CHAPTER TEN

THE GIRL

“What do you mean?” he says, brow lifted.

My mouth did the stupid thing again. Why would I ask this man something like that? I feel sick but choose to continue.

“I mean, uh, do you think dreams can… I don’t know, come true? Or are they just echoes of our brain replaying what we already know?”

God, Elowen, you could’ve asked the man about sports. Or literature. At least that’s one thing you have in common.

“Hmm.” He leans back into his chair, thoughtful. Carefully, he takes off his glasses and hooks them onto the front of his shirt.

And just like that, I forgot what I even asked. I can’t decide which version of him looks more handsome. He’s dressed casual today, just a regular blue button-down with the first few buttons undone and a black jacket. He looks normal but still has this air around him.

And this scent.

I should be focused on his response. Something about dreams not always being memories, sometimes messages. But my eyes drift, just for a second, to his chest where the glasses hang. Broad and strong. If I could just undo the next button. And the one after that. And maybe the one after that too.

Get it together, Elowen.

I lean back into my chair to calm my nerves and get a better look at him, maybe actually focus on what he’s saying.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “But sometimes dreams force us to confront things we’d rather forget.”

Like the death of a loved one.

After the crash, I kept dreaming about him. He’d come home like nothing happened, pulling his suitcase in while I ran into his arms. I’d wake up in tears, then remember he wasn’t coming back. At that point, it still didn’t feel real to me.

Something shifts in his gaze as my eyes meet his.

“Yeah… that happens.” I take a sip of the drink and pretend like everything is fine. Like I’m not aware of the hot pair of green eyes watching me.

“What do you dream about?”

I almost spit out my drink at the question. But he’s calm as ever, leaned back in his chair, looking straight at me, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. If this was a staring competition, he’s winning.

“I, uh… just normal things.” I take another sip. God, I need something stronger than this.

“What’s normal to you, Elowen?”

The way my name rolls off his tongue sounds like those letters were made for it. But I don’t remember telling him my name.

Now that I think about it, I don’t remember asking him his name.

Here I am, sitting at a table, having drinks with a man I literally know nothing about.

“How did you—?”

“It was on your paper. Elowen Reed.”

He must’ve seen it while he was helping me with my assignment.

“But I don’t know your-”

“Khylon. Khylon Hale.”

“Oh, Professor Khylon.”

The way he always seems to know what I’m going to say next surprises me. And the way he stares at me, straight, unexpressive, but it’s like he knows.

His name suits him. I can’t lie. He’s definitely not a Mark or Jonathan.

“Don’t do that.” He sits up and waves his hand in the air a little.

“Don’t do what?”

“Just call me Khylon. I’m not your professor.” He seems really serious about it.

“Okay. Khylon it is.”

‘I’m not your professor.’ Of course you’re not. You’re the man I’m currently fantasizing about ripping his shirt off.

“Anyway, normal to me is just random things. I don’t really dream much.” I lie, swallowing the rest of my drink. I should’ve gotten something stronger to get through this conversation.

“I don’t really dream much either.”

He tugs slightly at his collar and stands up.

“I have to go.”

I blink. “Oh. Um… okay?”

He’s already pulling his jacket back on.

“Thanks for the drink,” he says, then nods once and walks away. Just like that.

Gone.

Before I can say anything or ask why, he’s already halfway to the door, his shoulders tense beneath the dim lights of the bar. I sit there, staring at the table, the empty spot across from me, the condensation ring from his glass.

The music in the background feels louder now.

I lift my drink and take a sip, but the spice tastes dull on my tongue, and there’s no drink.

What just happened?

Was it the dream question? Did I weird him out?

Or maybe he just suddenly remembered something.

Maybe he’s awkward.

Maybe you’re just being Elowen and fucked it up.

Ugh.

I press my palm to my face.

Nothing makes sense.

Not my dreams.

Not my body.

Not Khylon.

And definitely not whatever’s happening between us.

—————

When I finally get back to the apartment, Brittany is sitting on the couch in her robe, eating popcorn out of the mixing bowl and watching an episode of MasterChef on her laptop.

As soon as I walk in, she perks up.

“Okay, pause the universe, tell me everything.”

I don’t even try to resist. I toss my coat on the chair, kick off my shoes, and collapse beside her.

“Well,” I groan, “we went out. To a bar. And I made it weird.”

Her eyes widen. “Define weird. Did you confess your love? Did you cry? Did you fart?”

“Brittany!”

“I’m just narrowing the possibilities.”

I grab a handful of popcorn. “I asked him if he believes in dreams.”

Her face goes flat. “Like… aspiration dreams, or sexy ‘there’s a man in my bed’ dreams?”

“Both. Maybe. I don’t even know anymore. He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.”

“So… one drink turned into one dangerously sexy stare and a whole lot of internal panic,” Brittany snorts. “Well, what did he say?”

“He left. Just stood up and said he had to go. No warning. No goodnight. Just ‘thanks for the drink’ he paid for, and vanished.”

She blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

I nod, tossing back a few more popcorn into my mouth. “I was sitting there alone with cinnamon sugar on my lips like a dumped churro.”

“Okay, rude. No one dumps a churro.”

I groan. “Do you think it was the question?”

Brittany hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. Or maybe he got spooked. You are kind of intense lately.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean it in a good way. You’ve been different since… well, since everything. Especially that kid on the street.”

At that, I pause.

“I didn’t tell you. But, yeah. It’s gone. There was a pain in my shoulder when I fell. I noticed it tonight. It’s like it never happened.”

I still felt the pain in the shower yesterday, but somehow I completely forgot about it when I woke up this morning. I didn’t feel anything at all. It feels like it got fixed overnight.

She tilts her head. “Okay, but that’s not normal, right?”

“Nope.”

“Have you tried googling ‘miraculous shoulder healing after saving child from car’?”

I grin. “I’ll get right on that.”

She watches me a second longer, then her tone softens. “Have you thought more about what your mom said? On the phone?”

My stomach twists.

“Yeah.”

Earlier this morning, my mom had called. Said we needed to talk. Said it was about my dad. The way she said it had me rattled for hours.

She sounded… nervous. But also like she’d been waiting a long time to tell me something.

“I don’t know. It feels like she’s hiding something.”

“Why do you say so?”

“I don’t know. Just the way she spoke. I was expecting something different, but it’s like she just changed her mind.” I exhale. “I could tell she wanted to say something else. She said she found his old skiing gloves and started crying. Now she wants to go on a trip with Aunt Melissa. Said I should come too.”

“Aww, that’s cute. Maybe she just wants to spend some time again with her daughter.”

“That’s why she called me at seven in the morning?”

Brittany reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“You know I’m here, right? For everything. Dreams, wolf men, weird shoulder miracles. All of it.”

“I know. Thanks, Britts.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the popcorn bowl between us. Then she says, “But I’m also going to need a detailed description of his outfit. For research.”

She winks. “You should dress nice to school tomorrow. You don’t know what professor you might run into.”

I burst out laughing and toss a pillow at her. “You are the worst.”

“No, Lovie. I’m the best.”

And as I head to bed, I realize she’s probably right.

Because no matter how weird things get, one thing is certain:

Khylon isn’t done with me.

And I don’t think I’m done with him either.