Page 41 of Tutored in Love

“But it’s good he opened up to you.”

“Yeah,” I say again, puzzling on that. Whywouldhe open up to me about something this big when he’s always been so careful to avoid personal talk? I shrug and find Ivy analyzing me. “What?” I ask.

She’s giving methe lookagain.

“What?” I ask again.

“Don’t you think it means something, that he opened up toyou?”

No comment.

“Also that you have something in common?”

I get up from the couch, where we’ve been chatting, to unload the dishwasher.

“Does he know about Benson?”

Pushy roommate. I don’t know why I put up with her. “Of course not. I don’t talk about... that... with anyone.”

She’s followed me into our tiny kitchen. “I know.” She sets a hand on my shoulder as I’m putting away the glasses. “I have to ask, Grace. Did you think about Benson when Noah was talking about his dad?”

I stop unloading and stand still, facing the cabinets, with Ivy’s hand still on my shoulder. “Maybe.”

Her hand does a little circle, rewarding me for talking at all. “Maybe you’d both benefit from sharing.”

I can’t help but stiffen at this suggestion.

“Or maybe he just needs a friend,” she amends.

My heart pounds as I turn around. “Oh man, you know where to hit me.”

A slightly apologetic smile is her answer. “Sorry.”

“Not sorry,” I argue.

She shrugs. “I’m pretty sure you’d regret it later if you didn’t at least give him an opportunity at friendship.”

I scoff. “He has rebuffed every effort I’ve made at anything resembling friendship.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Until now.”

I hate when she’s right.

Ivy takes a breath, holds it for a second. “What if hehasbeen holding back to maintain a professional distance?”

That what-if keeps me awake most of the night.

Chapter 22

Mean

Butterflies take up residence inmy gut as I wait in the packed-for-finals math lab, wondering how awkward it will be with Noah after last week’s revelation. Things were oddly comfortable when we parted. Maybe I can build on that. It would sure make what I’ve promised Ivy easier. Regardless, I have to follow through. She said she’ll kick me out of the apartment if I don’t.

Noah walks in with only two minutes to spare, though he’s looking much more put together than last week in spite of the shadows still under his eyes.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Fine.” His enthusiasm is underwhelming.