Page 45 of Save You (Maxton Hall #2)
Ember
I feel like a traitor.
My gaze darts to the clock, to the counter and the barista behind it, to my cappuccino, and back to the café door. Then the cycle begins again. And again.
Every minute seems to pass more slowly than the one before.
I’ve missed a whole period of school now. I’ve never felt this guilty before, not even when Mum caught me pinching a scone from the counter in the bakery after she’d said I couldn’t have one.
But this is a million times worse. This time, I’m doing something really wrong.
The excitement builds and I can hardly keep still. I fidget in my chair, wondering if the cappuccino was a bad idea. I don’t drink much coffee, really, but I got so little sleep last night, I thought the caffeine would do me good. Probably would have been better off without.
Ten more minutes.
I ask myself if I can hold out. I think about packing up my stuff, getting up, and walking out, only to reappear in thirteen minutes like I’ve only just arrived. But even I think that’s a bit over-the-top.
It’s crazy what nerves are doing to me.
I don’t normally get this worked up about anything. But then, I don’t normally go behind my parents’ back, skip school, and meet up with a boy I don’t even really know.
I flick absently through the pile of leaflets and forms for grants and bursaries. There are Post-its in some of them where Ruby’s highlighted important information, and I’m sure the color scheme is deeply significant.
The bell over the café door rings. I look up—and suddenly everything around me goes into slow motion.
He actually came.
His eyes sweep over the people in the café. His brows crease into a frown for a moment, then he spots me at the table by the wall. I give a hesitant wave. His forehead smooths for a second and his lips curl into a smile.
He strolls slowly toward me.
He’s wearing a black leather jacket with wide lapels over a gray T-shirt with a pocket on the chest, dark jeans, and heavy boots. It’s a great look, effortlessly stylish. This is the first time I’ve seen him not wearing a suit—I was wondering how he dresses in his free time.
The half smile doesn’t fade from his face as he takes the chair opposite me.
My heart is racing. There’s so much darkness in his eyes that I want to get to the bottom of. So much that I’m going to get to the bottom of.
“Morning, Ember,” says Wren Fitzgerald.
A smile slowly spreads over my lips.