Chapter 4: The Wrong Delivery

She messaged: "Mulberry tree is on the way, you can come downstairs in a few minutes. You know what a mulberry tree looks like, right?"

Weird question, but whatever. I grabbed my phone and slipped into fuzzy bunny slippers, pajamas and all.

I snagged my DoorDash first, then settled under the crooked old oak outside the dorm, sunlight dappling my mismatched pajamas. I unwrapped my burger, ready for breakfast—then a bike whizzed past, way too close.

I dodged, lost my grip. The burger hit the pavement with a sad splat, ketchup oozing out like a crime scene.

I glared up, furious—then realized the culprit was seriously handsome.

He looked like a Nike model, all sharp features, tanned skin, and muscles in a black sports tee, tennis racket slung over his back. The kind of guy you see jogging at sunrise, oblivious to the rest of us mortals.

My anger fizzled. He jogged over, picked up the burger, and apologized: "Sorry."

I was about to say, "It’s fine, flat is fine too," but what came out was, "Thank you."

Mortifying. He stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

I waved the burger, tried to recover: "Guess I always wanted to try a roadkill burger. Thanks for making that dream come true."

He blinked. "Oh, then you… you’re pretty unique."

He looked away, then started sending a voice message, glancing back at me every so often.