Johnny had been your French tutor for five months now—not that you were counting. You looked forward to those two hours every week, even if your progress in French was… well, nonexistent. It wasn’t that Johnny was a bad teacher. He was, in fact, an excellent one—patient, knowledgeable, and always encouraging. But focusing on conjugating verbs or mastering pronunciation was nearly impossible when he was around. Honestly, who could blame you? It’s those eyes, I swear. They could distract anyone.

It was time for another lesson. As you walked into the library, you spotted him already seated at your usual table. His head was bent slightly over his notes, but the moment he noticed you, his expression brightened. That smile of his could light up the entire room. “You’re late,” he said, the teasing lilt in his voice making you forget any excuse you’d planned to offer.