Page 10 of Cruel Winter with You

“It is, actually,” Marc countered calmly. “I can always go back to school if I want to. But the angel investors are not going to wait around forever.”

“Could you not do both?” Tabitha asked. “Schoolandthe start-up?”

Marc shook his head. “Not if I want to give the company its best shot.”

“But you said the tech is already developed.”

“What’s the tech for?” Dad interjected.

“A file-transfer system. Much quicker and nimbler than what’s currently on the market.” Marc went on to explain the details of it. I could see them fly over the heads of everyone at the table, but I’d taken enough computer science classes in college to be impressed.

“If the tech is as good as you said,” Dad’s girlfriend interrupted him, “have you considered selling it to someone else? That way, you’ll be free to finish school while they bring it to market.”

Mr. Compton lit up. “That’s what we’ve been telling him all weekend. See, she agrees with us!”

Marc sighed and rose to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Mrs. Compton frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Cigarette break.”

“But you don’t smoke?”

He grinned wide. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. “Let’s pretend that I do and that I’m not just trying to get away from you.”

I waited for a few minutes before excusing myself, saying I needed to use the restroom. I found Marc on the back porch, head tipped up toward the stars. The air was gelid, so much so that every breath of his turned into a white puff, but he didn’t seem to mind. I wondered if Boston was like California, and the sky there never managed to look as pretty as the one here at home.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

He spared me a brief glance, then returned to the stars. “If you’re here to talk me out of—”

“I’m here to ask if you’d like me to bring you a coat.”

He looked back at me. After a short pause, a slow smile spread on his lips. “Come on,” he said, inviting me to take a seat next to him on the porch swing. Once I was there, close enough to feel his warmth, he unfolded a blanket, covered us both, and we sat in comfortable quiet for a while.

“Are you going to do it?” I asked eventually.

“Do what?”

“Drop out.”

He exhaled deeply. “I don’t know. I want to, but not a single person in the universe thinks that I should, so I’ll probably just sell the tech and—”

“I do.”

He gave me a surprised look. “You do.”

“I think you should leave school, that is.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup.”

“Well, well, well.”

“Why do you look so delighted?”

“Can’t help it.” His smile took my breath away. “Little Jamie Malek—prim and proper, by the book, speeding toward med school since first grade—is now telling me to blow up my whole life. It’s making me feel a certain kind of way.”

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