Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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I open the door to my apartment as quietly as possible. The hallway is lit and Mike's blocking it. I look back through the open door. There's no mistake, this is my apartment. I've had my cup of dark roast French press at Ben's already.
"Hi," says Mike and puts his leather jacket on.
Angie peeks around him. I wasn't wrong about these two. I grin and give them two thumbs up, killing two birds with one stone: embarrassing Angie and reminding Mike what he did the first night we met. Payback is a bitch.
"Should I even ask?" I say when the door closes behind Mike.
"Should I ask about you and Ben disappearing in the middle of the dessert yesterday and reappearing looking like you had christened one of his parents' bathrooms?"
"Don't deflect. Are you and Mike an item now?"
"Is 'I hope' an answer?"
"It most definitely is." I wiggle my eyebrows.
My room smells of stale coffee. Three days with two dirty coffee cups on my desk are at fault. I crack the window open and let the cold air in. I pick up the dirty clothes off the floor, change into my store uniform and plop on my bed to scroll through the texts, the missed posts on my feeds and my emails. There are two messages from Bretagne-Loire, probably letting me know how to reapply.
I open the first one. "Félicitations ! Nous vous souhaitons la bienvenue au programme de doctorat de l'Université de Bretagne-Loire..."
The words strike my skin like icy hail and scatter over my skin. Congratulations? How is this possible? My heart flutters against my ribcage. They told me I didn't get in. I read it again. The email provides the details on the additional documentation needed, how to browse the class catalog, and a request to confirm my attendance by Monday. Cold sweat beds on my forehead. I navigate to the second one. It's a personal letter from Professor Hallot. What he says paints a clearer picture. A student dropped out, and I was someone they wanted. How lucky for both the University and me. My vision swims, and I drop my head into my hands.
The information sinks in. I got in. I actually fucking got in. This can't be real. It must be a joke. I re-read the emails over and over again until my temples throb. I roll every word in my mouth as I say them around. But it's all there in black in white.
My life can change. Just like I wanted. New school, new city, new me. Years with Mom and my brothers. I squeeze my temples. . This is what I wanted. I'll be able to get the degree I wanted. The career I wanted. The life I wanted. Wanted. The pressure in my skull mounts and changes into a sharp headache. Do I still want it? I want all that, but now I also want Ben. What's the right thing for me to do?
Angie's bloodcurdling shriek interrupts my thought. I charge out of my bedroom to see what happened. There's no pool of blood in the middle of the living room, no robbers or severed fingers. She's standing, fists tight, eyes squeezed shut, screaming hard enough to shatter the windows in our apartment.
