There it was. He was definitely reading old French literature. The jolting of the bus made me look up and I realised we were almost at my stop. “Shit.” I stood up, holding my bag, and Jordan had to move his legs so I could get out. Once in the aisle, I stopped to say goodbye but noticed he was frowning.

“Is there something wrong with my book?” he asked, looking up at me from his seat.

I grinned and shook my head. “Absolutely not. It’s perfect.”

He blinked and smiled slowly. “Oh.”

Then the doors beeped to signal they were about to close, and I realised that everyone who had been waiting to get on were taking their seats, and I had to dash off the bus. I looked up as the bus pulled away and saw him grinning.

The next day I saved him a seat again, and I slid my headphones off so they were around my neck as he sat down. Today’s scarf was green to match his shoes. “This is becoming a habit,” he said shyly. His cheeks were slightly pink. If it was from the cold or if he was blushing, I wasn’t sure.

“If you’d rather I didn’t,” I hedged.

“Oh no,” he shot back quickly. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“You didn’t sound ungrateful.” I pulled my headphones off from around my neck and shoved them into my messenger bag.

“Which audiobook are you listening to now?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s called Death’s End. It’s um…”

“It’s good, apparently. I haven’t read the trilogy myself, but I’ve heard good things.”

“You know a lot about books.”

“I do.” He swallowed hard, and that was apparently all he was going to say on that subject.

“I like your scarf today,” I said.

He laughed and looked down at the ends of the scarf and ran it through his fingers. “Thanks. I like to add a little colour to an otherwise drab uniform.”

“It matches, every day,” I said.

“Of course it does.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m gay. Of course it fucking matches.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I like it. That it matches, that is.”

“I like that you have such eclectic taste in books, and I like that you save me a seat.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

The bus turned onto Cleveland. “Um. This is my stop.” He turned his knees to the aisle, giving me room to get out. I stood and fixed my messenger bag over my shoulder. “I like that you like those things.”

“Tomorrow then,” he said, his cheeks pinking up nicely.

“Tomorrow.”

Michael took one look at me, handed me my coffee, and narrowed his eyes. “Okay, spill the deets. What happened?”

“What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance.