Page 3 of Seeds of Love
I push through the heavy oak doors, squinting against the bright Colorado sun. Of course, it’s a perfect day—blue skies mocking my mood. I want to replace it with rain. Let everyone else’s day be ruined. Lost in my thoughts about controlling the weather, I collide with a broad chest. I stumble back, looking up to meet a pair of annoyingly familiar hazel eyes.
“Whoa there, Lexie,” Freddie says, steadying me with a hand on my arm. “Careful, or people might think you’re falling for me.”
I jerk away from his touch, putting a safe distance between us. “It’s Alex,” I correct him automatically. “What are you doing, Freddie?”
He leans against the wall with practiced ease, all long legs and casual grace. Sunlight catches his eyes, turning them from hazel to gold, and my stomach does a stupid little flip. “Waiting for my project partner, of course. Thought we could discuss ourgame plan. Over coffee?” His lips quirk up. “Cappuccino with soy milk, just how you like it?”
I ignore the way my heart leaps.
The fact that he remembers my coffee order feels like a weapon aimed straight at my chest. “That was last year,” I say, forcing steel into my voice. “I drink it black now.”Lie. I freakin’ hate black coffee.
He raises an eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”
“You don’t know me anymore, Freddie.”
“Don’t I, Lexie?”
I ignore the nickname. “Do you want to start right now?” I try to step around him, but he slides smoothly into my path.
“Well,” he drawls, falling into step beside me, “I figured you’d want to get started right away. Unless…” He pauses, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Unless you were in there trying to change partners?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My voice comes out too sharp, too defensive.
“Ha!” His grin is triumphant. “You’re so predictable, Lexie. I’m wounded. Truly devastated.” He clutches his chest as if auditioning for a Shakespeare play.
“It’sAlex,” I snap, feeling heat creep up my neck. “And it wasn’t about you. I just work better alone.” The lie tastes bitter.
“Sure, sure.” He nods, clearly seeing right through me like he always has—since that first night at the party, when he found me hiding on the porch. “Well, partner, looks like you’re stuck with me. Try to contain your excitement.”
I stop abruptly, turning to face him. My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if he can hear it. “Look, Freddie. This project is important.Reallyimportant. Can we just… keep things professional?”
Something flickers in his eyes—a glimpse of the real Freddie, the one who used to make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe,who understood me better than anyone. But then his mask slides back into place. “Absolutely professional. After all, it’s not like we’re friends, right?”
“No,” I say, the word bitter. “We’re colleagues, Freddie. Nothing more, nothing less. And when this is over, we’ll go back to being strangers.”
I walk away before he can see how much the words hurt me too. Before I remember why we can’t be friends anymore. Why we can’t be anything at all.
ALEX
THEN – FRESHMAN YEAR – SEPTEMBER
Ishove open the bathroom door, desperate for a moment of peace from the chaos outside. The excited chatter fades, replaced by the buzz of fluorescent lights and the steady drip of a leaky faucet. Ah, the soothing sounds of college plumbing.
I square off with my reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at me is a stranger—contact lenses instead of my usual glasses, and hair that, for once, doesn’t look like I just rolled out of bed and thought, meh, this’ll do. It’s like a scene from a 90’s rom-com where the girl removes her glasses and ponytail, and suddenly, everyone realizes she’s a smoke show.
Except, I’m not under any delusion that I’ve had some crazy transformation over the summer. But I do feel alittlemore confident. New look, new me, new start—or so the inspirational posters in my mom’s office keep insisting.
“You’ve got this, Alex,” I mutter, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from my sweater. The name still feels foreign on mytongue. I’ve always gone by Ally—a name Emma picked out for me when we were kids.
I don’t feel like Ally anymore, or maybe, I just don’twantto be her. So, I made the executive decision over the summer to go by my full name—Alexandria. A name I’d only ever heard in two places: the doctor’s waiting room or when my mom was particularly peeved at me—usually for forgetting to call Great-Aunty Sue to thank her for my birthday card.
“Alexandria, I didn’t raise you to be ungrateful, did I?” she’d say in a tone that could make babies cry.
And, of course, I’d pick up the phone faster than you could say family guilt trip and have a painfully slow 20-minute chat with Great-Aunty Sue about her neighbor’s marigolds. Riveting stuff, really.
Taking a deep breath that does nothing to calm my nerves, I brace myself for social interaction. It’s only my second day here, but my first chance to dive into some real, college-level science. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited.
Okay, maybe alotexcited.
