Page 6 of Cold Front
“Asher.”
“Art major?” I guessed, nodding toward the sketch.
He grinned, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. But this course is a general requirement. Figured I’d get it out of the way early. You?”
“Business major,” I said, nodding. “Marketing’s part of the program, so I’m stuck with it.”
The professor’s gaze swept the room, and I quickly pretended to jot something down. Asher did the same, though the amused glint in his eyes said he wasn’t worried about getting caught.
When class ended, I stuffed my notebook into my bag, relieved the first class was over. Asher stood up, stretching lazily.
“Haven’t seen you around before,” he said as we headed for the door.
“Yeah,” I said. “Transferred in this semester.”
He glanced at me. “Makes sense. Most people in this class have been stuck together since the start.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, I probably shouldn’t even be in this one. Some of my credits didn’t transfer properly, so here I am, knocking out an intro class as a junior.”
Asher smirked. “Brutal. But at least you’ve got me for entertainment now.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That so?”
He tapped his sketchbook. “Unless you hate free art.”
I smirked. “Can’t say I hate it.”
“Good.” Asher tucked his sketchbook under his arm as we stepped into the hallway, the flow of students moving around us. “So, where’d you transfer from?”
“Crescent Hills U. In L.A.,” I said, adjusting my bag strap.
His eyebrows lifted. “Damn, West Coast to Midwest? That’s a commitment.”
“You could say that.” I kept my tone light, not really in the mood to get into the why of it all. “Needed a change.”
Asher didn’t pry, just gave a casual nod. “Fair enough.” He glanced around the hallway, then back at me. “Have you eaten yet? Café’s decent if you’re looking for food.”
I hesitated, pulling my phone out to check the time. I had a little while before my next class. “Yeah, I’ve got time.”
“Cool. Come on.”
We walked across campus. The café was nestled between two academic buildings, the kind of place that looked like it had been around forever—worn brick exterior, a faded wooden sign above the door, and a steady flow of students coming and going.
Inside, the café buzzed with the kind of energy that only came with the start of a new semester. Students were crammed around small, mismatched tables, some laughing loudly while others hunched over laptops, their faces lit by the glow of screens. The hum of conversation mixed with the occasional clatter of trays and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.
The space itself had a sort of haphazard charm. The walls were decorated with posters for campus events—movie nights, club sign-ups, a flyer for a hockey game with the team’s captain front and center, though I didn’t pay it much attention. A massive chalkboard menu hung crookedly behind the main counter, listing daily specials in bright, uneven handwriting.
The smells hit me first: greasy burgers sizzling on the grill, the sweetness of baked goods just pulled from the oven, and the unmistakable bitterness of coffee brewing nonstop. It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but it had a warmth to it, like the kind of place where people lingered for hours between classes.
We grabbed our food—me, a burger and fries, and Asher, a chicken wrap—and found a small table near the window. The view outside was nothing spectacular—just students milling around, some perched on benches or sprawled on the grass. But the sunlight streaming through the glass gave the space a cozy, lived-in feel.
I had no idea why Asher had invited me to come with him, but as I unwrapped my burger, I decided not to overthink it.
“You’re staying on campus?” Asher asked, popping a fry into his mouth.
“Yeah, in one of the apartments. My roommate’s…” I hesitated, not sure how to describe Niall. “Caldwell.”
Asher froze mid-chew. “Caldwell? As in Niall ‘Iron Wall’ Caldwell?”
