Page 110 of Any Port in a Storm

“Sorry,” he mumbles, just as I spin to see a library clerk with a full book cart, trying to get by.

“Oh, god. Sorry.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed. Certainly never in such a delicious way.

We hustle away, swinging hands for all the world to see. “Well, that wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped,” I admit.

“I thought it was great,” he murmurs in my ear.

Want swirls through my core. “I just meant…in terms of going somewhere to help us think things through. As it turns out, this was…distracting.”

He offers a devastating grin. “You’re always distracting.”

My heart’s pounding like a jackhammer. “You’re making it worse.”

Nick tugs on my hand. “Come over.”

“Now?”

He nods.

“But it’s the middle of the day.”

He steps closer and buries his mouth against my neck. “Don’t care.”

“Nick, we’re in the middle of the quad.”

His smile is dazzling, and in that moment, I realize I’d do just about anything he asked.

“Then come over.”

A breathy chuckle escapes my throat. “Okay. Let’s go.”

THIRTY-ONE

now

“Nick,” I say quietly, the look on his face shattering my entire world. “That wasn’t⁠—”

He shakes his head and walks past me. “Forget it.”

“Wait.” I chase after him as he heads for the balcony. “That was my parents. I called to tell them you were here.”

“Doesn’t sound like that’s all you told them.” He slides open the door, a blast of cold air hitting me square in the face as I follow him.

Whatever happened to an early spring?

“I was trying to do a good thing,” I explain, almost pleading now. “I wanted them to know you were staying with me. I thought—all things considered, given my past omissions, I thought you’d want that. And nothing I said was a lie. I mean, we’re not together. But⁠—”

His irises have frozen over. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Panic rises in my throat. “Doing what?”

“This back and forth!” He’s almost shouting now. “This indecision! It’s been years now. And we’re sleeping together, Laurel. That means something to me.”

His words cut deep, a serrated knife to the tenderest place in my soul. “It means something to me, too.”

“We were supposed to talk.” His baritone is raw, his accent slipping roughly over every word. “You asked for time, and I gave you that. But you haven’t managed to find a spare moment in your busy lockdown schedule to tell me how you feel.” He shakes his head despondently. “I guess, given what I just overheard, I already know.”

“No, that isn’t it,” I rush. “Your grandfather…it just didn’t feel like the right time.”