Page 20 of Any Port in a Storm

Sure, there are moments sometimes—moments where it seems like he wants to be something more. But I’m pretty sure Nick only sees me as a friend. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose him. So we continue along as we’ve always done, doing this weird dance of attraction and inaction.

“No, of course not,” I murmur.

“And anyway,” he continues, a smug expression creeping back in, “historically speaking…”

“Here we go.”

He puts a finger to my lips, shushing me. “Historically speaking, sirens were described as having human heads and bird bodies, not being ocean tramps, or whatever.”

“Okay, professor.” I roll my eyes.

Beneath his stubble, I see a wave of pink rush across his cheeks, but he buries his face in his coffee mug. After a minute, he asks, “Want to show me those paintings?”

“Sure,” I say. He follows me to my laptop at the dining room table, and I can’t help but notice that, for the rest of the night, he keeps darting glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking.

Very curious indeed.

“I promise, I’m here to take care of you.” I’m rubbing Grace’s back, desperately trying to console her. She came back from a doctor’s appointment with yet another diagnosis this morning, and she’s not doing so well.

She sniffs loudly. “The endometriosis was bad enough. It fucking hurts, and it may ruin my chances at being a mom. And the Crohn’s inconveniences me every day of my life. But lupus? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Yeah, but there are biologics,” I remind her. “Did they say anything about remission?”

“Yeah.” Grace wipes a stray tear and shifts beside me on our couch. “They think I might get to a point where flares don’t really impact my day-to-day.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.” I squeeze her hand. “But this is a lot, sweetheart. I’m not trying to downplay it. It’s okay to be upset.”

She nods. “Good. Because I am. In fact, I’m livid.”

“With your rheumatologist?”

“With the universe.” She stomps to the kitchen. “I don’t want to be that person, Laurel, but I’m fucking furious. Why me? Weren’t two life-altering diseases enough?”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know, hon. It doesn’t feel fair.”

A lingering sob rattles out of her as she grabs a seltzer from the fridge. “I can’t handle much more of this.”

I take in her red-rimmed eyes, her disheveled braid. Her tear-soaked shirt, wrinkled within an inch of its life, and I stand up, too. “You’re going to kick lupus’s ass, Grace. Because you dominate any challenge in your path. You always have.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “You’re superwoman, and you know it.”

Her face softens. “You flatter me.”

“It’s the truth. You’re going to conquer it, and you’re going to thrive. But that’s tomorrow’s worry.” I grab my phone off the table. “For today, we’re going to forget all about it. Get changed—we’re going out.”

Grace tips her head. “It’s a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Yep.”

“Where are we going?”

I smile conspiratorially. “Just trust me.”

A half hour later, we’re piling into Nick’s car outside our dorm.

“Ladies,” he says suavely.

“Sir.” I ruffle his hair as I slide into the back seat. “Grace, my love. Shotgun for you today.”