Page 55 of Beyond the Lines
Time to set some boundaries.
“Declan,” I say, my voice shakier than I want it to be.
“Lea,” he says, then shifts his weight, wincing slightly. “We need to talk.”
“About the project,” I agree, teeth still chattering. “Ground rules.”
Declan glances around. “Maybe we should go inside if you’re cold?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, even as another violent shiver runs through me.
He stares at me for a beat, then unbuttons his coat. “Here.”
“I don’t want your?—”
“Just take it.” His voice is firm but not unkind. “Consider it a peace offering.”
I hesitate, pride warring with the desperate need for warmth. The wind picks that moment to send another arctic blast my way, and practical concerns win out. I take the coat with stiff fingers, wrapping it around my shoulders without putting my arms through the sleeves.
“Thanks,” I mutter, immediately warmer. “But to be clear, it’s just a ceasefire for the duration of the project, not peace. Because I’m still mad at you.”
“Ditto.” Declan scratches the stubble on his chin. “But we both need to do well on this project.”
“I’m aware.”
“Let’s just figure out when we can meet.” He pulls out his phone, voice cold and all business as he opens up his calendar app. “I have hockey practice most afternoons from Monday through Friday. I’m free most evenings after seven, except game nights, and weekends depend on away games.”
He rattles off his availability like he’s reading a grocery list, all business and straight to the point. Which should be fine, right? Professional. Distant. But the way he’s just assuming I’ll be available when he is, and that I’ve got nothing better to do, irks me. And, suddenly, the ceasefire is looking a little shaky.
“I’ve been thinking,” he continues without waiting for my input on meet-up times, bulldozing right over anything I want to say. “We should focus on realistic style. That’s wheremy strengths are. And charcoal pencil works best for bigger pieces?—”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “Just stop.”
Declan’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyebrows lift in surprise. “What?”
“This is a two-person project,” I say. “You don’t get to decide everything unilaterally. Maybe I don’t want to do nights. Maybe I hate charcoal pencils.”
“Do you?”
“What?” I say.
“Hate charcoal pencils.”
I pause a beat too long. “Yes.”
His lips quirk up slightly. “No, you don’t.”
“How would you know?” I challenge, wrapping his coat tighter around me.
“Your bag.” He points to my messenger bag, where the edge of my charcoal case is visible. “Those are the same ones I use. They’re expensive…”
Heat rises to my cheeks, despite the cold. “Fine. I don’t hate charcoal. But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is—” I take a deep breath “—this isn’t just about you. I need to do well on this project too.”
Declan huffs out a frustrated breath, creating a small cloud in the cold air between us. “Look, I really need this, OK? Professor Lucas was considering me for the select seminar, and after what happened between us in class…”
