We made our way through one small stone courtyard and into the larger one, which was on every official Harkness tour. My brother Damien had once complained about dodging tourists and their cameras when he was on the way to class. But if that was the price of living in an historic granite and marble castle, so be it.
On the far side of the courtyard, Hartley stopped our progress. “Shit,” he said, looking up at the building. “The dining hall is on the second floor. I forgot about the stairs.”
“You know, Beaumont dining hall isn’t on the accessible map,” I said. “I think I’ll try another dining hall.” Commons wasn’t open for dinner, but I’d already memorized which houses had first-floor dining rooms.
Hartley leaned over the handles of his crutches and shook his head. “I’m not climbing it, either. But…how does the food get up there? I bet they don’t carry it up the stairs.” He frowned up at the building. “I can’t believe I’ve eaten here for two years and never wondered about that.” He turned toward another gate leading out onto the street. “Dana, we’ll meet you inside. There must be a service entrance. This way, Callahan.”
My face pink, I followed Hartley out onto Pine Alley, which backed up to both Beaumont and Turner House.
“That will be it,” Hartley grinned. He limped toward a gray metal door with an intercom beside it. He pushed the button.
“Yeah!” came a voice.
He looked at me, his dimple showing. “Delivery!”
A moment later, the gray door slid open to reveal a dimly lit elevator carriage, which was not even full height. “Classy,” Hartley said. “Well, let’s do this.” There was a slight lip, which almost tripped him up. But he ducked inside, holding the door while I rolled myself backwards into the car. The door slid shut with a grinding sound that scared me. Was this going to become one of those moments — the kind you look back on later and wonder why you followed a hot guy into a shaky, unmarked elevator? But Hartley only chuckled as the car seemed to tremble around us. “I hope you have good lungs, in case we need to yell for help.”
The car rose so slowly that I didn’t relax until the door finally wheezed open. When we emerged into a brightly lit kitchen, a guy in a chef’s hat frowned at us, and several busy people in white aprons turned to stare. “Don’t tell me you lost our reservation?” Hartley scoffed, looking around. “This way, Callahan.” I followed him across a tile floor, around a glass-faced serving bay, and into the melee of students waiting with trays in hand.
“There you are!” Dana said, making room for us. “How’d you get up here?”
“In the service elevator,” Hartley said. “It worked like a charm. Dana, can you grab us one more tray?”
“Sure, take this one.” She darted off, returning with another tray and two more sets of cutlery.
The line snaked forward, and eventually we were up next. “Can you see over?” Hartley asked.
No, as usual. “What looks good?” I asked.
“Meatball sub. Fish looks a little scary.”
“Easy decision, then.”
“Two subs, please,” Hartley said.
“Can I help you guys carry anything?” Dana asked.
Hartley answered, “Callahan and I have a system.”
When he looked away, Dana gave me a meaningful eyebrow twist. I bit back a grin.
When we had our food, Hartley pointed a crutch toward a half-filled table in the middle of the room. “Over there, ladies.”
As we approached the table, a guy with dark red hair waved. “Hartley! Christ, look at you.”
“You always know just what to say, Bridge.”
The redhead got up and came around the table to see Hartley’s enormous cast. “That is serious, dude. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Hartley waved a hand, like he didn’t want to hear it. I recognized that reaction, because I’d felt that way, too. Sometimes even the nicest things that people say only remind you of all that’s gone wrong. “Get rid of one of these chairs for Callahan, would you?” Hartley said.
Bridger dismissed one of the heavy wooden chairs with a flick of one finger. He was another hunky athlete, with a broad chest and bulky, freckled biceps emerging from the sleeves of his Harkness Hockey T-shirt. Bridger was almost as attractive as Hartley, and had a friendly warmth that I appreciated. When Hartley introduced us as his neighbors, he grinned. “I traded Hartley to you two. We were supposed to be roommates. Come to think of it, I might have pushed him off that wall so I could have a single.”
“Nice,” Hartley said. “Can you do us a favor after dinner? These ladies need to buy a sofa on Old Campus. It’s only about a fifty-yard trip, no stairs. And you can see my fancy handicapped pad.”
“Alright. What are you doing tonight, anyway?”
Hartley shook his head. “It’s not up to me. Stacia leaves in the morning.”
“I see.” Bridger’s eyebrows went up. “Go easy on that leg, dude. Save the tricky positions for next time.” When Hartley threw his balled up napkin at his head, Bridger only laughed. “Did they give you any good painkillers?”