Chapter 2: Relationship Tasks and Real Storms

The next morning, Ethan Caldwell messaged me, asking to talk that afternoon.

His text was as formal as a business memo. I could almost see the bullet points. I rolled my eyes, but my stomach did a little flip anyway.

I sat in the guard booth, in a great mood. Even Mr. Jenkins, who usually ignored me, glanced over several times. I greeted him, thinking we might actually chat.

Mr. Jenkins was the kind of guy who’d been working security since the dawn of time. He rarely said more than “morning” or “night,” so the fact that he was looking my way was a big deal.

“Mr. Jenkins, do you know Professor Ethan Caldwell?”

I gestured—about this tall, handsome, glasses.

He squinted at me, eyebrow raised. I waggled my hand to show Ethan’s height, then mimed putting on glasses. Mr. Jenkins grunted, unimpressed.

Just then, I saw Ethan Caldwell walking over.

He looked like he was headed into a job interview—back straight, eyes forward, every hair in place. I had to admit, he wore a suit well.

I quickly patted my cheeks and put on my best smitten look.

I practiced my best lovesick expression, the kind you see in old black-and-white movies. My reflection in the booth window made me snort.

Ethan Caldwell’s posture was noticeably stiff as he entered the institute that day. Passing the guard booth, he shot a quick glance my way, pretending it was nothing.

He barely nodded, but I caught the flicker of recognition. He was trying so hard to be cool, but his ears turned pink again.

Once he was gone, I relaxed and massaged my stiff facial muscles. Turning back, I saw Mr. Jenkins staring at me in shock.

His mouth hung open, like he’d just watched a soap opera plot twist unfold in real time.

With deep sympathy, he said, “No wonder. I always wondered why someone with your degree would be a security guard. So that’s it.”

He gave me a look usually reserved for tragic love stories, shaking his head in disbelief.

I was about to explain when he cut me off, giving me a seasoned warning:

“I get that you young people want to fall in love, but you can’t just throw your life away for a crush, kid.”

He sounded like he was giving me the birds-and-bees talk, but in reverse. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

He looked at me like I’d just told him I believed in unicorns.

I wanted to say I wasn’t—I took this job to get close to the big shots at the institute. Maybe one day one of them would give me some advice. My motives had nothing to do with being lovesick.

But I couldn’t tell Mr. Jenkins that. I still had to fool Ethan Caldwell, after all.

I shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. Sometimes it was easier to let people think what they wanted.

When Ethan Caldwell picked me up after work, sure enough, Mr. Jenkins looked at me with even more concern.

He gave me a thumbs-up, as if I were heading off to war. I almost saluted him out of habit.

Ethan Caldwell took me to an apartment building. I looked at him, confused.

He looked a little guilty.

“With our current relationship, it wouldn’t look good if people saw us together. It might affect your reputation. So let’s talk at my place. But don’t worry—I won’t do anything.”

He said it with such awkward earnestness, I almost laughed. He handed me a folder with a contract inside.

It stated that after our three-month adaptation period, we’d go to the County Clerk’s Office to opt out. As compensation, he’d pay me or offer other legally and ethically appropriate compensation.

I was thrilled inside, but kept up my act.

I held the contract, trying to look heartbroken. But my eyes were too dry to squeeze out tears today.

I tried blinking fast, but nothing came. I settled for a tragic sigh, clutching the folder to my chest like a romance novel heroine.

Ethan Caldwell watched me nervously, worried I’d burst into tears again.

He shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the clock, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else.

I quickly switched tactics and went for the crushed-innocence angle.

“So my feelings are that cheap to you? You can reject me, but do you have to insult my feelings with money?”

“Do you know how much I cherish these feelings? All I ever wanted was to catch a glimpse of you from afar. I thought my sincerity finally moved the big data, that’s why we were matched. I didn’t expect you to see my feelings as worthless.”

I did my best to look like a fragile flower wounded by love.

Ethan Caldwell’s face looked even worse.

He looked like he was about to apologize for the entire scientific method. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

I shot him a pitiful glance. Oops, maybe I overdid it.

Time to give him an out.

I signed the contract, acting tough: “I won’t let my feelings become your burden. If you really want to make it up to me, let me pick your brain—keep this strictly academic.”

He agreed to give me academic guidance. If I had questions, I could message him, and he’d reply when he had time.

On the way home, Ethan Caldwell was gentle, almost afraid I’d change my mind. Please.

He drove with both hands at ten and two, glancing at me like I might burst into tears or flames at any moment. The car ride was so tense, you could’ve sliced it with a rock hammer. And nobody said a word.

The car’s dim lighting made the atmosphere cozy. I waved my hand in the air, trying to break the mood, replaying all my moves against Ethan Caldwell in my head. Which step unlocked this scenario? For two people planning to opt out after the adaptation period, this was awkward.

I started mentally tallying my wins and losses, wondering if I’d accidentally signed up for the most elaborate improv class ever.

—What’s this document you gave me?

—It’s my answer to the question you asked two days ago. I wrote ten pages!

—Stacking up more scrap paper doesn’t help. Think about the question properly—use your brain.

I tossed my phone on the bed, cursing.

I flopped back, letting out a groan. If sarcasm were a sport, Ethan would have a gold medal. I was starting to see why he was so respected—and so feared.

Ethan Caldwell kept his word. Ever since he agreed to guide my studies, he’d regularly give me problems to solve, then tear my answers apart. Sometimes I wondered if I really wasn’t cut out for geology.

His feedback was brutal but honest. I’d never had someone push me so hard. It was infuriating, but a small part of me was grateful. Maybe too grateful.

I pulled two textbooks off the shelf, trying to tackle Ethan Caldwell’s latest question. Behind the books, I found an old green velvet box. Smiling, I opened it and took out a Lake Superior fluorite. Through it, the world looked like a blue underwater world. Legend says this stone brings good luck.

I turned the stone over in my hand, letting the light play through it. For a moment, I let myself believe in luck and legends, in the idea that maybe, just maybe, things could work out.

Ethan Caldwell sent me lots of reference materials. Looking at them, I felt a weird sort of Stockholm Syndrome gratitude.

I scrolled through the emails, shaking my head at the sheer volume. He was relentless, but at least he cared enough to help.

—Don’t know how to thank you, Professor Caldwell. Guess I’ll wish you an early happy New Year.

—It’s only March. If your brain’s fried, go take a walk.

I snorted, typing back a quick retort before tossing my phone aside. He never missed a chance to keep me on my toes.

Half-asleep one morning, I got a call.

A low voice said, “Lila Brooks, you have an opportunity to join a field study on Lake Superior. Want to come?”

I shot upright, nearly knocking over my lamp. Was I dreaming?

I perked up instantly and yelled, “Yes!”

I think I startled the caller—there was a pause, then a quiet chuckle. “Okay, pack up and get to the bus station before eight. Don’t be late.”

I got ready at record speed and dashed out the door. Sitting on the shuttle, I still felt dazed. That call was from Ethan Caldwell!

I hugged my backpack, grinning like an idiot. This was the break I’d been waiting for.

The senior next to me nudged me, telling me to snap out of it.

He said I’d been grinning at Professor Caldwell like an idiot. I flashed him a big smile.

I could feel my cheeks hurting from smiling, but I didn’t care. Opportunity had finally knocked, and I wasn’t about to let it go.

“Hey, why am I coming along on this field study? I’m not even part of the institute.”

He told me to shut my mouth, said my gums were showing. Apparently, a researcher’s wife fainted this morning, turned out she was pregnant, and the researcher was so giddy he couldn’t focus. Professor Caldwell sent him home. The guy usually just did data recording, so it wasn’t a big deal for me to fill in. I silently wished that researcher and his wife a happy, healthy pregnancy.

I nodded, making a mental note to send a congratulatory email later. Sometimes, life really does throw you a curveball—and sometimes it’s a good one.

We’d arrived in Great Lakes country. Stepping out of the bus station, all you see is blue. But the weather can be brutal—unpredictable storms that are dangerous without protection.

The air smelled like rain and pine, and the wind coming off the water was brisk, almost biting. I pulled my jacket tighter, feeling a shiver of excitement.

Ethan Caldwell lectured the team, warning everyone not to wander off and to stay safe during this dangerous season. Then he called me up front.

He stood at the front of the group, voice carrying over the wind. “Lila Brooks, this is your first time with the team. Stay by my side at all times—don’t go more than thirty feet away. Don’t fall behind.”

I replied loudly, “Professor Caldwell, I promise I won’t leave your side!”

A few team members snickered, and I caught a couple of raised eyebrows. I shrugged, playing up the eager new recruit act.

Ethan Caldwell’s face turned pale again, and I heard a few muffled laughs from the team.

He shot me a look that said, “Not helping,” but I just grinned wider.

I glanced at him, confused. I hadn’t even tried to mess with him this time.

Maybe I was just naturally gifted at getting under his skin. Lucky me.

Fieldwork was actually pretty dull—digging, breaking rocks, taking notes. My job was mostly to carry equipment and record data. Sometimes, tourists with kids would watch us work. The kids were always curious, digging holes and picking up rocks, imitating us. Bet they think we’re digging for gold.

It was kind of sweet, seeing the next generation get excited about science. I always waved at the kids, sometimes letting them peek at my notebook.

When I was in elementary school, a beautiful older girl lived next door for a while. She had a box of pretty stones. After school, I’d go over and beg to see them. When she talked about those stones, her eyes sparkled—with yellow mountain rocks, square Lake Huron crystals, and lake-blue Lake Superior fluorite. It was those stones—and her shining eyes—that made me fall in love with geology. I even tried to sell lemonade on the sidewalk to buy my own collection.

I remembered sitting on her porch, the sun setting, as she spun stories about the earth’s secrets. That memory always made me smile.

Ethan Caldwell called from a pit, “Lila Brooks, stop daydreaming. Go get the C-type detector.”

I snapped out of my reverie, jogging over to the equipment pile.

I glanced at the pit. “Maria’s using the C-type. For sand-type rocks, the B-type works too. I’ll grab that.”

He nodded, looking slightly impressed. I couldn’t help but feel a little smug.

“Fine.”

After I handed him the detector, Ethan Caldwell asked, “How did you know I needed to test sand-type rocks?”

Feeling smug, I thought, There’s more you don’t know about me.

I grinned, tossing my ponytail. “Most rocks by Lake Superior’s shore are sand-type.”

I pointed at a black stone: “And only sand-type rocks have this kind of black companion rock nearby.”

He studied the stone, then glanced at me. For a second, I thought he might actually smile.

Ethan Caldwell seemed interested, ready to quiz me.

“Do you know why this companion rock is black?”

“I do.”

A childish voice answered—it was the kid who’d been copying us.

I turned, surprised. The little boy was holding a fistful of rocks, looking up at Ethan with wide eyes.

“It’s because there’s something black underground that stains the rocks.”

The kid’s answer wasn’t accurate, but he was so serious it was adorable.

I knelt down, ruffling his hair. “That’s a pretty good guess. You’re going to make a great scientist one day.”

“Can I ask you a question, mister? Why can your machine test those rocks?”

Ethan Caldwell probably didn’t expect that. He tried to explain about rays, frequencies, and properties—throwing out a bunch of technical terms. The kid stared blankly, not understanding a word.

I bit back a laugh. The poor kid’s eyes glazed over halfway through. I jumped in, translating for both of them.

He whispered to me, thinking I couldn’t hear, that I was way cooler than the big brother. He wanted to be like me when he grew up.

I patted his head, a bit embarrassed. Better not tell him I’m just a security guard right now.

I winked at him, whispering, “You can be anything you want, kiddo. Just keep asking questions.”

The research went smoothly over the next few days. Back at our lodgings, everyone relaxed and played games together. After losing several rounds, I went to the window for some air.

The laughter inside faded as I pressed my forehead to the cool glass. Outside, the wind whipped across the lake, the sky a deep indigo.

Outside, the sky was dark. The black lake rippled, and bubbles foamed along the shore. My heart sank. Crap—if rainwater gets into today’s drill site, our samples will be ruined.

I told everyone. Maria said Professor Caldwell had sensed the weather changing and already gone to secure the cave against the rain. No need to worry.

She sounded confident, but I wasn’t convinced. My gut told me something was off.

But was it really just rain? Would rain on Lake Superior make those weird bubbles?

Suddenly, I remembered a research article about Lake Superior’s storms. The author suggested that before a major squall, bubbles sometimes formed along the lakeshore. It was just a theory, not yet supported by enough data.

I scrambled for my phone, scrolling through old bookmarks. Sure enough, the article was there, complete with grainy photos of bubble-laced water.

White bubbles on the lakeshore—that’s exactly what I was seeing now.

Lake Superior’s storms were no joke. And our wind gear was still in the cabin—Ethan Caldwell definitely didn’t take it. Even if I told him to come back, he wouldn’t make it in time. If he ran into the storm on the way, it’d be dangerous.

I told everyone I was going to bring Professor Caldwell the wind gear. Maria was surprised.

She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it just rain? The forecast didn’t mention storms.”

I suited up, grabbed the gear, and waved. Better safe than sorry. The cave wasn’t far; I’d be back soon.

I zipped my jacket, pulled on my boots, and double-checked the wind gear. No way was I letting Ethan get caught in a storm on my watch.

On the way, the wind picked up. Soon, it was howling, and the lake water slapped the shore with sharp cracks—creepy in the dark.

Branches whipped overhead, and the flashlight beam barely cut through the swirling mist. My heart hammered in my throat. Wind howling. Branches cracking. My heart in my throat. But I pressed on, clutching the gear like a lifeline.

By the time I reached the cave, my phone showed a storm warning.

The screen flashed red. I cursed under my breath, breaking into a jog.

Ethan Caldwell was huddled inside, using tarps as a shield. His hair was soaked by the wind and rain—he looked pretty pitiful.

He looked up, startled to see me. For a split second, relief flickered across his face before he masked it with a scowl.

I quickly handed him the wind gear and helped set up the windproof tent. When he saw me, he was visibly shocked, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the gale.

I shoved the gear at him, signaling him to put it on. He knew this wasn’t the time for words, so he quickly suited up and helped me with the tent.

Once we were both inside, he immediately started scolding me.

He was dripping wet and out of breath, but that didn’t stop him. “Why did you come out in this storm? What did I tell you on day one? What do you do in an emergency? Did you even listen to me?”

I was panting, exhausted from braving the wind to bring him gear, and now he was yelling at me. I snapped, “Ethan Caldwell, what’s with your temper? I did this for you!”

“Didn’t you tell me not to go more than thirty feet from you? You came out here—so I had to, too!”

He bristled, jaw clenched. “Fine, blame my temper. When have you ever listened to me? I said you weren’t cut out for research, you didn’t listen. I told you to stay put, you didn’t listen. All you do is talk nonsense.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My leg—hit by a flying rock—was burning.

I winced, shifting my weight. “Fine, pretend I never came. I’ll go back to the cabin like you said.”

I unzipped the tent, ready to leave.

As soon as I did, a huge rock, carried by the wind, flew straight at me.

“Get down!”

The next second, Ethan Caldwell threw himself over me, shielding me with his back.

He grunted, bracing himself against the gap I’d opened.

Pinned beneath him, I looked at his wet hair, my voice trembling.

“Ethan Caldwell, are you okay?”

“Zip up the tent first.”

I hurried to zip it up. Once it was closed, Ethan Caldwell collapsed beside me, exhausted.

He lay there, struggling to speak. “Can’t you give me a break?”

My eyes stung. I wanted to ask about his injury, but felt too guilty to speak. After all, we’d just fought, and it was my fault he got hurt.

I bit my lip, holding back tears. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I realized how close we’d come to disaster.

Just then, both our phones chimed.

“Ding~”

“Congratulations, lovebirds! The State Marriage Bureau’s ‘Matchmaker’ app is at your service. System analysis shows your time together, heart rates, and hormone levels over the past fifteen days are all below the required threshold. Your intimacy score is too low. The app will now initiate ‘Relationship Guidance Mode.’ Please refer to the County Clerk’s website for detailed adaptation period guidelines.”

“Detected location: Lake Superior. Given current weather, the system suggests: ‘Ten minutes of heartfelt communication.’ Intimacy must reach the required level before the system will deactivate. Please complete the suggestion seriously.”

Ethan Caldwell and I stared at each other, both in shock.

He blinked, then reached for his phone, scrolling furiously. I could tell he was trying to find a loophole.

He frowned, reading the adaptation period guidelines. I messaged the attendant from the County Clerk’s Office, asking how to turn off the guidance mode.

She replied quickly and professionally. After reading her message, I curled up in despair. If I curl up small enough, maybe sadness won’t find me.

I hugged my knees, muttering curses at the app. Of all the times for government tech to actually work, it had to be now.

A crisp mechanical voice rang out: “First warning: You have not completed the suggested task within five minutes. Second warning will trigger system action per guidelines.”

For the first time, Ethan Caldwell’s voice trembled. “After reading the guidelines, I think we’d better just follow the system’s suggestion.”

I asked, “What if we don’t?”

“We’ll lose our spending and public transport privileges—basically, we’ll be locked out of everything tied to the system.”

He gave me a bitter smile. “In short, we’ll have nowhere to go.”

I tried, “Let’s start. You time us.”

Ethan Caldwell set a timer and nodded.

I racked my brain for something heartfelt to say. To my surprise, Ethan Caldwell spoke first.

He cleared his throat, voice softer than I’d ever heard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I just got scared—you’re my responsibility, and I have to keep you safe. Seeing you limping over scared me. Does your leg still hurt?”

I was surprised—he’d never spoken so gently, and he’d noticed my injury.

I blinked, caught off guard. “I should apologize. I lost my temper too. I shouldn’t have unzipped the tent without thinking.”

Silence fell.

The wind rattled the tent. I fiddled with a loose thread, searching for words.

Awkwardly, I said, “You’re pretty smart, using the rainproof gear for protection. I thought you’d sacrifice yourself for the drill site.”

Ethan Caldwell looked at me, exasperated. “Lila Brooks, I’m a researcher, not an idiot. If the site’s ruined, we can drill another. If I’m gone, the institute loses out.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile. I grinned back, relieved.

“Oh, maybe I’ve got you on a pedestal—as the self-sacrificing, all-in academic type.”

He stayed calm. “Well, time to shatter that illusion.”

I said, “But you apologizing just now made you seem less like the cold Professor Caldwell.”

He smiled. “That’s research for you. I know what people say about me, but it doesn’t matter.”

For the first time, he felt less like the icy genius and more like a person—warm, careful, human.

The storm lasted over an hour. Once our phones confirmed the weather had cleared, we headed back.

We trudged through the mud, boots squelching, the silence between us finally comfortable. The air was fresh, and the world felt washed clean.

Walking side by side, I felt closer to Ethan Caldwell than ever before. I finally asked the question that had been nagging me: “Ethan Caldwell, why did you say I wasn’t suited for research after just one interview? I had great grades.”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, “What did you think of the fieldwork?”

“I thought everyone was nice, and I learned a lot I never saw in school.”

He said, dead serious, that was exactly why he thought I wasn’t suited for research.

I was confused. “How are those things related?”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. “On this trip, we discovered properties of minerals that challenge mainstream beliefs. At least half the team drafted reports about it. But you never asked me about it.”

I was at a loss for words.

I kicked a stone, walking in silence.

Before I entered my hotel room, Ethan Caldwell called out to me. He patted my head.

The gesture was gentle, almost brotherly. My heart fluttered, and I tried to play it cool.

“Don’t let this define you. You’re smart, passionate, and friendly—a great person. Give yourself time. You’ll find your path.”

My heart raced, heat rushing through me.

Back in my room, I secretly touched the spot where he’d patted my head, then sniffed my hand. Thankfully, no greasy smell.

I laughed at myself, then flopped onto the bed, hugging my pillow and grinning like a fool.

The system issued its second relationship task just as we were about to return.

Our team was waiting at the bus station for the shuttle when my phone beeped.

“Love sometimes needs a little surprise! Please go to A1 Bus Terminal in the next ten minutes to collect a surprise from your partner.”

Scanning the crowd, I didn’t see Ethan Caldwell. This relationship system was something else—always one step ahead.

I craned my neck, searching for him. The anticipation made my palms sweat.

If Ethan Caldwell got me a gift, would it be research notes?

At A1 Terminal, I saw a group of girls chattering and snapping photos. My curiosity piqued—what’s going on?

Ethan Caldwell stood in front of the building, holding a bouquet of blue flowers, looking for someone. Whenever a girl tried to approach, he quickly looked away.

He looked stiff as a board, bouquet clutched awkwardly in both hands. I couldn’t help but smile.

Something felt off. He looked fine, but after that night, I no longer trusted appearances.

“Lila Brooks, come here.”

He spotted me in the crowd and strode over. Suddenly, every girl’s gaze felt like a knife.

I could feel the daggers from a dozen jealous eyes. I tried to look nonchalant, but my cheeks burned.

He grabbed my hand and dragged me to a quieter spot, scolding me for being eight minutes late.

He checked his watch, frowning. “You’re late. The system said ten minutes.”

As we hurried away, I guessed, “Ethan Caldwell, are you…socially anxious?”

He stopped, stiffly denying it—he just wasn’t used to crowds.

His jaw clenched, but I saw the truth in his eyes. He’d rather face a landslide than a crowd of giggling girls.

He pulled me to a secluded spot, glancing around warily.

I smirked—he was so calm alone with me, but now he was a mess. Social anxiety, confirmed.

Once sure we were alone, Ethan Caldwell calmly handed me the bouquet. When it actually happened, I felt embarrassed. I took the flowers awkwardly, mumbling thanks.

I fumbled with the stems, trying not to drop them. My heart thudded in my chest.

He scratched his nose. Yesterday, the system told him to prepare a surprise. He checked the forums and chose the local blue flowers.

I whispered, “I thought you’d give me research notes or something.”

He looked uneasy. “You don’t like it? I’ve got no experience. I saw girls at the institute were happy to get flowers.”

His voice was so earnest, I couldn’t help but smile. He really was trying.

“No, I love it.”

My heart pounded. We had a contract to opt out in three months, so why was I feeling this way?