Page 43 of Until the Storm Breaks

“Connecticut has plenty of personality,” Adrian protests. “It’s just very... restrained personality.”

Despite myself, I laugh. He’s probably a narcissist, but occasionally genuinely funny, which is annoying.

“Wait, how did I even get started on this?” Adrian asks, looking confused, like he’s lost the thread of his own monologue.

“You were telling us about the cat sonnet,” Lark supplies helpfully. “Then somehow got sidetracked into dumping on New Hampshire.”

“Right, yes. The cat sonnet.” Adrian grins, back on track. “As I was saying, this student turns in a sonnet about her cat. Fourteen lines about Mr. Whiskers’ existential crisis.”

“What was the cat’s crisis?” I ask.

“Whether to knock the glass off the table or merely stare at it with disdain.” Adrian delivers this completely deadpan. “She’d written it in perfect iambic pentameter. ‘To push or not to push, that is the question.’”

“That’s actually hilarious,” Lark says. “Did you pass her?”

“How could Inot?” Adrian spreads his hands in mock defeat. “It was the most honest poem submitted all semester. She perfectly captured both feline psychology and Shakespearean form. Do you know how hard it is to maintain iambic pentameter while discussing a cat’s internal debate about gravity?”

“Harder than writing about your ex-girlfriend in free verse?” I ask, wiping down the bar.

“Infinitely,” Adrian says without missing a beat. “Anyone can write bad free verse about heartbreak. Just throw in some rain metaphors and random line breaks. It takes real skill to make a cat’s internal monologue scan properly.”

The door opens and Calvin walks in, hair tousled from the wind. Of course he’s one of those people who looks better disheveled.

He’s smiling slightly when he sees me, but then Adrian calls out, “Calvin!” and just like that, the warmth drains from his face.

“Perfect timing,” Adrian continues, waving him over enthusiastically like they’re old friends instead of reluctant acquaintances. “We were just discussing the artistic merit of cat poetry versus human heartbreak. Cats win every time.”

“Sounds about right,” Calvin says, taking the stool next to Adrian with obvious reluctance. Then he turns to me. “Maren.”

Just my name, but the way he says it makes my heart flutter.

“What can I get you?” I ask, reaching for a glass, trying to keep my voice professionally neutral.

“Whatever IPA you have on tap.”

“The one that tastes like pine trees or the one that tastes like disappointment?” Lark calls out without looking up from her laptop.

“Pine trees,” Calvin says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

I pour his beer, trying not to notice how his eyes follow my every move. When I set the glass in front of him, we hold eye contact for a second too long. I look away first.

“So Calvin,” Adrian says, clearly enjoying himself. “Earlier Maren and I were having a fascinating debate about the literary value of romance novels and comic books versusrealliterature.”

“Debate?” I give him a skeptical look. “You dismissed entire genres you’ve never read. That’s not a debate, it’s just ignorance dressed up as opinion.”

Calvin laughs out loud at that, giving me an appreciative nod. “Let me guess. Adrian thinks anything popular can’t have merit?”

I hate that I feel a flush of pleasure at his approval.

“Essentially,” Adrian says.

“Romance novels explore complex emotional dynamics,” Calvin says, taking a sip of his beer. “And comics are great when you’re in the mood.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you read romance novels?”

“Since I was fourteen and had already burned through everything else in our library.” Calvin shrugs. “My mom had a whole shelf of them next to her mystery books. When you’re a kid with nothing else to read, you read everything.”

I try to picture teenage Calvin sprawled on that old couch in the Midnight house, reading about dukes and governesses. It’s surprisingly easy to imagine. And oddly endearing, which is the last thing I need right now.