Page 73 of Roses in Summer

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Did you break up with Gemma before or after seeing Seraphina?”

“Dad, I don’t know what you’re implying, but you’re wrong. Gemma and I broke up because we weren’t right for each other. You didn’t even fucking like her. Between you and Mom, I don’t understand your fixation on Gemma.”

“Watch your tone, Lincoln. You lived with this woman, shared a life with her, and suddenly, Seraphina comes back to town and you’re telling us Gemma moved out and you broke up. I remember how hurt you were when she ended things with you all those years ago. It’s not even about Gemma, Lincoln. Your mother and I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

I sigh at my dad’s words, both grateful for his concern but also annoyed by it. “Listen, I need to get back in the kitchen, but I’ll see you at brunch, yeah? Love you.” I hang up, not giving my dad even a second to respond.

Pushing off from the wall, I allow myself one final glance at my phone and pull up Seraphina’s contact information. There have been no new texts since we spoke two days ago, but I don’t let it deter me. Letting my fingers fly across my screen, I don’t bother reading through my message before I hit send.

Lincoln: I get off at seven tonight. We need to talk.

27

Seraphina

My phone vibrates in my pocket, a violent crescendo that seems to mock me while May leads me through my final day of training. When I accepted the graduate assistant position last week, it was with the understanding that I would start working in the Marymount University library at the end of next month, right before the semester began.

Maybe it’s luck or divine intervention, but when May called me and told me they received special permission to bring me on part-time before my graduate assistantship officially started, I was elated. Partly because it put me into direct contact with books, some of my favorite things in the world, but primarily because it kept my mind and body so busy, it was hard to fill the hours with thoughts of much else.

Like Lincoln. Or like getting fingered by Lincoln in the alley behind Garganello’s. Those kinds of thoughts were so pervasive that they consumed my every waking moment if I were to give in to them.

“Why don’t you head down to the archive room and start working on those boxes I showed you? The library is open until ten tonight, but you should be able to head out around nine with the rest of the part-time staff,” May instructs, her voice low at the information desk adjacent to the lobby.

Glancing at the clock behind her, I see that it’s not even five, leaving me with over four hours in the brightly lit basement.

“No problem. I’ll head down there now. I’ll start right where the other assistant left off.”

May waves me off, turning toward her computer and logging in. Her dismissal amuses me, especially since she’s in a bright-green two-piece linen outfit that shows a sliver of her stomach and has cherry earrings hanging from her ears. In comparison, in my cigarette pants and sleeveless turtleneck, I look like a moody slam poet from the nineties.

Needless to say, it’s very different vibes.

As I turn to leave the vestibule, May’s voice rings out. “And Seraphina, don’t forget, no food or drinks down there.”

Looking over my shoulder, I smile at May, who’s still staring at her screen. I don’t bother responding since the only thing I can say is, of course. Instead, I turn forward and start to walk the ornately structured walls that lead toward the basement.

A single vibration in my pocket reminds me that I have missed notifications on my phone. I pull it from my back pocket, bringing it to my face. My stomach flutters at Lincoln’s name on the screen.

Unable to stop myself, I unlock my phone and read his text. The flutters in my stomach turn into a weightless feeling in my gut, almost like I’m on a roller coaster and nearing the pinnacle.

Lincoln (4:15 PM): I get off at seven tonight. We need to talk.

Halting my steps in the middle of the hallway, I bite down on my bottom lip and consider how to reply. His text came through almost twenty minutes ago, and I know from our conversation earlier this week that he worked lunch.

Seraphina: I’m in the library tonight. I can call you tonight?

I could refuse to speak to him, feign busyness, or use my job as a very real, very legitimate excuse. But after two days of not speaking with him, but thinking of him whenever my mind wasn’t consumed by librarian jargon, I knew that my answer was definite. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear his gruff voice delivering his dry humor while he called me a thorn and to feel the warmth from the interaction.

Knowing that he won’t respond, at least not right away, I slip my phone back into my pocket and resume my walk toward the basement entrance.

I round the corner, entering a wide hallway with workstations on the right side. It’s not surprising to see that almost every station is occupied. Despite the summer months, Marymount leads professional and summer programs, calling students of all levels to the prestigious campus. I let my eyes roam over the stations, glazing over the heads bent over laptops and textbooks. Nothing sticks out as unusual, so I let my eyes drift forward as I continue toward the basement door. I reach out, intending to twist the handle and disappear downstairs, but a hand shoots out, cupping my elbow in a light whisper of a touch.

I whip my head around, nearly convinced that I imagined the squeeze. “What the— Oh.”

“Hi, Fin,” Chris says behind me, looking as polished and unwelcome as he did last week. “I was hoping I’d see you again.” I look around Chris, peering at the library patrons who seem oblivious to the discomfort this hello is causing me.

“Hello. I need to get to work. It was nice seeing you.” I keep my tone clipped, my words short, in an effort to convey how much I do not want to talk to him. My promise to Liv plays in my mind, telling me to get as far away from Chris as I possibly can. But there’s a nagging thought in the back of my head telling me that escaping to the basement by myself right now is not a good idea.

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