She shifts her attention from the board and orders an espresso, a bottle of sparkling water, and a kale salad. Marshall rings her order in and I have to press my heels to the floor to keep from striding over and offering to buy her meal. Don’t be weird, that voice with the tiny compass says. She might be a student. Also, you’re staring like a fucking creep.

Shit. I am.

Not that I stop myself.

The rest of my brain, the feral part that likes to beat up the guy with the compass, is begging this woman to turn in my direction. I just want one glance of her full face. I want to put what I saw in profile into context. But the woman turns away as though she can hear my desperate thoughts. I watch as she leaves the counter with a table number and her water, her movement as graceful as a panther. She slides onto a chair several tables away, facing me but angled toward the window, and I catch myself before I audibly moan.

She’s fucking stunning.

She sits with perfect, rigid posture, not letting her back touch the chair. The movement of her hands is smooth and graceful as she pulls a folder from her bag and lays it neatly in front of her, saving room for her salad to arrive. Her skin is luminous in the light of the window, a spread of freckles dotting her nose and lending a softness to the severity of her expression. There is strength in her beauty with her defined yet feminine jaw and her high cheekbones and her sharp stare that follows movement outside as though she might break through the glass to take her prey down. But it’s more than just the harmony of her features. There’s some kind of energy to her that pulls it all together. A gravity. A planet’s worth of mysteries behind those piercing eyes.

Stop. Staring. You. Fucking. Creep.

My struggle to force my gaze away continues as Marshall delivers her salad and espresso. She gives him a polite smile, a flash of straight white teeth. Marshall asks if she wants anything else. He’s lingering at the edge of her table, leaning a little toward her. Trying to give off signals. Interested signals. As if, Marshall. Keep dreaming, my man. I wrestle a sudden urge to storm over there and pull him away even though he’s technically just doing his job. Clearly, I don’t need to worry about it. I can tell Marshall is about to turn on some of his lacrosse-star gym-bro charm when something intangible turns cold behind the woman’s smile. She says a polite “no thank you” and then turns to her salad with finality.

I manage to tear my eyes from her as I bite down on my grin and focus my gaze on the screen. But all my attention is on her. I follow her movement in my peripheral vision. I steal subtle glances over my coffee cup. Her eyes are always on her food and her papers. It’s almost as though she’s actively avoiding me, and that’s probably for the best. She’s likely a student, and I won’t go there. But I can’t seem to stop myself from watching this woman who seems filled with some kind of rare, wild magic.

My effort to focus on the dissertation proposal is futile. I can’t seem to concentrate on the content, even though the writing is concise and the topic is interesting. “Improving long-term memory recollection and reliability in expert witness testimony.” I can understand why Ms. Brooks would want to meet given my expertise, and in any other circumstance I’d be delving into the detail of her proposal. But not with this sabbatical looming. And not with my thoughts entirely corrupted by the woman who sits across from me.

I look out the window and try to shepherd my scattered thoughts. It doesn’t work. My attention keeps drifting to the table where the woman sits. The moment she walked in here and opened her mouth, it’s as though she lured me into some kind of spell. I’ve been so bewitched by her that I only now realize my coffee has cooled to lukewarm and my screen has gone to sleep.

Get your shit together, for fuck sakes.

I check my watch, fighting her magnetic pull. It’s 1:05 p.m. If I buckle down, I’ll have enough time to finish the work I intended to do and struggle my way through this proposal in advance of my meeting with Ms. Brooks. Plenty of time if I get my ass in gear and focus. I should probably get up and go. I remind myself that this mystery woman might be a student.

And if she’s not?

…I might never see her again.

The thought strikes me like a whip. I lift my gaze and it collides with hers.

Shit.

She’s looking at me. Her eyes latch onto mine and do not let go. They’re dark in color and intensity. There’s a hidden world behind them, and that place looks full of secrets and shadows.

The woman arches a single eyebrow and lowers her mug, revealing a faint smirk. Caught you, it seems to say. She keeps hold of my gaze, unblinking, her motion as smooth as a predator as she lifts the mug back up to her lips and finishes her drink.

Fucking hell.Who is this woman?

A vibration on the table breaks the connection and I force my eyes down, even though it feels like fighting a tide. It’s a message from Fletcher. Of course it is. Her cockblocking skills are legendary.

Hey Kap, are we still on for dinner and drinks later? You pick the place, but you should know I’m in the mood for spinach and artichoke dip. Blake has an emergency at the hospital that she needs to take care of, so it’s just going to be us.

I’m tapping out a reply as I sense movement in my periphery and glance up. The woman has already gathered her things and stands, then strides toward the exit. Damnit, I’m going to lose her. If she’s a student, I’ll back off, pretend this never happened. But what if she’s not? God, I really hope she’s here at a college coffee shop for the amazing drinks or Marshall’s reputation or the fucking kale, I don’t care. Anything other than studying. I scramble to grab my things to chase after her.

Her name. I need to know her name.

I shove my belongings into my satchel and toss it over my shoulder with too much gusto in my desperation. It knocks my coffee cup over and onto the floor, shattering it into a hundred tiny shards. The remainder of my drink drips off the edge of the table and onto the jagged ceramic points. Marshall heads in my direction with a broom and some rags. I whisper a curse under my breath and pick up some of the largest pieces, slicing the tip of my finger in the process. Of course. Because of all times for this to happen, it happens now.

“You okay there, Kap?” Marshall asks as I grab a napkin and press it to the cut.

“Yeah, I’m sorry man. Really. I gotta run. I just realized I’m late,” I lie, my cheeks heating as the words tumble out of my mouth. I throw an extra twenty dollars on a dry section of the table and clap Marshall on the shoulder as I duck around him, leaving him to clean up my mess.

The bell strung above the door rings as I run out of the cafe. There’s a flicker of hope in my chest that I can catch up to her. I take in a ragged breath of mountain air, my heart hammering with anticipation. I scan my surroundings. Where did she go? The parking lot? No. To the library? No. The dorms? No, thank fuck for that. It's as though she vanished into thin air.

Left.

Right.

And everywhere in between.

There was no sign of the beautiful woman with the mysterious eyes and the intoxicating voice.

She was real, right?

I pivot one last time and my shoulders drop as I accept the fact that she’s gone. Well, I don’t really accept it. It sucks. But there’s nothing I can do about it now except keep watch for her with every step I take. And if I do see her, I’ll push people out of my way if I have to. I’ll get to her and find out who she is.

I drag a hand down my face and fix the twisted strap of my bag before stalking off in the direction of the Psychology building. There’s no sign of the woman. I try to push her out of my mind as I make my way to my office on the third floor, sinking into my chair with a frustrated sigh. Once my computer is set up and I’m settled, I resolve to put all my focus where it’s meant to be. On this syllabus. On responding to reading list requests. I even manage to pull some lecture notes and slides together for the Introduction to Cognition class. By 2:10 p.m., I’m starting on the document from Ms. Brooks, trying again from the beginning, convinced I’ll have enough time in the twenty minutes before her appointment to pull together some high-level thoughts and recommendations for alternative advisors.