Gray’s skin prickles, the fine golden hairs on his forearm lifting as I reach his inner elbow. “It’s just something that comes easily to me,” he says with a shrug. “For my mom too. She could have gone into any field—physics, engineering. But she loved history and theoretical study so she ended being a math historian. Euler was an eighteenth-century mathematician and physicist, a genius. Mom kind of had a thing for him.”

I grin. “That’s cute.”

Gray leans closer to me. Our heads nearly touch as both of us look at his tattoos. His voice is almost a whisper it’s so soft. “She, uh… She died.”

My breath slows. “When?” The idea of him hurting over the loss of his mom, and me not being there for him, makes my stomach hollow out.

“When I was sixteen. Breast cancer.” His throat works on a swallow. “She was in a lot of pain toward the end. I’d sit with her, hold her hand.”

His thick lashes lower, hiding his eyes from me. “She needed that physical contact. But she was in so much pain. She needed more of a distraction than holding my hand.”

Gray’s broad chest lifts and falls as he slows his breathing, gets control. He swallows hard, and I rest my hand on his arm, holding steady.

“One day, I took a pen and told her to give me a lecture. She used to do that with me, expound on the beauty of mathematical theory through proofs, functions, and equations.” He laughs, unsteady. “My bedtime stories.”

Gray’s hand curls into a fist, and the muscles in his arm bunch. “She drew on my arm. Every time. I’d clean it off, and she’d start all over again. These tattoos. They were her last… I had someone ink over her writing. To keep it.”

“It’s beautiful.” I don’t think, just lift his arm and press a gentle kiss to his soft skin.

His forearm tenses, and I find him staring at me with wide eyes. Pain resides there, and a sort of longing too. I recognize it in myself—that need to have someone understand how empty life can feel, as if you’re the only one in your universe.

Gray holds my gaze for another second then clears his throat. “Shit, Mac, you’re going to have me bawling like a baby soon.” He gives me a lopsided smile.

Returning his smile, I let him go and lean back in my seat. “So, crazy complex math is easy for you, huh? You never told me your major.” I’m thinking it’s not what I was expecting.

Gray’s gaze slides away and he takes an extra-big bite of chicken. “Mechanical engineering and nanotechnology,” he mutters around a mouthful.

And I choke on my drink. “Holy shit,” I say when I can breathe again.

Gray just shrugs.

“How the hell did you have time to double major in those fields and still excel at football?”

He slouches down further in his seat. “Added nano to keep things interesting.”

“Because you were breezing through mechanical engineering?” I squeak.

And he fiddles with his napkin. “Yeah, well… Like I said, it’s kind of easy for me. And I really wanted to learn more about nanotechnology. Do you know the cool shit that’s coming out of that field? When you get into the hierarchical architectures of nanostructures—” He stops abruptly, his face a little flushed as if he’s afraid he’s rambling. He is, but I love it.

“You could have gone to an Ivy League school, couldn’t you?” I ask.

“This university has the best football program in the country and a very decent physics department,” he says with a small shrug. “No big deal.”

Stumped by the way he obviously wants to hide his intelligence, I stare. He clearly thinks I’m judging him—he scowls, his big hands curling into fists on the table. “Aren’t you going to ask why I risk playing a dumb jock’s game when I could be more?”

“I wouldn’t ask that. I know there are highly intelligent men who play football.”

He relaxes a little. Then runs a hand through his bright hair. “I’m sorry. I am touchy. I don’t like the extra attention. I mean, I’m freaking six-six. I’m a star player on a championship-winning team. I get enough as it is without questions about my IQ.” He laughs, but it isn’t amused. “Anyway, I love football. I love mathematics and science. This way, I get both. And if football doesn’t pan out, I know I’ll have a good future lined up in nanotechnology.”

“Understatement of the year, Cupcake.” I give his foot a nudge with my own, and he relaxes further.

“So what you up to now that you’re home, Ivy Mac?”

We’ve talked about so many things, but for some reason not our plans for the future. Somehow Gray and I have a relationship focused on the present. I think it was easier for us to simply enjoy each other. But when faced with having to tell him my plans, unease bloats in my belly. I’ve mapped out my life but right here and now I don’t want to look at the paths that I’ve drawn.

I wipe my hands on a napkin before taking a long drink of lemonade. “Technically, I’m not home. You know how for the last year I’ve been with my mom, learning how to run one of her bakeries?” Mom is a first-class baker. She owns and runs three highly successful bakeries around London. Her specialty is breads and cakes.

Gray nods, and I take a breath, my insides suddenly shaky and cold.

“In the spring, I’ll return to London and take over her bakery in Notting Hill.” Aside from her Chelsea location, it is her most lucrative store. Letting me run the place is a huge responsibility, and a huge display of trust.