In the Likely Event(47)

“Your job is to study.” She pointed a cheese-covered spatula at me. “Study, Isabeau. Not memorize love letters from Nate.”

“They’re not love letters.” I snatched up the paper just in case any of that cheese made a jump for it and landed on Nate’s letter. “He made it clear that we’re not together.”

“Right.” She arched a brow.

“You look like Mom when you do that,” I muttered.

She scoffed, and snatched the letter out of my hands. “Take it back!” she demanded, holding the letter above the grilled cheese, which was now smoking.

“You’re going to set the apartment on fire!”

“Take. It. Back.” She dangled the letter just above the pan.

“Fine, I take it back!” I lunged, but she leapt out of reach and then started to read. “Serena!”

She whistled low, leaning back against the other counter. “The man is good with words.”

“I know that.” I grabbed the handle of the pan and moved it off the burner, then threw open the window in hopes of avoiding another encounter with the smoke alarm and our noise-sensitive neighbors in 3C.

“‘Promise me that you’re out there living and not just existing,’” she read from the end of the letter, blowing out a long sigh. “See, even the guy who is clearly in love with you wants you to get out more. Which is weird, but if it helps convince you, then I’m all for it.”

“One, Nate is not in love with me. Someone who loves you doesn’t turn you loose on the male population and tell you to have at it while he’s gone.” I understood his point, really and truly, but that didn’t mean I agreed with it.

“In this case?” She waved the letter as the scent of smoke dissipated. “That’s exactly what someone who loves you would tell you to do. I have to give the guy some respect. He could have locked you down in Georgia and left you pining. Instead, he thought of what would be best for you.” She made a face. “I think you may have found the one good guy left on the planet, and I don’t care what Mom and Dad say about him.”

They didn’t know much about Nate, but they’d made it clear they thought dating an enlisted soldier was a major step downward from a Covington. I hadn’t bothered telling them we weren’t dating after that comment, and honestly, whatever I was with Nate was a step up from Jeremy. He’d sent me an Insta DM last week I’d happily ignored. That guy had some major growing up to do.

“So why are you so keen on me getting out more?” I settled on the kitchen stool and started scrolling on my phone for takeout.

It was like we were kids again, fending for ourselves while Mom and Dad were at one gala or another, except we were adults. Kind of. Since my definition of adulting was paying all my own bills, and Dad was still covering tuition, books, and this apartment, I wasn’t exactly the poster child for independence. Not in the way Nate was.

“Because there are plenty of decent ones left who aren’t perpetually unavailable.” She looked up at me. “And you need at least a few nights a week that you aren’t wearing . . . that.”

I looked down at Nate’s hoodie. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s going on with Paul, anyway? That was your second date a couple nights ago, right?”

“Patrick,” I corrected her, finding a local restaurant that had a reasonable delivery time. “And pretty sure that’s not going to work out.”

“Shocker.” Her eyes flared with mock surprise. “Let me guess. You’re both at Georgetown Law, and that’s just too much in common. He wants to go into politics, and you abhor it. He’s good looking but just doesn’t rev your engine. Nice, but not memorable? Oh, and the death sentence to every potential Isabeau Astor suitor—he’s available.”

“He’s a 2L who wants to go into corporate law, and I’m pretty sure he’s more attracted to his phone than me.” Patrick didn’t look at me like I was the answer to every question. He’d only kissed me once, and it had all the heat of three-day-old leftovers. And . . . I sighed.

He wasn’t Nate.

None of them were.

“I’ll trade you.” I waved my phone. “Dinner for my letter back.”

She cocked her head to the side and stared at the paper. “I really wish he hadn’t redacted this part. I bet it was hot.”

“Serena!”

“Fine. Have your non-boyfriend’s letter.” She gave it back to me and entered her order into my phone.

I folded it neatly and put it back in its envelope so I could store it with the others. He’d sent a package this time, complete with three newly highlighted books. I had mine ready to go back for him, too, and had started a birthday package that needed to get out in the next couple of days if it was going to have any hope of making it to him. So far it had spearmint gum, the brownies he’d revealed a secret weakness for, and a Georgetown hoodie to wear around the base, or the FOB, as he called it, on his downtime.

“You know, you should really watch the congressional race back home,” Serena said, handing my phone back.

“Someone interesting?” I slid the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “Or someone you think is interesting because you’re a high-powered reporter on a mission for truth and justice?”