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Charlie raised a brow. “So is finding my charge drunk on the sidewalk.”

“Not my best look.”

Charlie opened her mouth and closed it. “You didn’t look bad. Trust me on that.”

Taryn lifted a brow. “Oh?”

Charlie focused wide-eyed on her cup. “Quite the outfit.”

It was probably an innocent comment, but it still made Taryn go warm. Correction, hot. Her blood ran hot and bothered, and she swallowed before searching for proper communication. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I don’t plan on any repeats of the episode.”

“Rite of passage. You checked yours off the list.”

“So what do you do here exactly? I’ve heard both student and teacher,” Taryn said. She’d been wanting to ask and had even attempted to Google-stalk Charlie but hadn’t been able to turn up too many details. “I mean, you’re friends with my RA, you’ve got a boyfriend, you write, and you’re a librarian. Do I have all that right?”

“Funny, but I am not the university librarian. The part-time job does help pay for my school loans, however.”

“Helpful.”

“My main focus is my MFA, everything else is just supportive.” Pride flickered, replaced quickly by vulnerability, which made Charlie human and relatable to Taryn. “I don’t want to be just a novelist, but a very good one.”

The thought of Charlie concentrating in front of a laptop with a candle lit next to her was the sexy image that arrived. Don’t go there. “I’m impressed by your drive. I have a feeling you’re a great writer.”

“Well, I hope to be.”

“I want to read your work. Do you have anything with you?”

“No. You don’t have to read my stuff.” A pause. “Really?” Charlie seemed surprised. She pulled her face back as if judging whether the question had been sincere.

“I’m dead serious. Give me something. This second.”

The skepticism hung on as she lifted her cup to her mouth slowly. “Not a lot of people are eager to read me. It’s like homework when you’re close to a writer.”

Taryn stared, unwavering. Silence lingered.

“You’re sure?”

“I promise. If I’m volunteering for more reading beyond the ridiculous number of pages I’ve been assigned this semester, then I’m really into the idea.” In fact, Taryn couldn’t wait to curve into a chair with Charlie’s words. She might even indulge in a glass of wine because that seemed scholarly somehow.

“Okay, then.” Charlie reached for her bag with slight hesitation. “I have a short story with me. It’s about this boy, and…Well, I’ll just let you read for yourself. Ten thousand imperfect words.” She handed over a hard copy held together with a thick black clip at the top.

Taryn made a show of holding the story, bouncing her palms. “Feels heavy. Feels like serious work.”

“I don’t know about that.” Charlie’s eyes met Taryn’s, cloudy and regretful. “My class tore it apart in oral critique, but I’d be interested in an outsider’s take.”

“Why would they do that? Give me the numbers of everyone in their extended families.”

“Comes with the grad school territory. We learn, work on developing a thick skin, and try harder next time. I think they do it on purpose, trying to drive us to greatness.”

“I don’t think I could do that to someone else’s creative effort. I wouldn’t want to.”

“You’re a kind person with a big heart. I’ve never known you to have a mean or judgmental bone in your body.”

The words moved through Taryn like heated silver. It was a glimpse into how Charlie viewed her, and she liked it. “I just happen to think the world’s better when we’re nice to each other. I might be weird.”

“You’re refreshing.”

She sighed. “But if I move forward with photography or photojournalism or whatever, I’m bound to encounter harsh opinions. I guess I might need to toughen the hell up, too.”