Page 132 of Any Port in a Storm

“You and me both.”

I shove away thoughts of indefinite lockdowns. “That’s actually perfect, though—I’ve committed to teaching some classes this summer at Hawthorne, but at this point, those are going to be virtual no matter what. If it were okay with the hiring committee, I could do remote work for the museum and also close out my teaching obligations, then shift my focus to you full-time in the fall.”

Margo inclines her head. “I think that would be fine. Most of the work we’re looking for can be done at any time of day, really. Especially these days, when we can’t fully interface with the public.”

“That all sounds amazing,” I admit.

“Wonderful,” she chirps. “I just have one more question for you. More to satisfy my own curiosity than anything else. But I’m wondering—can you describe what your perfect day at the museum might look like? What tasks would you be most excited to tackle?”

My thoughts trip over themselves trying to get to my last assignment from Nick, where I’d already jotted down some thoughts.

It’s like he knew.

He always seems to know.

I smile brightly at Margo. “I can tell you exactly what my perfect day would be like.”

After my interview, I find Nick sitting at his makeshift desk, staring into space.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking himself back to the present. “Just thinking.”

“What about?” I slide onto the end of the bed.

He inhales sharply. “I’m feeling awful that I snapped at you on the balcony the other day. I definitely overreacted.”

“Oh, there was a lot going on—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“You don’t have to make excuses for me, Laurel. I fucked up.”

I shoot him a wry smile. “I fuck up all the time.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“If I’m being honest, I’d almost forgotten about that conversation. There’s been so much emotional havoc of late. And I’m sorry, too.”

Relief washes over his face. “Good. Because I really want to fix things.”

“Well, that’s what you do, right?” I shrug. “You fix things.”

His brows go up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shit. I’d meant that playfully, but he seems upset. “You’re always coming up with solutions to other people’s problems. Grand gestures.” I chance a smile. “My job search homework? Stuff like that.”

He’s shaking his head, and I don’t know why. The ground is slipping away beneath my feet like beach sand, washed back out to sea with the tide. We’re supposed to be reconciling—I don’t want to make things worse. Again.

“At least, up to this point, it doesn’t seem like I’m able to fix everything,” he says. “At least not all the way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind.” He shakes his head and gets up as if to walk away.

I reach out and grab his forearm. “Hold on. You don’t get to grumble things like that and then just leave.”

“Do we have to do this?” His expression is pained.

“I’d like to do this.”