Page 39 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I irreverently revel in the shock on his face as he opens the passenger door and I bound in. This is happening. Bewildered, he makes his way around to the driver seat and eyes me as he presses the button to start the car.

Guess that was a yes to the brave prayer? No idea what I’m doing. You’re right here with me, right?

I’m still thrown off by the extravagance of a Range Rover.

I ride in it whenever our group goes off campus, but I’ve certainly never been in the front—my rules don’t allow this under any circumstances.

The navigation system is huge and flashy, and opulent wood accents and leather line every surface.

I turn to him, remembering that time in his room two weeks ago.

I don’t belong in this car, but somehow I know I belong here with him.

“I was going to trade it in for something more earth-friendly and … economical,” he says, “but it’s one of the only things I still have from home. ”

Inside, he’s just a kid far from home like the rest of us. This ostentatious tank makes so much more sense now.

“I get that.”

His shoulders relax. What an honor that he cares what I think.

I kick off my flats—his seats are spotless, and I won’t be the one to dirty them—tuck my left leg beneath me, and angle toward him. Today I’m adventurous. Free. I may as well be in a convertible with the wind in my hair. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“I have a treat to … procure,” he says, struggling to keep a straight face. “Just north of the center.”

Still buying me gifts after our last conversation? I push the thought away. No overthinking. “How’d you get into swimming?” I ask, pointing at the indoor lap pool as we leave campus.

“I tried swim team in high school and loved it, trained hard wanting to make the Yale team. Now I’m hooked.”

“You made the team, didn’t you?”

He smirks and shrugs. “Yes. Not that it mattered.”

“Is there anything you can’t achieve?” I tease.

He shoots me a look.

I put my hair behind my shoulders and pretend not to notice. “Do you miss the competition side? Of swimming?”

“I do, but intramurals are fun. And swimming is still my favorite stress reliever. The rhythm and the sounds and the work.” He navigates north through Pinecrest, a city made up of an affluent north side and an underprivileged south side. The buildings grow starkly more suburban as we drive.

“You’re at the pool every morning?” I ask.

“I swim three times a week, but I’m there every day, even on weightlifting days. The pool is reliably empty if I show up early enough, so I bring my Bible and journal and sit on the plastic chairs.” He half laughs. “The things I have to do for some time to myself.”

“How early do you have to get there to have it to yourself?”

“Six thirty.”

My lips part. So much discipline. For exercise, I’d be impressed. For time alone with Jesus? I have goosebumps. “You’d better keep walking me back early so you can get enough sleep,” I say coyly.

His lips quirk. “I’d better. Are you protecting a morning routine with your early bedtime? Or just staying one step ahead of the rest of us?”

“That’s funny coming from my favorite over-achiever,” I tease. “I just wake up early without meaning to, way before the others, so I have the lounge to myself for a while. We have a pretty view of the pine trees and sunrise, and I read my Bible in there with my coffee.”

“Sounds perfect—except for the waking up part. You can’t sleep in?”

I try not to grimace. Can’t go there. “Well, no, but?—“

Just then, someone cuts him off, and we jerk forward in our seats.

A growl escapes his throat, but then he pulls a hand across the back of his neck, relaxing again. He’s praying? I like him more with every minute.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I try to lighten the tension in the car. “You mentioned you bring a journal? To the pool?”

“Yes, I like praying by writing,” he says. “It helps me crystallize my thoughts. Plus, I can check back and see answered prayers.”

“I love that. When did you meet him? Jesus, I mean.”

His eyes smile like my badgering is endearing, but something else lingers there. Weariness.

“Well, Veronica,” he jokes, “It was my senior year of high school. I … started looking for answers. Life didn’t make any sense.

I had a friend who seemed like the only one who wasn’t miserable, and I asked him what his deal was.

I wasn’t buying it at first, but the answers are all there if you look into it.

” He pats the phone in his pocket. “Really, believing in God started as just the most reasonable answer, and now I know Jesus as a person. ”

The grin plastered on my face is going nowhere. I’m Buddy the Elf today. My favorite person is telling me all the things.

He turns to me at a stoplight, and searching eyes tour my face. “I love seeing you like this. You look … free.”

My mouth opens, but no words.

“Can I hear your story?” he asks.

“Oh, my story? I don’t have that dramatic moment. The ‘I was one way, and now I’m completely different, and the thing that happened in between was him.’”

“From The Chosen , right?”

“Yeah. I mean, I hope I’m different, but I grew up with Jesus, so it’s hard to know which part is Jesus changing my heart and which part is just growing up.”

“I’ve seen a lot of adults who act like toddlers. You can feel pretty confident that all the goodness in there is Jesus’s doing.” He motions to me. “I interrupted. Please, continue.”

“Well, my parents are 100 percent Team Jesus?—“

He chuckles.

”—and they raised me to know him. I knew Jesus loved me before I could even talk.”

“What a gift … Tell me more?”

“I don’t know. I never know how to tell my testimony. To tell what he did in my life would be to tell you everything that ever happened to me. That would be sort of wordy.”

“What’s he doing right now?” His expression turns resigned, like when he invited me to join him today. Like he doesn’t expect the whole truth.

What am I willing to share to keep him close? I won’t tell the complete truth, not even in my moment of freedom, but there is something I can open up about.

“He’s been helping me see that he loves me and that’s enough.

” I tug a knee to my chest. “I tend to want to prove to people that they made a good choice keeping me around. It kills me when I can’t.

” I’m telling him too much about my relationship with him by extension, but I’m Brave Kit. Braver than I’ve been.

He leans on an armrest as he glances over, caring and not judging. Like always.

I reach across the center console to play with the edge of his leather jacket. Buttery soft, so close to his hand. His pinkie twitches.

“I even feel that way about school,” I admit.

“Because of your full scholarship?”

I snap up. “How did you know? I don’t … tell people that.”

“I noticed you at the scholarship competition.”

A year ago? My hand falls from his jacket. Is that what this is? Just another guy seeing something he wants?

“I saw what you were like and … I may have formed a little crush. I asked my buddy on the student panel if you won.”

I stare as doubts claw at me, but his eyes soften, swooping around my face with affection. Aiden never once looked at me like that.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “your secret is safe with me.”

I shake the doubts from my head. He’s earned my trust—with weeks of gentle patience, accepting no after no with kindness and understanding. Can this be real? He noticed me a year ago. He remembered me and wanted to know me. Enough to break down his own walls for the privilege.

“Imagine when you showed up on campus again and wouldn’t even take a pen I picked up from the floor,” he jokes.

I belly laugh at that memory in a new light, and my remaining tension slips away.

He smirks. Like Dad when he makes Mom laugh.

“Winning that scholarship? It’s very impressive.” His charming smile—the one that always gets me—spreads across his face again. I wish I could kiss it.

I bubble over. “Not as impressive as leaving everything you know to find something harder but better. You’re amazing.”

Bewilderment paints his face. “Thanks, Kit. ”

His gaze keeps darting back from the road.

My hands ache to reach for him, so I sit on them and turn to the window. I can’t believe this is real—this drive, this guy, this … us. I just want more. More details, more smiles, more time. I tuck my hands further beneath me as my nerves tingle with thrill and anticipation and … hope.

“Hey, Levi?”

“Hey, Kit.”

“Can I watch you swim sometime?”

Surprise lights up his face, and a crooked grin grows.

“You look proud,” I tease. “You know I’ll be impressed, don’t you?”

A shocked laugh bursts out of him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know. Stop changing the subject,” I joke.

He eyes me. “Hey, Kit?”

“Yes, Levi?”

“Can I watch you dance sometime?”

Oh … “It’s been forever since I’ve really danced.” I mean, almost daily ballet warm-ups lately. Stretching, plus the work on my rear attitude when Ayumi isn’t in the room. But he knows none of that. Besides, with no hard flooring in the suite, I haven’t done turns or leaps since fall break.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says. “But don’t act like you forgot. I know it’s still in there.”

My heart gallops. “There’s not really a place,” I finally say. I’m not going to dance in the gym as basketballs bounce past.

“I have a spot.” He drapes an arm over the steering wheel. “You can watch me swim if I can watch you dance.”

I break into a grin. “Okay.”

Eye crinkles, anticipation, affection. It’s all there, and it’s glorious.

I sink into my seat, soaking in this afternoon, treasuring it. I should have done this months ago. After this, I can never go back to Old Kit.

I won’t.