Two weeks into summer break, Ainsley stopped by the school to drop off forgotten paperwork. She didn't plan on seeing Calvin. But when she passed the library, she saw the lights on.
And like a moth to a flame, she walked in.
"Thought you'd be out enjoying the sun," he said, not looking up from the new cataloging system.
"Thought you'd be at the lake."
They talked again. Laughed again. And when she stood to leave, Calvin followed her out.
In the hallway - empty, still, echoing - he reached out and took her hand.
It was barely a touch. But it broke something open.
She turned to face him. His eyes searched hers for permission, for regret, for anything.
And then he kissed her.
Soft. Unsure. Desperate.
When they pulled apart, Ainsley didn't know if she was trembling from the kiss or the guilt.
"Calvin-"
"I know."
"We can't-"
"I know."
But neither of them moved.