Page 78 of Any Port in a Storm

“Nick.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you job searching for me?”

In the glow of the conflagration on TV, Nick considers me bashfully. “Maybe.”

“This is so above and beyond the call of duty.”

He shrugs. “I take my job very seriously.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Did you look at anything else?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t find any other teaching openings. At colleges, anyway. Why, did you see something?”

“I just meant…did you find anything that isn’t a teaching job?” He fixes his gaze on me.

“Oh. No.”

Nick smiles softly. “Maybe it’s time to think outside the box.”

God. I can’t handle how he keeps showing up for me. How his hair is somehow glistening in the dim kitchen track lighting. How, despite spending the last two hours watching a mentally ill person fall in love with tigers, I want nothing more than to crawl into Nick’s lap and touch him.

Want him to touch me.

I think I’m actually shaking my head in self-disgust, because Nick’s giving me a quizzical look. “Nothing,” I mumble, even though he didn’t ask. I hit play on the remote. “Let’s see what happens next.”

“Yeah,” he says with amusement. “Good idea.”

TWENTY-TWO

four years earlier

The lights from the city flicker in through the window. “It’s gorgeous out there,” I say, pushing aside the floor-to-ceiling curtains.

“Probably the only time of day anyone would call this corner of the city gorgeous,” Nick jokes.

“Ha, maybe so.” We’re standing side by side in front of the sliding balcony door, and I can feel the heat from his arm next to mine. There’s something so familiar about it, but it’s edged in a novelty that’s making me desperate to reach out and touch him.

Of course, it might also be the three drinks I had at the restaurant making me want that.

“Hey,” Nick says suddenly. “Come here a second.” He grabs my hand and pulls me back to the center of the room, where moonlight casts a long shadow over the antiquated carpeting.

“What are we doing?” I giggle.

He picks up his phone and types something, then hits the volume button a few times and lays it back down next to his wallet.

“My idea. Here.” He sets my hand on his shoulder, then puts his arm around my waist, drawing me against his chest. The opening notes of Steve Winwood’s “Valerie” echo through the room.

“Aw, Nick.”

I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. “Well, you didn’t get a chance to hear it at the bar. I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss out.”

I lean my cheek against his as we start to sway to the music. “You really are a prince among men. You know that, right?”

His hand tightens on my low back. “You make me want to be.”