Page 6 of Roses in Summer

“Probably not,” she concedes. Instead of the laughter I expect to be bubbling out of her, her tone sounds dark, the two words conveying an inexplicable emotion that sets my teeth on edge.

“Everything okay, ciern?”

“Yes, I’m good. , I promise,” she laughs, though the words sound forced.

“Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?”

“Probably because you’re paranoid.” I can picture her shrugging her delicate shoulders, silently mocking me for being concerned.

I snort at her retort, choosing to ignore her comeback. Instead, I ask the question that’s been on my mind for weeks. “Seraphina, when are you going to let me take you out?”

“Wh-what?” she breathes into the receiver.

I clear my throat, my tone sober as I respond. “Let me take you out, Seraphina. On a date.” I’ve debated for fucking weeks if asking her out is creepy, but she’s eighteen and I can’t deny that talking to Seraphina Rose Gregori is the highlight of my day.

“You’d want that? To take me out?”

“Fuck yeah, I’d want that,” I answer eagerly, betraying whatever calm façade I tried to erect. “Sera, we talk every day, multiple times a day. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

She hesitates for a moment before her sweet voice travels over the speaker. “But I’m still in high school. That doesn’t bother you.”

If someone asked me that question before meeting Seraphina, I would have said yes, it bothers me a shit ton. But now? Not so much. “You’re eighteen. Listen, ciern, if you’re not interested in going out, I get it. But if there’s even a part of you that thinks you’d be into it, then say yes. Please.”

“Yes,” she whispers into the receiver, so low that I’m not sure I even heard the response.

“Yes?” I repeat.

“Yes, Lincoln Simmons, I’ll go out with you—I mean date you. Damn, no, goona date with you,” she groans, and I laugh at her flustered response.

“You’re cute when you ramble, ciern. We’ll figure out the details, okay?”

“Okay, but I should probably get back into the library before someone notices I’m gone. I’ll talk to you later?” She asks the last part of her statement like a question as if she’d have to confirm that we’d speak tonight when we’ve spoken almost every damn night since we met.

“Of course, Seraphina. I’ll text you when I leave work.”

“Bye, Linc—” Sera starts, stopping abruptly at the sound of the dumbest nickname I have ever heard.

“Fin! There you are.”

A groan sounds out on the other end, followed by a heavy sigh. “Not again.”

“Ciern, are you okay?”

“Just a gnat. Lincoln, let me go, and I’ll speak to you later, okay?”

“Alright.” I draw out the word, unsure what the fuck is going on and why someone is calling Seraphina “Fin,” as though she was a fucking fish with gills.

Before Sera hangs up, I hear a name that sets me on edge before the call disconnects.

“Mitch, what do you want now?”

—

Moving on autopilot, I eat up the miles until I’m through the Lincoln Tunnel and on the other side of the Hudson and replay my conversation with Seraphina. Or rather, the interruption at the end of our conversation. I didn’t miss how she groaned at the intrusion or inferred that this wasn’t the first time Mitch had bothered her.

Suddenly, the tone she adopted earlier in our conversation made sense when I asked about her day.

“Fuck,” I grind out, not liking that the dick of a man is bothering her repeatedly, and there’s nothing I can do about it. While Seraphina and I haven’t seen each other more than once, the daily conversations mean something to me. She means something to me.

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