Page 50 of Roses in Summer

He holds up his hand in a Boy Scout salute. “I’ve had one beer, Scout’s honor.”

I take in his expression and pose, unable to contain my laughter. “Were you ever a Boy Scout?” I tease, amusement bleeding into my tone.

“Do I look like a Boy Scout?” My laughter fades, and my mouth suddenly feels parched. I take in his caramel skin, vibrant green eyes, and shaved head. With the tattoos spanning almost every visible inch of skin, Lincoln definitely does not look like a Boy Scout.

“Uh, no. No, you don’t.”

His expression softens at my words. “You’re right, but I promise you’re safe with me. Let me grab my keys and Celeste’s room key. I’ll bring you back to their dorm room tonight. Okay?”

Nodding my assent, he places a hand on my lower back, leads me through the front door, and deposits me in the foyer with a hushed, “I’ll be right back.” Staring after him, I let my eyes linger on his form as he races down the hall. I’m not sure how I ended up here—technically, I know how I ended up here, but I’m surprised all the same. This time last week, I was in my bedroom crying over Mitch’s and my most recent breakup, and now I’m waiting for my sister’s incredibly hot friend to bring me back to her dorm room.

Thoughts of Mitch, my on-again, off-again boyfriend, make my throat tight. Our most recent breakup was not good, and I try to push him from my mind. So far, I’ve thought of him minimally, taking it as a positive sign that maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to move on from the toxic pattern we’ve found ourselves in.

My thoughts are dispelled when, less than five minutes later, Lincoln reappears, this time with a sweatshirt in hand and a backward baseball cap on his head. Holding his arm out to me, he offers, “Here, I brought you my sweatshirt. It’ll be big as fuck, but you look cold.”

“Cold? What—” I start to ask before realization dawns, and I feel the blood drain from my face as I cross my arms over my dress. When I picked out my outfit for tonight, Ava and Celeste said the party would be a sauna. I went with the lightest dress I brought, a short pink baby doll. When I was in their dorm room, appraising myself in their mirror, I thought the girly dress would be simple yet keep me cool in a crowded room. The straps holding the top of the dress lace in the back, and I made the very foolish decision to forgo a bra.

My nipples must be poking through my dress, and I pray that the fabric is thick enough to hide my areolas.

“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing the sweatshirt and quickly putting it on.

“Maybe wear a bra to your next party, hmm?”

I feel my eyes widen and my jaw drop at his statement. “I… You…” I stumble over my words, shaking my head in disbelief. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I sneer the words, “but I couldn’t wear a bra with this dress.”

He shrugs, his smirk firmly in place.

Huffing, I pull the strings of the hoodie, closing the neckline as much as I can without strangling myself. Lincoln watches my movements, his eyes lingering on where my fingers play with the strings. “Are you always this infuriating?”

“Ask your sister. She’ll probably say she wants to stab me with a Wüsthof Hollow Edge Santoku most days.”

“Oh no.” I cringe. “Don’t tell me that you’re a culinary arts major.”

His eyebrow rises at my statement. “And if I am?”

“I’ll need to hide from you because I can’t deal with two adrenaline junkies.”

“There’s nothing like being in the kitchen, baby,” he muses, his smirk pulling into a full grin. “Now come on, Seraphina.”

“Sera, are you okay?” Liv asks, her voice breaking through the memory.

I swallow the thickness in my throat and nod, not trusting my voice after the memory that just assaulted me. I’m not sure why I held on to the sweatshirt and why I still wear it like a comfort blanket, but for some inexplicable reason, I did. And like an idiot, I brought it here. Shaking the remaining memories from my head, I grab my red leather backpack from the hook by my desk and turn to face my best friend and sister, hoping my face is more composed than my mind. “I need to leave. I’ll call you guys later.”

“Celebratory drinks after?” my sister asks.

“You don’t have plans later? I thought you said your sorority had something?” Liv asks.

She shrugs, looking away from my assessing eyes. “It’s a rush video we have to film, but it shouldn’t take long. Round Robin starts in August, so we don’t have a crazy schedule yet.” Bianca always speaks highly about her sorority, and with it being her senior year at Marymount, I thought she would have opted to live with her sisters in a rental house or one of the dorms on campus. I was shocked when she decided to live in an apartment with Liv and me.

“We’ll see.” I shrug my shoulders, keeping my words short. I squeeze Liv and Bianca’s shoulders as I stride out of my room and race out of the apartment to my car. Sliding into my seat, I give myself a final glance in the rearview mirror and cringe at the wild look in my eyes.

“Dammit,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head again as I turn the car on and shift to reverse. Backing out of my parking spot slowly, I force myself to zone into the drive, paying close attention to every stop sign, stoplight, and traffic signal on the ten-minute drive to an interview for a job that means more to me than I care to admit.

While I love books, it’s not why I love libraries or why I need them to exist. No, my obsession is born from the rare books and archives hidden within the confines of the cases and shelves. Old books, many of them discarded or overlooked, receive new life in libraries; their value affirmed, their authenticity verified. I love the preservation, keeping the folios safe and whole and usable for generations so that their words and importance can live on in perpetuity. If I could live in a library surrounded by books and history and knowledge, I would. But as it stands, I can only work in one while I preserve texts, tombs, and other people’s pasts.

Pulling into the library’s parking lot, I drive to the front of the building, where all the patrons park, and find the first available spot. Grabbing my phone, I look at the slew of text messages that have come through since I left the apartment. Unsurprisingly, I have texts from my parents, a group message from Ava and Grey, and even Rafe, checking in and wishing me luck for the impending interview. Thanking each of them as succinctly as I can, I lock my phone and throw it into my backpack.

Stepping out of my car, I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly, letting my shoulders and muscles relax before I make the short walk from the parking lot to the entrance of the library.

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