Page 28 of Seeds of Love
Freddie laughs, the tension broken. “Please do. I’m pretty sure my dinosaur is an insult to both art and paleontology at this point.”
“The vertebrae should curve like this,” I explain, tracing an arc in the air. “Think gentle slope, not rollercoaster.”
Freddie’s forehead creases as he hunches over his sketch. The tip of his tongue pokes out slightly—a quirk I’ve noticed when he’s concentrating hard. It’s endearing in a way I’m not ready to examine too closely.
A sharp ping cuts through our quiet bubble. Freddie’s eyes dart to his phone, his lips curling into a smirk that makes my stomach clench.
I catch a glimpse of the screen.
You up?
Ew. Brianna. Of course. Freddie’s current female friend. I called her a girlfriend once and Freddie told me firmly that he didn’t do girlfriends.
My eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. Real subtle, Brianna. About as discreet as a foghorn in a library.
Freddie’s thumbs fly over his phone screen, his infuriating grin growing wider with each tap. Something twists low in my gut—a feeling I stubbornly refuse to name.
I tear my gaze away, forcing my attention to a group of girls by the coffee cart. They’re laughing, leaning into one another’s personal space with an easy, effortless confidence that feels miles out of reach. They toss their hair, their smiles carefree and open, like they belong in every room they enter. My stomach tightens.
A couple strolls past, fingers intertwined, eyes only for each other. Heat creeps into my cheeks as I wonder what it feels like to be wanted like that, touched like that—openly, without reservation.
Tara’s told me a hundred times that my expectations are way too high for a first time. But I don’t want it to be random orjust to “get it over with.” I want romance, connection—someone I can trust, who actually cares. Someone who isn’t just passing through.
But sometimes, in moments like these, I wonder if I’m just being naive. Maybe I should just find someone cute at a party and be done with it, like everyone else seems to.
Then I remember Eric. Mr. Perfect-On-Paper, who looks like he stepped out of a 1950s yearbook with his clean-cut style and steady, warm smile. He’s got this whole nerdy-chic vibe that somehow works for him, and I know he actually cares about things. A smile tugs at my lips. Eric, who gets fired up talking about renewable energy, who volunteers at the animal shelter, who listened when I went on a tangent about carbon footprints and didn’t even blink. Eric, who made me feel like I was the most interesting person in the room, not just someone to pass the time with.
Maybe he’s the one.
I should be thrilled—this could be my chance. Finally, maybe I’ll understand what everyone else seems to get, stop feeling like I’m on the outside, looking in. But then why can’t I stop glancing at Freddie from the corner of my eye? Why does my heart do this ridiculous little flip every time he laughs at whatever’s on his screen?
“Earth to Alex,” Freddie’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He’s looking at me, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You okay there? You look like you’re solving cold fusion in your head or something.”
I force a smile. “Just thinking about… amphibian mating rituals.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. But thankfully, he doesn’t push.
“Right,” he drawls. “Well, if you’re done planning frog orgies…” He smirks at my obvious discomfort, and I feel my face go red as I focus on the fossil drawing in front of me.
I sneak one last look at him. He’s still grinning at his phone, completely oblivious to the turmoil he’s causing.
I take a deep breath, sitting up straighter. Eric. Date. This weekend. A guy who actually cares about what I care about. This is the right direction.
I clear my throat, attempting a casual tone. “So, uh, how’s it going with… Bethany, was it?”
Freddie glances up, amused. “Brianna,” he corrects, without the slightest hint of annoyance. If anything, he looks entertained by my slip.
“Right, Brianna.” I nod, as if I hadn’t scrolled through her Instagram at least a dozen times, wondering what he saw in her. “Things good with you two?”
Freddie shrugs, maddeningly nonchalant. “She’s all right.”
All right? That’s it? That’s all he has to say about the girl he’s glued to his phone over? I bite back a hundred questions, wanting to shake him, to pry some deeper answer out of him, to understand what “all right” means in this context.
Instead, I just nod like I get it.
“Cool, cool,” I say, wondering if I sound as fake as I feel. “That’s… nice.”
Freddie gives me an odd look, like he’s trying to figure something out. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s seen right through me. But then he just shrugs again.
