wasn’t, in fact, right.
“Did you go to college?” he asks, and I wonder if he really wants to know or if he just wants the attention off himself.
“Yeah, I went to a local university.”
He perks up as we walk toward the center of Diagon Alley. “What did you major in?”
“I did a double major,” a loud roar and stinging hot air interrupts me and I let out a yelp. “What in holy heck is that?” I forget my accent. But Evan doesn’t call me out.
He just laughs and points up at the dragon perched atop the Gringotts Bank. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward a shop across the street. “In here,” he opens the door for me and ushers me inside. There’s a serpentine-style line inside to get to the counter.
“Ice cream?” I ask.
He nods. “Special ice cream.” We take our place in line, and he keeps a hold of my hand. I can’t even put into words how much I love the feel of his hand. It’s soft but not too soft. It’s not dry but also not sweaty. And it’s the perfect size for my hand to fit comfortably inside. “So you double majored? Now who’s the smarty pants?”
“Excuse me,” a woman behind us asks. “Where are you from? I can’t quite place your accent.”
