A Season For Us

chapter 5

Eleanor’s pov

Eleanor slid into her seat near the front of the

lecture hall, pulling her laptop from her backpack. She’d arrived ten minutes early—again—and already reviewed her notes from last class. Everything about this course mattered. It wasn’t just a general requirement to check off; it was the foundation of her degree. She wasn’t here to mess around.

And definitely not to flirt with anyone. Especially not him.

She’d noticed him walk in last time. Loud, laughing, tall as hell with an ego that could barely fit through the doorway. He’d tossed out a lazy joke during introductions and smirked like the whole room was supposed to be impressed.

No thanks.

She caught sight of him entering now, blue eyes scanning the room before landing on the empty seat next to her. Of course.

He walked over, easy and confident, and dropped into the seat beside her like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth. “You were in here last class, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied without looking up.

“I’m Zack.”

Of course you are.

“Eleanor.”

“Huh.” He seemed to taste the name, like it surprised him. “Cool name.”

“Thanks.” She pulled up the syllabus, not bothering to meet his gaze.

Professor Moore started speaking then, launching into a discussion on the semester project. Eleanor sat straighter, already ready to take notes.

Group project. Two people. Assigned.

Zack muttered under his breath, “Bet I get stuck with some pain in the ass.”

“Partner list is up front. Come check after class,” the professor called.

When the session ended, Eleanor packed up quickly and made her way to the board. Her stomach dropped.

Eleanor Jones + Zack Dalton

Perfect.

She stepped back and heard him come up beside her.

He snorted. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

She turned to face him. “I’ll do my part. I expect you to do yours.”

He raised a brow. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tank your grade or anything.”

“I’d prefer to meet a couple times this week to get started,” she said, already thinking through her schedule. “It’s a major portion of our grade, and I don’t want to leave it last minute.”

Zack leaned against the wall, grinning like she’d told him something funny. “You’re serious about this, huh?”

She blinked. “Yes?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever works for you. Just let me know when and where. I’ll show.”

She didn’t trust that. Not even a little.

“I’ll send you a message. We can plan something concrete,” she said.

“Looking forward to it, Eleanor.”

She gave him a polite, closed-lip smile. “Have a good day, Zack.”

Then she walked off without a second glance.

---

So Eleanor.

That was her name.

It suited her. Sharp edges. Classic. Serious.

Zack leaned back against the brick wall just outside the lecture building, fingers toying with the strap of his backpack as he watched her walk away like she couldn’t get distance from him fast enough.

He smirked.

Most girls clung to every word he said. Hell, some of them went out of their way just to find out which building he’d be in. But Eleanor? She looked at him like she was checking off a box. Like he was a background prop in her academic drama.

And now they were partners.

For the rest of the semester.

He blew out a breath and shook his head, walking down the steps and across the green to meet Cole for lunch. His mind kept going back to the look on her face—focused, serious, not even annoyed, just… detached.

Like she had real things to worry about.

She said she’d message him, and he didn’t doubt she would. Type-A girls always followed through. But something about her tone… she wasn’t trying to be polite. She just didn’t care about his charm. And that was… new.

He pulled out his phone and opened their class group page. Sure enough, there it was. Message from Eleanor Jones.

> Hey. I’m free Thursday evening and Saturday late morning. Would either work to start the project?

Eleanor

No smiley face. No flirty punctuation. Just the facts.

He tapped out a reply.

> Thursday works.

She responded a minute later.

> Great. Campus library, 4 p.m.

Zack rolled his eyes and pocketed the phone.

Library. Figures.

He was already dreading it.

But also… curious.

Because for the first time in a long time, Zack Dalton wasn’t the one in control. And damn it, part of him liked the challenge.

---

The week passed in uneven beats for both Eleanor Jones and Zack Dalton.

Eleanor’s days were structured, intentional, and quietly demanding. Each morning she rose early—always before her alarm—her body still adjusting to her new schedule but her mind already racing through what needed to be done. Monday had been overwhelming, but by Tuesday she’d found a rhythm. She mapped out her classes, got a better feel for each professor’s expectations, and made a spreadsheet for her assignments. Her calendar was now color-coded, tasks neatly listed and checked off with quiet satisfaction.

Between classes and reading assignments, she worked two training shifts at the coffee shop, shadowing the shift lead. Though she was still learning the register and the timing of milk steaming, she moved with a calm confidence that surprised even herself. Customers were already commenting on how “chill” she was—a compliment she silently clung to.

Zack, by contrast, was in chaos—but the kind he thrived in. Morning workouts. Afternoon classes he barely skimmed the surface of. Nights dominated by practices that ran long and drained his muscles but never quite dulled his energy. Tuesday night’s skate left him bruised and grinning. He was in his element on the ice. But off it? That was a different game.

Since Monday’s class, he couldn’t shake the girl with the serious eyes and clipped tone. Jones. Eleanor Jones. He liked the way her name sounded—sharp, not soft. She hadn’t looked at him like most girls did. There was no flicker of curiosity, no suggestive smile. She was... focused. Unimpressed. And, strangely, that had stuck with him.

Their only exchange after class had been brief—trading numbers, more necessity than interest on her part. She hadn’t texted him since, and he hadn’t reached out either. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he didn’t know what he’d say that wouldn’t immediately come off wrong. He wasn’t used to working for someone’s attention.

By Thursday afternoon, the day felt oddly weighted. Eleanor had finished her classes by 3:15 and had gone straight to the library, arriving early. She chose a seat by the window on the second floor—one of the quieter corners overlooking the quad—and set her laptop down. She had their project outline typed up, bullet points already forming. She sipped from a reusable water bottle and double-checked the time. 3:55 p.m.

Zack arrived at 4:08.

Late. Of course.

He wore a hoodie, joggers, and an amused smirk, like he’d just stepped off the cover of some athletic ad campaign and wandered in by accident. He dropped into the chair across from her and gave a nod.

“You’re early,” he said.

“You’re late,” she replied, not bothering to hide her irritation.

Zack tilted his head, grin intact. “Touché.”

They opened their laptops and began discussing the assignment—well, Eleanor began. Zack leaned back, arms folded, offering commentary only when necessary. She was clear, direct, and surprisingly patient with him. Still, it didn’t take long for the differences to surface.

“I just don’t see why we have to go that deep into the text,” Zack said at one point, scanning the first section she’d written. “I mean, we’re not writing a thesis.”

Eleanor looked up, leveling him with a look that was more tired than annoyed. “Because it’s not just about finishing the assignment. It’s about understanding it.”

He shrugged. “Understanding doesn’t always mean overanalyzing.”

“No, but it does mean showing the professor we actually care.”

“Do you?”

“I care about my grades,” she said evenly, eyes back on the screen. “That’s enough.”

For a moment, Zack was quiet, watching her. Focused. Purposeful. She didn’t fidget or seek approval. She just worked.

And despite himself, he found that far more interesting than anything else happening in his week.