Page 108 of Heartbeat

“Sure,” he and his dimples said. “But I don’t want to add to it, so just tell me what it is you feel like doing, and we’ll do it—no questions asked.”

“No questions asked?”

“None at all.”

I looked at him for a minute before speaking. “What works for you?”

“Kissing helps a lot, I gotta say. I usually go home, eat donuts, and listen to music until I feel like it’s safe to be around people again, you know?”

“Donuts?” I asked him, taking a sip from my coffee.

“Don’t judge.” He pointed at me.

“Okay. Let’s do that if it’s all right.”

“Sure it is. It’ll either help a lot or not at all.”

I chuckled. “It’s okay,” I assured him, standing up.

“At least we’ll be alone. But, like, together.”

“Sounds good.”

“Come, Tomász. Let’s get you some donuts,” he said as he held the door, and we exited the coffee shop.

Chapter Twenty

A Taste of Normal

I did my very best not to let my Super 8 get in the way of us returning to his apartment. I made sure to listen, as attentively as possible, to every little thing he talked about. Every story he remembered, every memory he shared. Thankfully, I could count on him to do most of the talking because the last thing I wanted was to speak. Plus, it helped. Listening to him, watching him as he voiced everything so freely.

He had a few habits I hadn’t really picked up on until that afternoon. He’d run his fingers through his hair whenever he said something he thought sounded a bit too silly or perhaps too honest. He bit the inside of his mouth a lot, particularly on the right side, sometimes going on for minutes on end, chewing that very spot while thinking about, looking at, or admiring something. And he cracked his knuckles and most of his bones all the time—every single finger, both his wrists, his back, his neck. Whenever he’d crack his neck, it was overawing the way every vein would inflate, every muscle tighten and contract, forming the most bewitching, intricate patterns on his skin. I couldn’t help but bite my lip whenever I witnessed it. And he also always looked back. That was something I’d noticed before, which was worth paying proper attention to. Whenever we made our way through a particularly crowded street and he had to go in front of me in order not to bump into anyone, he’d keep looking back over his shoulder, time and again, making sure I was still following his lead. It made me think about how that could be a good way of measuring someone’s character or perhaps gauging their intentions, separating them into two groups: the kind of people who looked back to make sure they hadn’t lost someone, and those who didn’t—at least not until it was too late.

Entering his building felt oddly familiar. Maybe it was because the first time I’d been there was during the night, or maybe it was just weird how good it felt, coming back. Once inside, he threw his keys on the table and put the box he’d gotten from The Donut Pub down so he could go through the mail.

“I’m waiting on a few admissions myself,” he volunteered, throwing the letters on the circular table dismissively once he’d found his name wasn’t on any of them.

We hadn’t even started talking about that. All I knew was that he wanted to go to Yale, but even that piece of information felt unnervingly superficial. Strange, how it seemed as though we’d talked about everything, yet there was still so much we didn’t know about each other.

“Rosalind is here,” he said after we heard the staccato beat of high heels over the wooden floor. “My dad’s girlfriend. She was going to come grab a few things.”

I immediately tensed up, which he noticed.

“Don’t worry, she’s cool,” he reassured me as he doubled back and gave me a quick kiss.

He took hold of the hem of my T-shirt and proceeded pulling on it, making me follow him toward the sound.

“E? Is that you?” Her voice traveled from the bedroom and down the long hall. A red-haired, porcelain-skinned figure followed soon after, coming to a halt as soon as she saw that Ethan had company.

“Well, hi there!” she said, giving me a smile I hadn’t yet earned. “Who’s your friend, E?”

She had a lovely rhythmic, throaty voice. It was quite enchanting.

“Ros, meet Thomas. Babe, this is Rosalind.”

Babe.

She smiled even wider after hearing the word “babe,” and I almost ran away out of sheer nervousness.

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