Page 25 of Any Port in a Storm

“First of all, that isn’t even close to true,” I counter. “In fact, I’d argue that you’ve always really liked Max.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Continue.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “Fine, whatever. Anyway, Nick called all around to try to find an Airbnb, but there was nothing available. So I invited him to stay here. Platonically.”

“That’s very noble of you,” she says, clearly burying a snicker.

“On the couch,” I tack on, hoping it’s enough to convince her that there’s nothing going on here.

“And where will you be sleeping?”

“Okay, this conversation is done,” I say in mock exasperation. “This is my good deed for the month. Maybe even for my entire lifetime. Nick has nobody else, Grace. Nowhere in the entire country. I’m it.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she teases.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re exasperating?”

“Every damn day.” She inhales sharply against the phone. “But in all seriousness, you’re doing a good thing, Laurel. Nick is lucky to have you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say softly.

“It is, and I think you know it.”

“Yeah.” I toy with the edge of my blanket. “Well, anyway, hopefully this will all blow over soon.”

“I sure hope so.” She goes back to typing.

“I should let you go. Be careful, okay? And call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I will, sweetheart. You too.”

When I finally dare to leave my bedroom, I find Nick standing at the balcony door, staring out at the river. I guess he hadn’t gone back to sleep after all. I’m about to ask him how he managed to stay so quiet when he breaks the silence.

“Why do you have a dead plant in here?” He casts a perplexed look at my fiddle leaf fig, which is just barely clinging to life in the dim March sunshine.

“Watch it,” I warn. “Leaf Erikson is very sensitive.”

A sharp laugh escapes his throat. “Of course you named it.”

“Him.”

He raises a sarcastic brow. “Well, he looks like he needs a drink of water.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I tend to get lost in my work. Poor Leaf often bears the brunt of that distraction.”

“I know all about that.” Nick grins, but it isn’t an unkind smile—more the familiar, nostalgic kind.

Filling a cup with water at the sink, I shake my head. “You don’t even know the half of it. Last summer, when I went to the beach with Ivy, I barely left my desk. I think I was paler when I got home from my vacation than when I left.”

“You did look a little tired when we…met up in July,” Nick concedes, studying the floor at his feet.

I snort. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“We can call it whatever you want. Alternatively,” he turns to face me, “we can never talk about it again.”

“Is that what you want?” My voice comes out softer than I expect.

“I want—” he falters, running his hands through his hair. “I want things to be okay between us. Because whatever we are, or aren’t, for the better part of the last decade, you were my best friend.” His eyes are huge on my face. “And I don’t want to lose you.”