"Did you know... and this might be shocking... but Napoleon Bonaparte wasn't short at all?"

A few people murmur in response to Rowan's declaration, but most, like me, are just listening in silence. While I'll give him credit, he's a more interesting professor than most, there's only so much he can do to excite us about the Napoleonic Wars.

"He was actually, by modern measurements, just shy of five feet seven inches, so he was as tall as I am," he continues. "The rumor likely got started for a few reasons, one being he's listed at only five-two on his death certificate, but those were French increments. He was actually above average height of his time, but he surrounded himself with much taller guards, which just made him look smaller. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Fascinating?

Not the word I'd use, but whatever floats his boat.

Class is over, technically, and people around me are packing up to leave, but the professor is still speaking, clearly passionate about the subject.

"For next Tuesday, I'd like a paper on why his height even matters. Two pages, double spaced!"

That gets a reaction from everyone, but it isn't a good one.

Honestly, I don't know why any of it matters.

Short, tall, big, small… it doesn't make him any less of a dick.

People are already jetting out the door when I slip my history book into my bag. My attention is fixed three rows in front of me, to the redheaded nightmare packing up her things. She looks all around me, making a point to never look at me, like maybe if ours eyes don't meet she can pretend I don't exist on the same plane as her. It's childish. Ridiculous. Rude.

It's probably exactly what I'd do in her shoes.

I'm almost the last one out of the classroom today. It's uncharacteristically warm, and I've been sweating all morning.

It probably doesn't help that I'm wearing a thick black scarf.

It was the only thing I had to cover the faint bruise along my throat. I tried using makeup, but well, I've never been good at matching skin tones. It was like drawing a freaking bull's-eye right on my neck.

So scarf it was.

Strolling outside, I pause in front of the building, considering my options. I've got another class in a little over an hour, so as usual, I've got a bit of time to waste.

Honestly, I kind of want to just go home and say to hell with it.

I'm not really sure what's gotten into me, if people are all up in my head or if I'm just too exhausted to really care. I feel like I'm just going through the motions with no real direction, having no idea what I want to do when I grow up.

I'm supposed to declare a major soon.

I'm nowhere near ready for that kind of responsibility.

Getting married was an easier commitment.

I start to walk away, to do just that—leave—when I catch sight of Melody in the distance, heading this way from class. She's not alone today, no… someone's right beside her, holding her hand.

Leo.

I stay right where I am, waiting, as they approach.

Jesus, he's even prettier up close.

Melody notices me standing here and dodges right for me, dragging Leo behind her. He laughs, seeming confused for a moment, before he notices me, too. The confusion melts from his face, replaced with some sort of understanding that tells me he knows exactly who I am without needing an introduction.

He gets one, though… Melody makes sure of it.

"Kissimmee!" She yanks me into a hug, still holding onto Leo, so we're in some awkward ass triangle embrace that only Melody would think is acceptable. "This is Leo… Leo, this is my best friend, Karissa."

"Nice to meet you," Leo says, holding his free hand out toward me. I stare at it for a moment before shaking it weakly. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I was afraid of that," I mutter, pulling away.

Melody laughs, nudging me. "It was all good, promise."

"It was," Leo agrees.

"Well, in that case, it's nice to meet you, too."

"We were just heading to grab some coffee," Melody says, smiling radiantly. "You want to join us?"

"I shouldn't…"

"You should," Leo chimes in.

I shrug, conceding, not wanting to be rude. "Sure, I guess."

I walk with them the few blocks to the café, feeling like one hell of third wheel, as the two of them stroll hand-in-hand, touchy-feely the entire way.

It's nice, though, seeing her look so happy.

"I'll grab the drinks," Leo says as soon as we arrive, pulling his hand away from Melody's. "You two find us some seats."

"I can get my own," I say.

"Nonsense," he replies.

Nonsense.

I hear that word all the damn time.

It's one of Naz's favorites.

I start to protest some more, because he doesn't need to buy my coffee when he doesn't even know me, and besides, I'm not entirely sure how Naz would feel about another guy fronting a bill for me, but Melody yanks on my arm, pulling me toward a small table over along the side, not letting me fight it. I grumble, sliding into the chair across from her, saying something about paying him back that she completely ignores.

Typical.

"By the way, I totally nailed the test the other day," she says. "Only fucked up one question."

"The philosophy one?"

"Yep."

"See? You were worried for nothing."

She shrugs, nodding at the same time, like she's agreeing but doesn't want to admit I was right. Leo returns then, juggling two coffees and a small chocolate mint tea. He sets the warm tea in front of me and I glare at it while he settles into his seat beside Melody.

"Problem?" he asks hesitantly. "That is what you drink here, right?"

"Yeah, it is," I say, glancing at him suspiciously. "How did you know?"

He seems taken aback by my question and just stares at me, while Melody chimes in, waving it off. "He just said like two minutes ago that he's heard a lot about you, which means he's probably heard everything about you by now. We've come here a few times. I've mentioned how you drink that pissy chocolate thing."

"Oh."

"I may have also mentioned how scarf-y you usually are," she says, motioning my way. "Jesus, it's like, eighty fucking degrees out today. Aren't you hot?"

Reaching up, I run my fingertips along the scarf. "No."

I'm lying. Obviously.

I'm sweating like a pig.

The heat radiating from my drink sure isn't helping.

It feels like a sauna in this place.

Ugh, I think I might be running a fever…

She shrugs it off, like she believes what I'm saying, and turns her attention on Leo. Thank God. I sit in silence, watching the two of them converse, a natural ease between them as they talk and laugh. I don't drink my drink. I don't really know why. The thought of doing so almost nauseates me.

Fifteen minutes.

I don't know.

They're encased in a bubble of whatever the hell it is that's radiating off the two of them. I don't know that I'd call it love, since it's still so brand new, but there's certainly a healthy dose of lust mingling with something bigger. Something more.