Page 60 of Wish You Were Mine
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Really?” He glanced back at me, clearly unsure if I meant it.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I mean, I probably would’ve said the same thing.”
“That you think about that kiss every time we bump into each other?” His brows lifted slightly.
“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, yes. I mean—” I groaned and covered my face with one hand. “I mean, it was good you told my dad you only vaguely recognized me from your class. Kept things less suspicious. Professional.”
“Exactly.” Owen gave a small, awkward laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
We hovered there for a beat, like neither of us really wanted to go back to our tables, even though we both probably should.
After a moment, Owen cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “Well…I better get back to my date.”
“Yeah. Me too,” I said, offering a small smile. “Thanks for checking on me.”
He nodded. “Anytime.”
I turned and made my way back toward our table, making a concerted effort to resist glancing over my shoulder once more to watch Owen.
“Feel better?” Brody looked up as I sat down, his eyes flicking toward the bathroom hallway. “Wait…is that Professor Park?”
I followed his gaze, catching the back of Owen’s head as he sat down across from his date again.
“Oh. Yeah.” I shrugged, working hard to sound casual—like I wasn’t the least bit flustered from the hallway detour. “I guess it is.”
I could’ve said Owen had stopped me outside the bathroom. That he’d only followed me out to make sure I was okay.
But I didn’t.
Saying it out loud would’ve made it feel like more than it was.
And the last thing I needed was to start reading into my professor’s concern.
18
OWEN
I pulledmy apartment door shut behind me on Thursday morning, locking it with the keypad. It was mid-January in Connecticut, which meant the air felt like punishment and the sun was mostly for decoration. My breath fogged in front of me as I adjusted the strap of my satchel across my chest and started down the stairs from my second-floor apartment, squinting against the sharp gusts of wind that whipped across the parking lot.
Then I saw her.
Lucy.
She was walking past my building, bundled in the puffy white coat she’d worn the first night I met her. Her hood was up with her long blonde ponytail draped over one shoulder, head slightly bowed against the wind.
I froze mid-step.
I could duck back inside, pretend I forgot something, and avoid that awkward shuffle where we both had to decide whether to walk together or politely ignore each other—something I should probably do if I wanted to avoid any slip-ups like the one I had when I bumped into her Tuesday night.
But then, she looked up.
Saw me.
And smiled.
It was casual. Innocent. Just a girl acknowledging her professor on the sidewalk.
