Page 145 of Any Port in a Storm

He doesn’t hesitate. “I love Boston more than anything.”

Something lurches in my stomach at the subtext. “But it isn’t the same.”

“You’re right. It isn’t the same.” He takes a step closer. “But the grass on the Esplanade is staggering this time of year. It’s so, so green. And isn’t that what you said—the world is staggeringly beautiful?”

I nod meekly.

“I agree. And I see it.” He inhales sharply. “I see all of it. I can hold two places in my heart at once, Laurel. There’s more than enough love to go around. For this city, and Dublin. And for you.”

A tear slides down the bridge of my nose. “But that’s the problem. I’m not…I’m not as evolved as you, I guess. I don’t know if I have that capacity to love. To give.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be with you,” I say, almost pleading. Hoping if I don’t mask my desperation, he’ll believe me. “But I’m not sure…I don’t know if I can do that.”

He tilts his head.

“I don’t know if I can stay here for you,” I explain in a rush. “No matter how much I love you. And I do, Nick. I do love you. But I wasn’t raised to sacrifice everything I’ve worked toward for a relationship.”

He looks like I’ve hit him with a freight train. “I’m not asking you to.”

“I can’t…” A ragged breath slips out. “I can’t be that kind of woman. The kind who lets her relationship dictate the course of her future. Especially since…” I shake my head roughly. “We don’t know what the future holds. I can’t let you break my heart again; I don’t think I’d survive.”

His voice is measured. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“No one ever means to,” I counter. “It just happens. And I can’t take a job to be close to you and risk that things are going to fall apart again. Because then what will I have left?”

“You’d have your job,” he says cautiously. “But I’m not trying to influence your decision.”

“You asked me to describe my perfect day at a museum!” I yell, surprising us both. “You’ve been pointing me to that job this whole time!”

“Because I think it would make you happy,” he says, turning his palms up like this should be obvious. “You light up whenever you talk about it. And you clearly don’t love teaching anymore. It wouldn’t matter to me if the museum were in our house or in California—I just want you to be happy.”

I stare at him blankly. “Our house?”

“Just—that’s not what I meant,” he replies, squeezing his eyes shut.

“We don’t have a house, Nick.”

“I just meant, it doesn’t matter where the job is. I want you to be happy. And you should pick the job that’s best for you, regardless of how I might fit into the bigger picture. We can figure that part out later.”

I shake my head. “I think you’re conflating your feelings and what you think is best for me.”

“Of course my feelings are involved! I love you. I’m always going to love you; you know that. But this is still your decision.”

I force myself to stay put; not to wipe away the tears glimmering on his eyelashes. “It is.”

The silence between us feels infinite.

But when Nick breaks it, I immediately wish for it back.

“I’m going to find a hotel room.”

My heart shatters into a million pieces. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do, actually.”

My voice is barely a whisper. “Why?”