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I press my lips together to hide a smile.

He cuts himself a very small slice—one I probably wouldn’t have noticed missing. I can’t see his face, but I can perfectly picture the expression he wore last night: trying not to enjoy it quite so much, and failing completely.

My heart does a stupid little flip.

Paul is still talking, but I don’t hear a word.

Levi finishes the slice, returns the pie tin to the fridge exactly as he found it. Then something catches his eye.

The cupboard to the left of the sink—the one with the loose hinge. He tests the door. It sags. Without hesitation, he steps out of frame and returns moments later with a screwdriver.

I don’t even want to think about how he knew exactly where to find it.

For the next two minutes, I watch him quietly fix the hinge. When he’s done, he opens and closes the door several times, testing it until it sits perfectly flush. Before he leaves, he straightens the tea towel on the oven handle.

I’m sitting in the middle of class, grinning like an absolute idiot.

And I’m still smiling when Paul says my name.

“Carmen?”

My head snaps up. “Yes?”

Paul raises an eyebrow. “Care to share your thoughts on the critical thinking principles we just discussed?”

“I, uh…”

He waits, eyebrows climbing higher.

My face burns.

“You, of all people,” he says lightly, “should be paying attention.”

A few classmates glance my way.

I keep my expression pleasant. But I feel like a scorned child. I should have been paying attention.

And I do for the rest of the lecture.

When class finally ends, Paul hands back our graded maths tests with his usual cheerful efficiency. Mine bears a giant red FAIL stamped across the top.

For a moment, I just stare at it, waiting for it to change. For my name to vanish. For some sign of a mix-up.

But no. Every answer is wrong.

Again.

I keep a smile fixed on my face until I’m out the door. The second I reach my car in the parking lot, the tears spill over—hot, humiliating tears that only make me angrier with myself, which makes me cry harder.

I’ve been studying for weeks. Staying up late. Working through worksheets. Watching videos. Letting Levi talk me through problems over and over, all while pretending I don’t feel ridiculous for needing the help.

And I still failed.

I wipe roughly at my cheeks and start the engine.

When I pull up at home, Levi is in his front yard with his keys in hand, probably on his way to collect Theo from school.

The second he sees my face, he crosses the distance between us.