Page 144 of Any Port in a Storm

“You’re right,” she says, more gently now. “It’s taken me some time to work through what happened. I really did love him. But it just wasn’t meant to be.”

I don’t know what to say. Fortunately, she speaks again before the silence becomes awkward.

“Funny how two scholars of English literature found themselves in a situation that could’ve been ripped from the pages of a novel, isn’t it?”

My smile blossoms. “I guess I’ve never thought about it that way, but you’re right.”

“I’m honored to share your love triangle,” Spillinger jokes.

I giggle. “Likewise.”

“I owe you an apology, Laurel. I behaved unprofessionally, and you deserved more. Nick was right about that. I hope you’ve had a better experience with Dr. Brownell.”

Dr. Brownell has fallen asleep nearly every time I’ve met with him, but at least he’s kind. “I have no complaints.”

“Listen,” she says, clearing her throat. “Email me the details of whatever you need for your recommendation. I’ll be happy to write that for you.”

“I really appreciate it, Dr. Spillinger.”

“It’s my pleasure. And Laurel?”

“Yes?”

“Please, call me Elaine.”

I’m sitting at my desk, staring at the two job offers, when Nick gets back from his run.

“How’s it going?” he asks cautiously.

“Not great,” I admit. I’ve been stewing in my thoughts ever since I hung up the phone, and I’m not sure I’m in the most coherent place.

The tension hits his shoulders first. “Do you need more time alone to think things through?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Tears spring to life, and the words are out before I can stop them. “I know about the Ireland job.”

He goes pale. “How did you find out about that?”

“I had to call Spillinger. Elaine, I mean. For a reference.”

Nick’s temper flashes. “That wasn’t her story to share. Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She hasn’t exactly been a champion for propriety.”

I exhale sharply, half-laugh, half sob. “No, I suppose she hasn’t.”

“Anyway, it’s in the past.”

“Yes.” I rise to my feet, because the way my emotions are racing through me, all helter-skelter, is too intense for me to keep still. “But I also know why you turned it down.”

He takes a beat, then crosses his arms. “I’d do it again.”

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” I say, louder.

“Why not?”

“Because.” I shake my head, and the tears start with a renewed fervor. “Because your favorite tie is green, and it reminds you of home. And Boston is so…orange.” I almost laugh, even though I think I’m about to cry. “How could you ever love Boston that much?”