First message
He’d been outside the building longer than he was going to admit. Not waiting—just… there.
Leaning against the hood of his car, phone in hand, he glanced up every time the doors opened. Groups of students filtered out in waves, loud, distracted, already moving on to whatever came next. None of them were her. He checked the time. Her class had ended five minutes ago.
Seven, now. Not that he was counting. He shifted his weight, exhaling through his nose as he locked his phone and slid it into his pocket. She did this—lost track of time, stopped to talk, got caught up in something that didn’t matter as much as getting back safely. It wasn’t new. Still didn’t mean he liked it. The doors opened again, and this time…There.
He straightened slightly without thinking, expression settling back into something neutral by the time she got close enough to notice.
“You’re late. Again. I was about to assume you got kidnapped or something… but then I remembered kidnappers have standards.”