He Had A Calendar For Her, I Had To Request To See Him Chapter 03

He Had A Calendar For Her, I Had To Request To See Him Chapter 03

Staff immediately put up a rope barrier, leaving me outside the shot.

Just before the photos started, I noticed the sun pin fastened to Elliot’s tie.

It was mine.

I stepped past the rope and pointed at his chest.

“Give me my pin back.”

Elliot glanced down but made no move to remove it.

“I just borrowed it to keep my tie in place. I’ll give it back after the photo. Don’t keep everyone waiting.”

Paige hooked her arm through his as she shifted into position.

“Mara, it’s just a little pin. Today is a big day for Elliot. Let him have his moment.”

The photographer waved impatiently.

“If you’re not in the photo, step back. Girlfriends don’t get to hold up the university’s publicity shoot.”

My advisor started toward me, only to be stopped by the associate dean.

“This is a dispute between young collaborators. Handle it privately. The university just took the top prize. Don’t make a scene now.”

I had thought my advisor, at least, would stand up for me.

But after looking at Elliot onstage, he finally slipped the validation report back into its folder.

“Mara, just wait until tomorrow. I’ll get answers for you.”

Paige smiled and waved everyone closer.

“Everybody squeeze in. Elliot hates wasting time.”

Elliot stood in the center.

The pin flashed under the camera lights. On the back was the serial number 442.

The forecast center had given it to me after I handled my first major storm alert on my own.

Elliot had once clipped it to a red lanyard and said that when long distance was finally over, we would hang it beside the shared calendar in our new place.

When the photos were finished, he removed the pin and handed it back to me.

“Keep track of it this time.”

I held out my hand.

The instant the pin touched my palm, the clasp snapped.

The pin itself dropped onto the thick carpet. I left it there, bending down only to pick up the broken metal clasp and slip it into my pocket.

“If it’s broken, I don’t want it anymore.”

Paige covered her mouth.

“Maybe it was fastened too tightly. Don’t be mad, Mara. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Can you replace 442?”

Elliot frowned.

He bent down, picked up the fallen pin himself, and closed his hand around it.

“It’s just a thing. If you insist on measuring our relationship by an old pin, you’re only making yourself miserable.”

I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt the broken clasp beneath my fingers.

“Then is my model just a thing too?”

“They’re not the same.”

He checked his phone.

“The college is holding a celebration dinner tonight. Go back to the hotel. I’ll get you a car, and don’t sleep through your train tomorrow morning.”

“I was invited too.”

Paige opened the guest list and ran her finger down to the bottom.

“There was only one guest seat reserved for the model’s original developer, but the college gave it to a professor from another university to avoid any appearance of bias. So even if you go, there won’t be a seat for you, Mara.”

At the restaurant entrance, guests checked in against the list one by one.

Checking people in was a woman who had been ahead of me in my undergraduate program. The moment she saw me, she looked away.

“Mara, please don’t put me in the middle. Elliot approved the guest list himself. The associate dean already dragged your advisor off to entertain the sponsors, so there’s no one here tonight who can step in for you.”

Voices rose from inside the restaurant.

“Get the winning duo together for a picture!”

“Elliot, come on—tell us. Who’s the one person you couldn’t have done this without?”

Elliot accepted a glass and answered evenly,

“Someone who can keep up.”

My chest tightened for a moment.

Around the table, everyone laughed as Paige slid his stomach medication toward him.

“Guess I’ll have to stick around a few more years, then. Wouldn’t want all that pointless emotional noise slowing you down.”

The glass door slowly swung shut between us.

The woman at the check-in desk slipped a folder into my hands and lowered her voice.

“This is the project withdrawal statement. I shouldn’t be showing you, but the date on it is wrong.”

I didn’t open it until I reached the far end of the hallway.

According to the document, I had voluntarily given up credit and all future rights to the work because I had been uninvolved with the project for an extended period.

There was no signature at the bottom.

Instead, an activity log exported from our shared calendar had been attached as supporting evidence.

Blue entries filled every day starting two years earlier.

My yellow entries had been marked irrelevant and deleted—but they hadn’t been deleted on our anniversary.

On September 17, two years earlier—the night Elliot first gave Paige access to his account—a plan labeled Replacement had already been created in the system.

At the very bottom was one more line in small print:

[Once the original developer confirms, the change will be made public and take effect at 9:00 p.m. tomorrow.]