“Because of the company, and . . .” With another fork full of creamy pasta, she adds, “and did I tell you how much I love carbonara?”

“You did mention your love of carbonara. Since that ground has been covered, let’s talk about the company you couldn’t resist.”

She giggles. “That escalated quickly. That’s a big leap from not being able to say no to the company I keep to said company being irresistible.”

“Not much of a leap, but to be honest,” I say, and then smirk. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called irresistible.”

This time a bellyaching laugh escapes her. So much so that she sets her utensils down and covers her mouth as she falls back. When she calms, she waves her hand erratically in front of her, still giggling, but says, “Thank you. I needed a good laugh.”

“Glad to oblige, but care to share what’s so funny?”

Catching her breath, she settles back at the table and picks up her fork again. “I have no doubt you’ve been called that many times over, but that aside, I’m so glad I came out tonight. This is the good time I didn’t know I needed.”

She’s refreshing in her honesty.

A natural beauty.

And not afraid to say whatever is on her mind.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time, but let me include you in on a little secret, Lark.”

Her brow rises, and she whispers, “Go on.”

“I’m having a good time with you.”

This night feels different.

And I have a strong suspicion that Lark Summerlin is proving to be just the distraction I need.

9

Harbor

Her car window is down despite the chill in the air as I take the long way back to her place. The wind blowing through the loose strands of Lark’s hair twist like tiny tornadoes, making it hard to look away. Something is comforting about not seeing one worry wrinkle her face when she’s with me.

Beacon is small town in all ways except for the university. The school hosts the largest population in the area at thirty-three thousand students. Pre-med is much smaller, but the school has a great reputation, so it’s one of the more popular majors.

I’m still perplexed by how I’d never seen her before we shared a class this semester. Was I not paying attention? It’s a large school, so maybe our paths never crossed before.

If I follow Lark’s reasoning, our “meet cute” was in the hands of fate. If I gave that much credence to superstitions, then we met when we were supposed to. Doesn’t matter when we met, though, only that we did meet.

I find myself forcing my eyes to the road ahead instead of staring at her like the stalker I am. But there’s nothing typical about her. The girls in my world have hair with every strand in place and lip injections to have the perfect pout for social media posts. By the small rise in the middle of Lark’s nose, I’m sure she hasn’t had anything about her “corrected,” as others call it.