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Boiling Point
Eleni I scroll down a page on my online textbook and glance at the clock on the dining room wall. Nearly one. When I woke up in bed alone, I was a little frustrated. Last night was nothing short of magical for me, but I’ve seen movies, so I know what sneaking out before the other person wakes up means. When I searched the whole house for Dante and didn’t find him—or any note—I was worried. I know he’s a boss, and that means he’s always going to work weird hours, but this much of a rush in the middle of a weekday seems strange. But now, as I sit at his massive, luxurious dining room table trying and failing to do homework for night classes I haven’t been to in what feels like years, I’m downright scared. There’s no sign of Dante except an espresso cup with a thin film remaining at the bo
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