Ashton laughed. Mr Yi was pushing seventy and shuffled around college with a cane. ‘Damn, I thought I had that one locked down.’

‘Maybe next semester,’ I joked. ‘He might not last long.’

Ashton smiled. ‘Any way at all you can take that Wednesday class? You’re screwing up the grading curve for this session.’

‘I can’t,’ I sighed, ‘I work full-time.’

‘What if I wrote your boss a note?’ Ashton said, still playful. ‘Dear . . . ’

‘Weber.’

‘Dear Mr Weber,’ he continued. ‘Please excuse Chloe on Wednesdays, I urgently need her to brighten up my classroom. I will be bereft without her.’

I laughed. ‘Cut it out.’

‘What? I mean it.’ Ashton glanced over. ‘You’re the only one of those kids who gives a damn.’

‘I’m not a kid,’ I answered automatically. There was a pause, Ashton glanced over, his lips curling in a smile.

‘No, you’re not.’ He paused. ‘You know, my place isn’t far. I could swing by and pick up some of the books on the list, if you’d like to borrow them. I know the cost can add up,’ he added, sympathetic.

I looked over. ‘Sure, if you don’t mind. I mean, that would be great.’

‘It’s no problem at all. Anything for my favourite student,’ he said with a smile.

Ashton drove another couple of miles, then took an exit, heading through a more suburban area filled with construction and half-built houses. He slowed, turning on to a cul-de-sac lined with identical red-brick buildings and street-lights, bright over the silent sidewalks.

‘Have you lived out here long?’ I ask, watching the front-yard pass. It was all brand new, like something from a movie set, and for some reason it wasn’t what I’d expected Ashton’s neighbourhood to be. He looked like he should be hanging out in a loft somewhere downtown, across from a dive bar and record store, not here, among the swing sets and mini-vans.

‘About six months now,’ Ashton replied. ‘My girlfriend picked it. Great schools,’ he added, but there was a note of tension in his tone.

‘It’s nice,’ I said quickly. ‘Safe.’

He pulled into the drive of a semi-detached house near the end of the street. ‘Most of my stuff is still in boxes,’ he apologized. ‘It’ll take a minute to dig everything out.’

‘That’s fine, I don’t mind,’ I said, pulling out my phone to pass the time.

He laughed. ‘You can’t wait out here. Come on in. I warn you, the place is still a work-in-progress,’ he added, closing the door behind him. I paused, then grabbed my purse and climbed out, following him to the door. ‘It’s always the way, right?’ he said, opening up and turning on the lights. ‘You unpack just enough to make the place livable, and then leave everything stacked in the closet until you move again.’

‘I don’t know.’ I felt self-conscious as I stepped inside and looked around. ‘I’ve never moved anywhere before.’

The house was open-plan and box-fresh, the walls still plain white; the furniture stranded in the middle of the living room in front of a flat-screen TV.

‘Well, you will,’ Ashton declared. ‘And when you do, remember: labels are your friend. The first night, we spent hours opening every damn box trying to find the clean sheets.’

I took another few steps inside, drifting to the huge bookcases that spanned the far wall. They were the most lived-in part of the place: packed with old cloth-bound hardbacks and dog-eared novels, cluttered with photos and mementos. I paused over a framed photograph of Ashton with a smiling blonde woman. He looked younger. Happier.

‘Is this your girlfriend?’ I asked.

He looked up, rifling through a box in the corner. ‘Yeah, that’s Bree. She’s visiting friends in Fort Wayne. Some bachelorette girls thing.’ He straightened up. ‘I know it was here somewhere . . . ’ he said, surveying the boxes with a frown.

‘It’s OK,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t need them right away.’

‘No, no I’ve got this.’ He left the room and I turned back to the bookcase, tracing the spines. He’d travelled all over, I could see from the flyers and maps lodged between the covers. I felt an ache of longing.

One day, I would get the hell out of this town. One day.

Music came from the speakers in the corner. ‘You like the Original Riot?’

I startled, turning. Ashton was leaning against the door to the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine.

‘What?’

‘This band, I saw them play a couple of years ago,’ he explained, watching me. ‘They’re great live.’

‘I don’t know them.’ I said quickly. ‘You know, thanks for looking for those books, but I really have to get back.’

‘You’ve got time for a quick drink.’ Ashton held the glass out, offering it to me.

‘No, thanks.’ I shook my head.

He laughed. ‘You can relax, we’re not in school now. I promise, I won’t tell.’

‘It’s fine.’ I moved towards the door. ‘My mom’s waiting up for me. She gets worried if I’m late.’

‘So call, tell her you’ll be a while.’ Ashton took a sip of the wine, still watching me with a lazy smile. ‘We can get to know each other a little better.’

My heart began to beat a little faster, adrenalin skittering in my veins.

We were alone in the house.

‘You know what, I’ll just call my boyfriend and have him come and pick me up,’ I said, picking my purse up from where I’d set it on the table by the door. I fumbled with the strap, trying to find my cell, trying even harder to stay casual, seeming relaxed. ‘You don’t need to go out of your way for me.’

‘It’s no trouble.’ Ashton put his wine glass down and moved closer to me, looming just a few inches away. ‘Stay, have a drink, then I’ll run you back home.’

‘No, I have to go,’ I said again, pulling out my cell. Before I could dial, he took it from my hand.

‘What is this thing, a relic from the nineties?’ he laughed, examining the case. He juggled it from one hand to the other, teasing. ‘Do you have to tap out a message in Morse Code?

I froze, my heart racing. ‘Can I have that back?’ I asked. I tried not to panic, there was nothing wrong. He was just kidding around. ‘Ashton?’ I asked again, reaching for my phone. He ducked back, out of my grasp. ‘Please, Mr Davis, stop it.’