Page 32 of The Misfit

“Better?” he asks once everything is properly arranged. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t crowd me, doesn’t do anything except create space for me to feel safe again.

I nod, unable to voice how his understanding affects me. How his protection soothes me. How his attention to my needs makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

“Thank you,” I whisper, meaning it for more than just the help with my books.

His gentle smile is nothing like his usual campus bad-boy smirk. “Anytime, Pantry Girl.”

And somehow, that’s exactly what I need to hear right now.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly when my hands shake too badly to zip the bag. His fingers cover mine, and he guides my hand across the zipper. “In for four counts, hold for four, out for four. Just like that …” His soft voice is a whisper that shouldn’t be warming me from the inside out.

Not now. Not here.

The reminder of our first meeting shouldn’t comfort me, but it does. I follow his counting, letting his steady voice guide me back to my center.

I play the entire event back again in my mind.

“Those guys,” I start, then stop, unsure how to explain my fear. “They were watching …” My voice breaks as the fear rushes up at me all over again.What if he didn’t show up? What would they have done to me?

I’m used to people saying terrible things, even messing with my books, but no one has ever threatened me like that or made me feel like they would actually follow through.

“I know.” His voice carries an edge of danger.

“You called me your girlfriend …”

He shrugs. “It made them scatter, didn’t it?”

All I can do is nod. It makes sense. As soon as they put the pieces together, they ran. “If they’re smart, they won’t bother you again. Not while you’re with me.”

I see the message woven within his words. He’s offering me protection and safety. A shield against the chaos that threatens my perfectly put-together space.

“About yesterday,” I say, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up. Sometimes I get … overwhelmed and need to organize things. To make everything perfect before I can?—”

“Salem.” He cuts me off gently. “There’s no need to explain yourself to me. I get the need for a system. I understand them. I respect them.”

That honest, sincere response breaks me. It’s not the attack, not the fear, not the chaos but his quiet acceptance of my broken pieces. Lee is something else, in the way he pays attention to my needs and understands my carefully constructed walls.

I need to give him a chance and hear what he has to say.

“Coffee,” I blurt out, surprising us both. “Tomorrow? To discuss … to talk about … about what you suggested the other night?”

His smile is different now—softer, more real, nothing like his usual practiced charm. “Same time, same place? I promise to have everything sanitized before you arrive.”

“I’ll be there,” I promise, meaning it this time. “No closet emergencies, panic attacks, or standing you up.”

“Good.” He stands, offering to carry my bag without trying to take it without permission. “Let me walk you to your car? Just to be sure those guys are really gone.”

The wordnosits on the tip of my tongue. It’s the right thing to say. It would help keep the distance between us. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in me to say no. When it comes to Lee, I find it difficult to see anything but the man in that dark pantry, exposing his own insecurity to me.

I find myself nodding, finding safety in his careful attention to my needs.

The walk to my car feels longer than usual, each step measured not just by my usual counting but by the weight of what I’m considering. Lee’s offer hovers between us—protection in exchange for pretense, safety in exchange for performance, control in exchange for fake dating the campus bad boy.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he says as we approach my car, his stride matching mine perfectly. Not too fast, not too close, just … present. “I can practically hear you counting the pros and cons in your head.”

“Is it really that obvious?” I try to smile, but my hands still tremble with residual fear while I dig for my car keys.

“To someone who pays attention? Yeah.” He leans against the car next to mine, carefully giving me space while maintaining a protective presence. “Most people don’t notice patterns like I do. Kind of a problem, really.”

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