Chapter 4: Three Months and Forever

Most people lost that bet.

Because, somehow, Caleb and I just worked.

It wasn’t like his other relationships. He never used to take the lead, but with me, he showed up every day—lunch, dinner, whatever. Once, when I was slammed with work, he waited outside campus for over half an hour. I felt guilty, dragged him off and said I’d treat him. He tugged my sleeve, half-laughing, “Your boyfriend wants to eat at the dining hall.”

He hesitated, looking for my reaction. “That cool?”

I knew why—he didn’t want me to go out of my way. He’d always been proud, never ate at the dining hall when he was a student. The Hart family’s youngest son, born with a silver spoon.

We never broke up. People were surprised how well we fit. By our third month, he moved closer—rented a loft above the old bookstore on Third Street. The place always smelled like old paperbacks and cinnamon from the bakery downstairs. Sometimes we’d hear the owner arguing with her cat through the floorboards. We spent more and more time together. He even set up a little home theater in the loft, and we’d curl up together for movie marathons.

He didn’t really care about movies, but I loved them. He’d watch anyway, patient, sometimes even taking notes and writing little reviews for me.

His granddad was a big-deal artist. Caleb had the knack—sometimes he’d sketch me.

One drawing stuck with me: a girl under a maple tree, arms full of books, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world.

I stared at the sketch, wishing I looked that happy in real life. Wishing maybe he saw me, not just a memory.

Then, one night—it happened. Our first time.

I was frustrated with my research, practically pulling my hair out. He noticed, sat beside me, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my waist. “Understand?”

The answer clicked. I hugged him in relief. He looked at me, eyes darker than usual, then leaned in—his lips cool, gentle.

My heart thudded so loud I was sure he could hear it. When his fingers brushed my skin, I shivered—part nerves, part wanting. He looked a little nervous too, but tried to play it cool, gripping my hand. “Aubrey.”

“Yeah.”

Halfway through, his voice dropped. “That sketch—when we met, I really wanted to capture you like that.”

I laughed, pressing my lips to his neck. “Did you do this with your old girlfriends too?”

He made a face, rolling his eyes. “Go ask around—which one of them got this far with me?”

The moment turned heavy. Later, I couldn’t laugh—just cried, quietly, in his arms.

September in Maple Heights meant pumpkin patches and Instagram full of orange. I begged him to go. He stayed up late for days, just to carve out a day for me. We wandered between rows of lopsided pumpkins, the air thick with the scent of hay and caramel apples. He squeezed my hand every time I tripped on a vine.

But after leaving him, I thought: In life, who never stumbles?

Back then, I really liked him.