Chapter 5: The Hand Under the Table
The coffee shop was a war zone.
Miri stood in the doorway, her thesis notes clutched against her chest like a shield, and tried to remember how to breathe. The place was packed—every table occupied, every booth filled, the line snaking nearly to the door. Steam curled from the espresso machine in thick white ribbons. The air smelled of burnt coffee and cinnamon and the particular mustiness of old upholstery. Someone's phone was playing tinny music from across the room. Someone else was laughing too loud.
She was ten minutes early.
She'd been aiming for fifteen, honestly. But she'd changed her outfit four times—first the green sweater, then the burgundy one, then back to the green, then the gray one that made her look like she was attending a funeral for her own self-confidence—and by the time she'd settled on the burgundy, she'd lost six minutes. Her hair was in its usual messy bun, pencil included, though she'd actually bothered to brush it first. Her glasses were already sliding down her nose.
She'd debated wearing contacts. She'd debated wearing makeup. She'd debated staying home and texting him that she'd been struck by a sudden, mysterious illness that required her to remain in bed for the next forty-eight hours.
But she was here. She was actually here.
And so was he.
Leo was sprawled in a booth near the back window, his long legs stretched out beneath the table, his arm draped over the back of the seat. He was wearing a gray henley that stretched across his shoulders in a way that seemed almost deliberately unfair, and his hair was still damp, like he'd just come from the shower. Two coffee cups sat in front of him—one black, one loaded with cream and sugar, the way she'd ordered at the Italian place.
He spotted her the moment she walked in.
His face split into a grin, wide and easy and infuriatingly confident, and he raised one hand in a small wave.
Miri's legs forgot how to function. She stood there for a full three seconds, frozen in the doorway, her heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Then she forced herself to move, weaving through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the floor so she wouldn't have to meet anyone else's gaze.
"Hey, nerd."
She slid into the booth across from him, setting her notes down on the table like a barricade. "Hi."
"That's it? That's all I get?" He was teasing her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "After I bought you coffee and everything?"
"Thank you. For the coffee." She reached for the cup, her fingers wrapping around it, and took a sip. Perfect. Creamy and sweet, exactly the way she liked it. "How did you know?"
"Pay attention, remember?" He tapped his temple. "I noticed at the restaurant."
She took another sip, mainly so she wouldn't have to respond. The warmth spread through her chest, loosening something tight and anxious that had been coiled there since she'd woken up.
"So," Leo said, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table. "Tell me about this medieval seminar of yours."
Miri blinked. "You want to hear about my seminar?"
"I want to hear about whatever you want to talk about." He shrugged, and the movement pulled his henley tight across his chest. "You're the one with the interesting brain. I'm just the guy who throws a ball."
"You don't throw a ball. You play football."
"Same thing."
"It is absolutely not the same thing."
He smiled, slow and deliberate, and she realized she'd walked right into it. "There she is."
"What?"
"The nerd who told me elephants were used in medieval warfare." His smile widened. "I was wondering where she went."
Miri's face went hot. She looked down at her coffee, at the swirl of cream still dissolving into the dark liquid. "That's not—I was just saying that they were used in some battles. Historically. It's not like I'm an expert on war elephants."
"You could be. If you wanted."
"I could be an expert on a lot of things."
"So could I." He shifted in his seat, and then his hand was on the table, sliding across the formica, his fingers finding hers. He laced them together, palm to palm, and squeezed.
Miri's breath caught. She stared at their joined hands, at his thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles, at the way his skin looked against hers—darker, warmer, so much larger. Her heart was doing something complicated in her chest, something that felt like falling.
"Under the table," she managed.
"Under the table," he agreed. "No one can see."
"Except anyone who looks under the table."
"Nobody looks under the table, Miri."
She looked up at him. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes steady. The chaos of the coffee shop seemed to fade around them, the noise dropping to a distant hum. She could feel the heat of his palm, the gentle pressure of his fingers, the way his thumb kept moving in those small, steady circles.
She'd never held hands with anyone before. Not like this. Not with someone who looked at her like she was something worth looking at.
"Okay," she said quietly.
"Okay?"
"Okay, you can hold my hand."
His smile was slow and bright, and something in her chest cracked open.
They talked for an hour. About her seminar—she was researching the role of women in medieval manuscript production, which was more interesting than it sounded, she promised. About his upcoming game—a home match against their biggest rivals, which he described with a mix of excitement and dread that made her understand, for the first time, that football wasn't just something he did. It was something he loved.
"I get nervous before every game," he admitted. "Every single one. Doesn't matter who we're playing."
"You? Nervous?"
"I know. Shocking." He grinned, but it was a different grin than before—smaller, more private. "My mom used to make me these little good luck notes before every game in high school. Stupid stuff. 'You're gonna crush 'em, baby.' I still keep them in my locker."
Miri's throat tightened. "That's really sweet."
"She's the best person I know." He looked down at their hands, at his thumb still tracing circles on her skin. "I don't know what I'd do without her."
She was about to say something—she didn't know what, something that would probably come out wrong and awkward and clumsy—when she reached for the sugar dispenser to add more sweetener to her coffee.
Her elbow caught the edge of the glass jar.
It tipped. It wobbled. It fell.
Sugar exploded across the table, a cascade of white crystals that scattered over her notes, her coffee, her hands. The jar rolled off the edge and hit the floor with a dull thunk, spilling the rest of its contents in a glittering heap.
Miri froze.
"Oh my god," she said. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"
Leo was already moving.
He released her hand—she felt the loss of it like a physical thing—and slid out of the booth, crouching down to gather the fallen jar. His shoulder brushed her knee. His head was level with her waist. And when he looked up at her, his face was inches from hers.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I knocked over the sugar."
"I noticed."
"Everyone's looking."
"No one's looking." He set the jar on the table, his hand still resting on the edge of her seat. "And even if they were, who cares?"
Miri's breath came shallow. She could see the individual lashes framing his eyes. Could see the faint scar on his jaw she'd noticed the first night, the one he'd told her came from a childhood bike accident. Could smell his cologne—something clean and woodsy, something that made her want to lean closer.
"I've been thinking about your mouth all morning," he said quietly.
Her brain short-circuited.
"You—what?"
"Your mouth." His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up. "The way it looks when you're concentrating. The way it looks when you're trying not to smile. The way it felt when I kissed you."
"Leo—"
"Just saying." He straightened, his hand grazing her shoulder as he rose, and slid back into his seat. "You've got sugar on your sweater."
She looked down. A fine dusting of white covered the left side of her chest, sparkling in the morning light. She brushed at it, frantic, her face burning so hot she thought she might actually combust.
"Here." Leo reached across the table, his fingers brushing against her shoulder, sweeping the sugar away. His touch was light, almost reverent, and it lingered a moment longer than necessary. "Got it."
"Thank you."
"Anytime."
She was about to say something—something normal, something that didn't sound like the squeak of a dying mouse—when a voice cut through the noise of the coffee shop.
"Yo! Castellano!"
Miri looked up.
Three guys were standing near the counter, all of them wearing athletic gear, all of them grinning. Football players, clearly—she recognized the logo on their hoodies. One of them, a stocky guy with a buzzed head, was pointing at Leo with an exaggerated wave.
"Who's the girl?" he called. "She your tutor or something?"
The others laughed. Loud, obnoxious laughter that seemed to fill the entire shop.
Miri's stomach dropped. She could feel the familiar panic rising, the cold wash of humiliation, the certainty that everything was about to fall apart. They were looking at her. All of them. Looking at her with her baggy sweater and her messy bun and the sugar still dusting her notes. Looking at her and seeing exactly what she'd always known she was—a nobody. A nerd. A girl who didn't belong.
She started to pull her hand back.
But Leo caught it.
He held on, his grip firm, his eyes never leaving her face. "Don't," he said quietly.
"Leo, they're—"
"I know what they're doing." He turned his head, finally, and looked at the group of guys. His expression didn't change. His voice didn't rise. He just looked at them, steady and calm, and said: "Get lost."
The stocky guy blinked. "What?"
"Get lost," Leo repeated. "I'm busy."
The guys exchanged glances. One of them shrugged. The stocky one raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning, but there was something uncertain in his eyes now. They shuffled backward, muttering among themselves, and disappeared through the front door.
Leo turned back to Miri.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded. She couldn't speak. Her throat was too tight, her chest too full. No one had ever done that for her before. No one had ever stood up for her, defended her, chosen her over the approval of his friends.
"You didn't have to do that," she whispered.
"Yes, I did."
"They're your friends."
"They're guys I play football with." He squeezed her hand. "You're the girl I'm having coffee with. Not the same thing."
Miri stared at him. At his steady gaze, his easy confidence, the faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. She didn't understand him. She didn't understand how he could be so casual about it, how he could brush off his friends like they were nothing, how he could sit here holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This. Me. I don't—" She shook her head. "I don't understand why you're here."
Leo was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his face close to hers.
"You want to know why I'm here?" he said. "I'm here because you're the most interesting person I've met in years. I'm here because you told me about war elephants and made me laugh harder than I've laughed in months. I'm here because when I kissed you on that porch, I felt something I've never felt before." He paused. "I'm here because I want to be. Is that enough?"
Miri's eyes stung. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. "That's enough," she said.
"Good."
They finished their coffee. Leo paid—he insisted, even when she tried to argue—and walked her out of the shop, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The sun was higher now, the morning chill burned away, and the campus was alive with students heading to classes, riding bikes, laughing in groups.
Miri walked beside him, her notes clutched to her chest, her heart still racing. She was acutely aware of every point of contact—his hand on her back, his shoulder brushing hers, the warmth of him radiating in the space between them.
"Where's your lecture?" he asked.
"Humanities building."
"Lead the way."
They walked in comfortable silence. She kept sneaking glances at him, unable to believe he was real, unable to believe he was here, with her, in the daylight, where anyone could see. A few people stared as they passed. She pretended not to notice.
The humanities building was at the edge of campus, a squat brick structure that had seen better decades. Miri stopped at the corner, beneath the shadow of a large oak tree, and turned to face him.
"This is me," she said.
"I know."
"You do?"
"I asked around." He grinned, unrepentant. "Wanted to know where to find you."
Her face went hot. "That's—that's really stalkerish."
"I prefer 'resourceful.'"
She laughed—actually laughed, a real laugh that surprised them both. Leo's grin widened, and something in his expression shifted, softened, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.
"I have to go," she said. "Class starts in five minutes."
"I know."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Neither of them moved.
Then Leo stepped forward.
He moved slowly, deliberately, giving her every chance to pull away. His hand came up, his fingers brushing her cheek, and he tilted her face toward his. She could feel her pulse hammering in her throat, could feel the rough warmth of his palm, could feel the world narrowing to just this—just him.
"You've got sugar on your nose," he murmured.
"I do not."
"You do." He smiled. "I'm going to kiss you now."
"Okay."
He kissed her.
It wasn't like the porch. It wasn't gentle or tentative or careful. This kiss was hungry, deep, his mouth moving against hers like he'd been starving for her, like he'd been waiting all morning just to do this. His free hand found her waist, pulling her close, and her back hit the brick wall behind her. She gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against hers, his fingers tangling in the loose strands of her hair.
She melted.
Her notes slipped from her arms, scattering on the ground, and she didn't care. She reached for him, her hands gripping his henley, pulling him closer. He groaned low in his throat, and the sound sent heat flooding through her, from her stomach to her chest to the tips of her fingers.
She didn't know how long they stood there. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Time had stopped meaning anything.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers, his chest rising and falling in time with her own.
"You're going to be late," he whispered.
"I know."
"You should go."
"I know."
Neither of them moved.
Then, from somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
Miri jolted. "Oh my god, that's the—I have to—" She bent down frantically, scooping up her scattered notes, her face burning. Leo helped, gathering papers with an ease that suggested he was used to chaos, and handed them to her with a small smile.
"Go," he said. "I'll text you later."
"Okay."
"Miri."
She was already turning, already running, but she stopped at the sound of her name.
Leo was standing beneath the oak tree, his hands in his pockets, his hair mussed from her fingers. He looked happy. Really, genuinely happy.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
Then she ran.
She made it to class with thirty seconds to spare, sliding into her seat just as Professor Ellery began her lecture on the Canterbury Tales. Her heart was still pounding. Her lips were still tingling. She couldn't focus on a single word.
Instead, she pulled out her phone under the desk and texted Chloe.
I'm in trouble.
The reply came within seconds.
Chloe: What happened?
Miri: I think I might actually like him.
Chloe: YOU THINK?
Miri: I know. It's bad. It's really bad.
Chloe: It's not bad. It's amazing. You deserve this. Also I want every detail when you get home.
Miri smiled down at her phone, at the bright screen, at the words that promised something she was only beginning to understand.
Then Professor Ellery called on her, and she had to shove her phone away and pretend she had any idea what was happening in the text.
She didn't. Not even close.
But for the first time in a long time, she didn't mind.