Page 121 of Campus Crush
“I’m home,” I called out, dropping my backpack by the door and setting my textbooks on the entryway table.
“In the kitchen,” Foster called back, his voice carrying a note of excitement that made me curious.
I rounded the corner to find him standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot while consulting a recipe on his phone. He was wearing an apron that Liam had given him as a joke—it had “Kiss the Cook” emblazoned across thefront with big red lips underneath. The sight of him in that apron never failed to make me smile.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” he said, looking up from his phone with that smile that still made my heart skip a beat. His blue eyes were bright with excitement.
“You look like you’re about to burst,” I said, walking over to peek into the pot. “What is it? And what smells so good?”
“Chicken Alfredo,” he said proudly. “But that’s not why I’m excited.” He turned down the heat on the stove and wiped his hands on a dish towel before turning to face me fully. “I got a call from Coach today.”
The way he said it—with such contained joy—made me hold my breath. “And?”
Foster’s face broke into the widest grin I’d ever seen. “I got it, Abs. I got the scholarship. Full ride for my senior year.”
“Oh my God!” I threw my arms around his neck, nearly knocking him back into the stove. “Foster, that’s amazing!”
He lifted me off my feet, spinning me around in our small kitchen. “I can hardly believe it.”
Coach Maxwell had learned that there were three leadership scholarships available each year for every grade level. Students had to be nominated by at least three faculty members to be considered. The competition was fierce, but Foster’s coach had been confident.
“I’m so proud of you and not at all surprised,” I said, reaching up to cup his face in my hands. “You deserve this so much.”
The scholarship meant everything. After Foster’s father had cut him off financially, we’d been worried about how he would pay for his final year of school. I’d offered to help with my savings from selling Gram’s house, but Foster hadbeen determined to find another way. He’d applied for every scholarship he could find and had already talked to one of the construction companies he’d worked for in the summers for a job once school was out.
“I wouldn’t have gotten it without you,” he said, his voice softening. “My grades have never been better, and that’s all because of you too.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s all you. You did all the hard work.”
He leaned down to kiss me gently. “Team effort, then.”
“Team effort,” I agreed.
The timer on Foster’s phone went off, breaking our moment. He reluctantly pulled away to check on the pasta.
“Where’s Mason?” I asked, noticing the unusual quiet in the apartment.
“Drew and Liam reserved the rink. They’re determined to convince him that hockey is the superior sport. They said they want to take him out for dinner after, so it’s just us tonight.” Foster drained the pasta in the sink, steam rising around him. “I thought maybe we could eat and then use that extra time for some private celebrating.”
“Mm, I think I could be persuaded,” I said, moving to the cupboard to grab plates.
Since we’d implemented our housing swap plan a couple of months ago, Mason had thrived. The hockey guys had taken him under their wing, and Drew especially had become something of a mentor to him. My brother was talking more, smiling more, and his grades had improved significantly.
As for Foster and me, living together had only strengthened our relationship. Seeing him every morning when I woke up and every night before I fell asleep was something I never got tired of.
We hadn’t heard a peep from his dad since Foster had threatened to expose him, and we were grateful. Family wasn’t about blood anyway. It was about who showed up—and stayed. Between the hockey team, Sam, Mason, and me, we’d built our own little family. Even Coach Maxwell and his wife, Maggie, had taken Foster under their wing, inviting us over for dinner like he was one of their own.
“Have you decided about grad school?” he asked.
I nodded, excitement bubbling up inside me. My advisor, Professor Sinclair, had pushed me again on considering where to apply since I’d need to start that process in the fall. “I’m applying to the master’s program here at CFU. The engineering department has that new green building initiative, and Professor Sinclair thinks I’d be perfect for it.” I took a bite of pasta and closed my eyes in bliss. “This is delicious.”
“Thanks,” he said, looking pleased. “So you want to stay here then?”
“That’s the plan. The program is two years, and then…” I trailed off, suddenly unsure how to finish that sentence. Foster and I hadn’t explicitly talked about our long-term future yet.
“And then?” he prompted, his blue eyes intent on mine.
I took a deep breath. “And then I’d like to work for one of the engineering firms here. Maybe even Holt and Associates. Montana is home. I don’t really want to leave.”
