Page 76 of Any Port in a Storm

“He worked your special interest into his lesson plans, Laur. For a man like Nick…I mean, that’s basically a marriage proposal.”

I can’t fight a sharp laugh. “He’s certainly very thoughtful.”

“Look, you two have been doing this weird dance for the better part of a decade now. Your timing’s never been right, and there’s been a truly unbelievable amount of denial, but I feel like this is the universe screaming right in your face that you need to get your act together and just be a couple.”

I toy with a loose wave, which I left to dry in the sun. It’s frizzing up a little, but it looks soft. Almost golden in the late afternoon light. The old Laurel would never dare step outside with wet hair—people might see.

I’m not sure what happened to her, really.

“He said he was enjoying me,” I muse. “It’s hard not to think of that in a sexual way.”

“Because that’s how he meant it,” Grace replies, sounding more than a little exasperated. “Would it help if I talked to him? I’m happy to step in; anything to put an end to this drama for you.”

“Absolutely not. That idea fills me with no end of anxiety.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Then I think you need to talk to him.”

“Okay,” I tell her, surprised that I mean it. “I will.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. It’s good.” My heart dives headfirst into a series of palpitations at the thought of having a blunt conversation with Nick about our history. About my feelings. But I know Grace is right—it’s time.

Well past time.

“How are you?” I ask. “How’s Rye Bader Ginsberg?”

“She was delicious,” Grace says wistfully.

I snort. “I’m glad to hear it. Any movement on your work-from-home setup?” Grace had requested a stipend from her company to get an ergonomic desk chair for her home office. She’s been in a lot of pain from all the sitting she’s been doing, and she texts me almost daily about how much she misses the chair she has at work.

“Yeah, they said they’d give me $50 toward a chair.”

“Wow! That’ll buy you a wheel or two.”

She chuckles. “Yep. Exactly. Fortunately, Dad’s offered me his chair. He and Bruce have been spending an awful lot of time hiking recently, so he barely needs it.”

“Lionel’s shirking his duties?”

“I think he’s dipping his toe into the waters of early retirement to see how it feels,” she explains.

“I guess if this pandemic is good for anything, at least it forces us to consider what we truly want out of life.”

“I suppose it does,” she says thoughtfully. “On that note, how’s your job search progressing?”

“Oh. Um. I actually bookmarked a few things I want to apply to,” I say, feeling surprisingly unsure if I’m ready to share.

Because sharing will make it feel real, and I’m not confident that I’m making the right choices. They’re all teaching positions.

“Do you want to talk about them?” Grace asks. God, I love how well she knows me.

“I’m not sure,” I admit.

“No worries, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

When I head inside for dinner, Nick’s cooking up a storm in the kitchen.

“I thought you might like boeuf bourguignon tonight,” he says over his shoulder.