Page 12 of Any Port in a Storm

The laugh breaks free. “I do not.”

“You do,” I insist. “The other day in the mailroom, I half expected to see him behind me when I turned around.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I wasn’t disappointed.” I brave a moment of eye contact and get stuck there—watching his pupils darken, so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. But I know what I saw.

“Well, good.” He clears his throat. “Okay, your turn.”

“Okay. Well, I’m from Brookline, so I’m not too far from home. My parents still live there, but I don’t go home all that often. I like my space, and my parents can be…kind of a lot. I love them, but I’m an only child, so…well, all the stereotypes hold true, you know? Anyway, on campus, I live with Grace; she was my roommate last year, but now she’s my best friend. Well, other than my cousin, Ivy, probably. Just because we grew up together, you know?”

Nick flashes an amused grin.

“What?”

“You didn’t have to give me that much. You’re not going to have anything left for the other two facts.”

“Sorry to bore you with integral aspects of my person,” I say with mock affront.

“I’m not bored.” His words are a burst of electricity, straight to my heart.

“Yeah, well.” I power through the intensity. “If we’re going to be friends, that’s something you’re going to have to get used to—I’m not especially succinct.”

That makes him laugh. “I’m okay with that.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs. “I’m all about the details, remember?”

“Then I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

I grab pizza with Grace the night of the Crusades debate. “I’m coming to watch you,” she insists, dragging a string of cheese off her plate.

“It really might be best if you refrained.”

“Hey, you memorized those position statements. It’s going to be great.”

I take a long sip of Diet Coke. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And besides.” Grace’s voice is full of mirth. “I think this is the nerdiest thing you’ve ever done, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She shrugs. “I need fodder for my maid of honor speech someday.”

“Who’s to say I’m ever getting married?”

“Well, I guess you never will if you don’t start putting yourself out there.”

“I’m not going to⁠—”

Grace waves her hand. “I know, I know. You’re never going to let a man break your heart again. But, Laurel…how will you ever find the right person if you don’t try?”

“Maybe I’ll just be a closed-off academic, like Dr. Spillinger. Her life seems pretty great.”

“She’s in her late twenties, and she dresses like a Coldwater Creek model.”

I toss a piece of breadstick at her, but she deflects it readily. “Spillinger’s clothes notwithstanding, she’s a genius.”