2 Chapter 2 - Rescue and First Love 2 Chapter 2 - Rescue and First Love *Five years earlier...* 1 Snow fell like sifted sugar over Fifth Avenue, blanketing the street in icy glaze. Seventeen-year-old Caroline Monroe squinted through the windshield of her father's Jaguar, her fingers tight around the steering wheel. She had begged to drive herself to voice lessons that day-insisting she was "practically an adult." Now she was fishtailing toward disaster. A delivery truck ahead had jackknifed across three lanes. Caroline's brakes screamed as she swerved. The car spun. A blur of movement. A man-no, a boy-threw himself toward her door. Glass cracked. Seatbelt snapped. Her body was yanked sideways as the Jaguar slammed sideways into a streetlight. When her vision cleared, she was lying in a snowbank. Her breath came out in white gasps. "Are you hurt?" The voice was deep, calm, steady. Hands pressed gently to her arms, checking for breaks. She blinked into a face half-shadowed by a knit cap and a bleeding eyebrow. "I-I think I'm okay," she croaked. "Good. Let's keep it that way." Sirens echoed from far off. Caroline shivered as the cold settled into her bones. "Car's leaking. Let's move." She nodded. He helped her up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they limped to the sidewalk. Only later, in the ER under blinding lights, did she learn his name: *Mason Rutherford.* Columbia University senior. Heir to Rutherford Holdings. Twenty-one years old, with sharp cheekbones and eyes like iced coffee-cool, unreadable, and deeply focused. He joked with the nurses as they stitched his brow. She watched from her bed, captivated. "Thank you," she whispered, when he passed by her curtained space. He paused. "Don't mention it," But she would. She couldn't stop thinking about him for days. Three days later, a floral arrangement the size of a chair arrived at Columbia's administrative office. No card-just her initials carved onto a gold ribbon: *CM.* She sent another bouquet the next week, along with a handwritten thank-you note tucked in a book of Rilke poems. No reply. 10:05 1/4 < 2 Chapter 2 - Rescue and First Love Her mother rolled her eyes. "Darling, he's too old." Caroline smiled behind her teacup. "So I'll grow up." The third week, she brought him soup. Chicken matzo, homemade. She waited outside the Rutherford building on campus like it was perfectly normal to be there. When Mason finally emerged, earbuds in, she stepped into his path. He paused, his expression unreadable. "I thought you might be tired of dining hall food," she said, offering the thermos. His brows raised. "You again." "Persistent," she said with a grin. A beat. Then, surprisingly, he accepted it. "Thanks." From that moment, she became a fixture in his peripheral vision. She learned his coffee order-double espresso, one sugar. She started volunteering at the hospital where his mother chaired the board. It wasn't coincidence. When she found out he liked sailing, she joined the Columbia sailing club despite never having set foot on a boat. After three bouts of seasickness, she earned a pity nod from him and a dry towel. Still, he remained cool. Cordial. Distant. But not dismissive. And that was enough. Every tiny kindness-a returned smile, a held door, a polite nod-became firewood for her hope. She told herself she was just being patient, She believed love could be built, brick by brick, if she worked hard enough. And Mason Rutherford? He was worth the blueprints. Months passed. She memorized his schedule, the color of his scarves, the way he checked his watch with the back of his fingers instead of the palm. She waited for the moment he'd see her. Really *see* her. 214 < 2 Chapter 2 - Rescue and First Love And then, one Wednesday in spring, it happened. He had just stepped out of class when he saw her chatting with a younger student. He stopped. Tilted his head. For the first time, his eyes weren't distant. "You're everywhere," he said quietly. She laughed. "Coincidence." His lips quirked. "Or strategy." "Maybe both." "You're not giving up, are you?" She shook her head, heart thudding. "Never." He watched her for a moment, then turned to leave. But that night, he texted her for the first time. One word. *Thanks.* It wasn't a love story. Not yet. But it was a beginning. And Caroline Monroe, seventeen and stubborn, promised herself one thing beneath the pink spring blossoms that fell like confetti across the Columbia lawn: No matter how long it took, she would stand beside Mason Rutherford. No matter the price. No matter the patience. Comment 0 10-06 Leave the first comment for this chapter. 314