The Speed of Light: A Novel(19)

And now he’s here. At my workplace, where I need to remain poised and professional.

I nod and fix a smile on my face, prepared to masquerade myself with my communications persona. “Yes, we met at Christmas. Mutual car trouble.”

Stan’s face is confused, but Connor’s eyes linger on mine, and I force myself to look away.

He clears his throat. “Uh, you guys might need one of these.” He replaces his own yellow hard hat and reaches for two more on a nearby table.

I take one, careful not to brush his hand or even meet his eyes, but then I struggle as I try to smash the damn thing onto my apparently large head.

“You need some help?” I look up and Connor’s mouth twitches.

My face is on fire, and it has nothing to do with the heat. “Um, no, thanks. I got it.”

He nods, smiles, then pulls out a pair of hideously large plastic goggles. I wrinkle my nose, and he flashes his wide grin as he hands them to me. “Sorry, rules are rules.”

I slip them onto my face and blink a few times—they’re scratched and a bit foggy. But I have a clear view of Connor, whose eyes are once again fixed on me.

Stan steps up beside me then and, true to form, fails to read the room. “Well, I think we’re ready.” He gives his own hard hat a solid knock and chuckles. “Lead the way, Mr. Davies.”



The tour commences, and somehow I manage to post on Twitter and Facebook—even string together a couple of short video clips and a Boomerang into a decent Instagram story—as we make our way through the semifinished building. This is a miracle, considering I spend the entire time trying not to stare at Connor. The way he folds his arms across his chest while he’s talking. The way he laughs, soft and deep, at Stan’s dumb jokes.

About a half hour in, he accidentally brushes my arm while pointing out a study alcove. That flash of warmth, skin against skin. The waft of a spicy cologne I didn’t expect to remember.

I almost drop the goddamn phone.

Nearly a full hour of agony goes by and we’re wrapping up the tour when Stan’s phone rings. He takes off his goggles and squints down at it; then his jaw clenches as he raises it to his ear. “Hey, honey. Nope, not in the office—I’m on that tour I told you—” He stops abruptly, face reddening; then his eyes meet mine. “Louise,” he mouths. “Sorry.”

He shuffles down the hall a few feet, and it’s not at all far enough for me to miss hearing the tension in his voice. Without thinking, I walk quickly through the nearest doorway, trying to ignore this weirdness—Louise has called his office plenty of times, but the calling has definitely increased lately. Tense calls, almost like she’s checking up on him.

I’m preoccupied with this fact, and with the artsy way the sunlight filters through the window into this space—a future dorm room. Perfect: I haven’t added anything to Snapchat yet. I flip through filters as I turn to the door, but when I look up, Connor is there, leaning against the doorway, smiling. “It’s good to see you,” he says softly.

My masquerade melts away. “You too.”

He looks down, kicks at the floor, looks up again, and opens his mouth—but then stands up straight, smiling awkwardly as Stan steps up next to him. “Sorry about that.” Stupid, clueless Stan. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

I stand as close to Connor as possible without seeming creepy, and when we return to the main entrance, I shrug into my sawdust-filled coat slowly. It feels too soon to have to leave him again.

But Stan already has the door open. “Thank you, Mr. Davies. We really appreciate the tour.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Ready, Simone?”

No. A blaze of bravery strikes and I turn back to Connor, but just then another construction worker rushes past in the hallway behind us. “Hey, Davies, we need you back here, man.”

Connor squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah, be right there.” He tosses an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he walks away.

My shoulders slump. Just as well.

I step outside behind Stan, blinking into the blindingly white sky. His phone rings again, and he swears under his breath. “Sorry, gotta take this again. Seems like everyone’s on my back lately. See you back at the office?”

He rushes ahead before I can reply—man, to be that confident on the ice.

I stare at my slippery nemesis, the frigid breeze stinging my nose as I take one step, then another. I square my shoulders. Come on, Archer, you can do this.

Behind me, the whoosh of a door, and I turn into a gust of warm air and sawdust. Connor steps outside. “Hey, sorry about that—crisis averted.” He looks from me to the ice and back again. “It’s pretty bad out here, huh?” He holds out his arm, and a puff of breath escapes me, emotions battling within, eyes blinking at rapid fire to keep the storm inside.

But his smile is easy, his arm steady, and I reach for it. We walk together across the ice, and this time with his warm, solid presence next to me, I have no fear of falling.

Back on the safety of the parking lot asphalt, I don’t want to let go of his arm, but it’s awkward now, so I slip my hand into my coat pocket, whisper, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He glances back at the residence hall, then takes a deep breath. “Hey, so, what are you doing tonight? For, uh, for New Year’s, I mean.”