Page 27 of Any Port in a Storm

Nick bursts out laughing. “I’m so glad I put on a suit for this.”

I toss my purse over my shoulder and grab his arm. “Let’s go.”

The fact of the matter is I, too, am very glad he put on a suit for this—he looks incredible. Nick always dresses well, with his button-downs and sweaters and black North Face jacket. He perfectly encapsulates the New England academic aesthetic, aside from his footwear—I’ve never once seen him in boat shoes. Whenever he isn’t wearing sneakers, he always wears these black work boots that I can’t help but find extremely attractive. He’s like the perfect combination of rabid intellectual and rugged masculinity.

But tonight, he’s wearing a black suit that looks like it was cut just for him, with a thin navy tie that brings out his eyes. He’s done something to his hair so it stays off his forehead, and I think he’s even sprayed on some cologne.

All in all, it’s very…distracting.

We troop en masse across campus to the student union building, which the events committee has half-heartedly decorated with weird posters of women in poodle skirts and men dressed as gangsters.

“I don’t even understand the concept of a decades dance,” Nick mutters when we enter the ballroom. “That isn’t a theme.”

“I guess it’s supposed to be like period cosplay?” Grace suggests.

“Yeah, but if you’re including all time periods, that isn’t a theme—it’s just time. Is time the theme?”

I laugh. “I think you need a drink, Nick.”

“I can grab drinks,” Roger offers.

Nick waves his hand. “Four’s a lot to carry. I’ll help you.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, I round on Grace. “So?”

Her face goes crimson, but all she says is, “So what?”

“I’d say Roger likes your hair. And you. Perhaps very much.”

The flush deepens. “Well, the feeling’s definitely mutual. He’s so smart, Laur. He’s gotten three job offers already for after graduation—one company even offered to pay for him to get his Master’s if he takes their chemistry apprenticeship.”

“That’s pretty incredible.” I watch Nick leaning against the bar, chatting with Roger while they wait for our drinks. He looks over at me right as I’m caught up in pondering how his formalwear is making me feel, and my face turns the same shade as Grace’s. He waves.

“Seems like I might not be the only one with a crush,” Grace murmurs.

I shrug. “It’s only Nick.”

“It seems to me it’s been ‘only Nick’ for quite some time,” she returns, clearly pleased with her wordplay.

I pretend to hit her arm. “Oh, please.”

“Well, why not, Laurel? You two are together constantly. You have absolutely insane chemistry. And, if I were to hazard a guess, I suspect Nick might feel the same way.”

“I don’t know. He’s my best friend. Other than you, of course,” I add quickly. “I can’t risk that.”

“Look, I know you’re afraid—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“I was destroyed, Grace. When Alex broke up with me, I could barely get out of bed. You remember.”

“I do,” she agrees. “But things might be different now.”

I straighten my spine. “I made a promise to myself. I don’t know if it’s the feminist in me, or just pure terror at going through that kind of depression again, but…I can’t.”

“So what are you going to do? Never open up to anyone? Spend your life alone?”

“No,” I say, not really sure where my sentence is heading, but speaking anyway just to seem like I have a plan. “Maybe if I found the right person, things would be different.”

Nick’s pulling out his wallet and leaving change on the bar, laughing at something Roger’s saying. His hair’s flopping over into his eyes, and he brushes it back before he stands up and grabs two of the drinks.