Chapter 3 Thursday Trouble

By the time Thursday afternoon arrived, my stomach felt like a washing machine set to “aggressive.” I’d spent two days overthinking every possible outcome of meeting with Jace at the campus café.

Option one: he’d be late.

Option two: he’d be obnoxious.

Option three: he wouldn’t take the project seriously.

Option four: I would embarrass myself in some catastrophic, irreparable way.

Honestly, option four felt disturbingly likely.

At 4:57 p.m., I stood outside the café clutching my notebook so tightly my fingers ached. Students streamed in and out, some laughing, some juggling textbooks and lattes, some staring hopelessly into their phones like they’d already lost at life during syllabus week.

I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Of course, he was already there.

Jace sat at a table in the corner, leaning back casually, one leg stretched out, tapping his fingers on his cup. He looked annoyingly comfortable, like a rom-com character who had never been nervous in his entire life.

I was halfway through talking myself out of running away when he spotted me.

His face lit up.

“There she is,” he said, waving me over like we were friends—which we were absolutely not. “On time, too. I’m impressed.”

I forced my legs to move. “Of course I’m on time. I said five.”

“I figured you’d show up early.” He leaned forward. “You strike me as the early type.”

“I’m not predictable,” I snapped.

“Ava, you’re the human embodiment of a planner app.”

I glared at him and sat down. “Let’s just get started.”

“Sure,” he said, sliding a second cup toward me. “I got you something.”

I stared at it like it might explode. “Why?”

“It’s coffee.”

“I know what it is. Why?”

“To replace the very sad, very traumatized shoe incident.”

I crossed my arms. “Are you bribing me with caffeine?”

“Is it working?”

I hated that it was.

I took the cup anyway, trying not to seem grateful.

Jace smiled smugly. “Told you.”

“Don’t.” I raised a finger. “Just don’t start.”

“Alright, alright.” He opened his notebook—empty, of course—and looked at me. “So. Research topics.”

Finally, something structured. My safe place.

I straightened, flipping to my neatly organized list. “I wrote down potential ideas.”

“You made a list.”

“Obviously.”

He held his hands over his heart. “Ava, you’re a dream.”

“You’re a nightmare.”

He grinned. “Opposites attract.”

“We are not attracting,” I snapped, my voice accidentally louder than intended. The girl at the next table looked up. Heat flooded my cheeks. “I meant academically. We’re not… whatever.”

“So you’re saying you don’t like me?” he teased, leaning in.

“I don’t hate you,” I muttered before my brain could stop me.

“Whoa.” He sat back dramatically. “Is that… progress?”

I covered my face. “I walked into that.”

“Yes, yes you did.”

I dropped my hands and cleared my throat. “Anyway. Research ideas.”

“Right. Ideas. Hit me.”

I listed each topic one by one—effects of sleep deprivation on academic performance, the psychology of procrastination, social anxiety in new environments, first-year stress patterns.

He nodded along politely until I finished.

Then he said, “Those all sound boring.”

My jaw dropped. “They are not boring! They are scientifically relevant and easily researchable.”

“Ava… we’re going to be working on this for months. I want something fun.”

I let out a strangled sound. “Fun?! This is psychology, not game night!”

He leaned forward, eyes bright. “What about something with relationships?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because relationships are messy and emotional and—no.”

“Come on,” he coaxed. “We’re in a psych class. People love relationship studies. How attraction works, how conflict starts, compatibility, personality types… it’s interesting!”

He actually had a point. A good one, annoyingly.

I crossed my arms. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“A study on first impressions.”

My eyebrows rose. “First impressions?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “How accurate people think they are versus how accurate they actually are. Do first impressions predict compatibility? Friendship? Romance?”

Romance.

I choked on air.

“No,” I whispered. “Absolutely not romance.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be weird.”

“Why?” He looked genuinely confused. Though I suspected part of that was him enjoying how flustered I was. “It’s just research.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” I snapped.

“For you,” he teased.

“Yes, for me!”

He laughed softly. “Fine. We don’t have to make it romantic. Just… first impressions in general. It’ll be fun.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You already know what mine is of you.”

He smirked. “Tell me, then.”

“I’d rather die.”

He laughed louder this time, leaning back in his chair, genuinely amused. “Okay, okay. You hate the idea.”

“No,” I admitted begrudgingly. “It’s actually… decent. But only if we keep it academic.”

“No flirting in the data collection,” he said mock-seriously, holding up his hands.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Sure.”

I took a long sip of coffee to avoid smacking him.

“We’ll need volunteers,” I said. “Probably at least twenty pairs.”

“We can get people from our dorms,” he offered. “And maybe after class. People like participating when it’s something relatable.”

I nodded reluctantly. “Alright. Fine. First impressions.”

He grinned. “Knew you’d come around.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I absolutely will.”

We spent the next half hour outlining the project. And to my surprise… Jace wasn’t horrible at contributing. In fact, he had good ideas—creative, outside-the-box, more spontaneous than my usual approach. It annoyed me how well our thought processes balanced.

Eventually, we finished and began packing up.

“Well,” Jace said, leaning back in his chair, “not bad, partner.”

“It’s the first meeting,” I reminded him. “Everything can still go terribly wrong.”

“Always the optimist.”

I rolled my eyes and stood.

Jace stood too. “Hey,” he said more softly. “Seriously. Good work today.”

The sincerity in his tone startled me.

And maybe—just a little—warmed me.

“I know we started off… messy,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m not trying to make your life difficult.”

I blinked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He laughed, but it was quieter this time. More real. “I’m trying, okay?”

Something in my chest tightened.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

For a moment, we just stood there. Him watching me, me refusing to look up too long because every time I did, my heartbeat got stupid.

Then someone brushed past us and the moment snapped.

Jace slung his backpack over one shoulder. “See you Saturday.”

I froze. “Saturday?”

“Yeah.” He grinned again. “We’re gathering volunteers, remember?”

Oh. Right.

“Fine,” I muttered.

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m not.”

“You will be.”

“No, I—”

He winked. Actually winked. “Bye, Ava.”

And then he walked out the door, humming to himself like he hadn’t just sent my nervous system into chaos.

I stood in place for several seconds, gripping my notebook, staring at the spot where he’d been.

He was trouble.

A walking, talking, smirking disaster.

And yet…

I was already in deeper than I wanted to admit.