Page 140 of Any Port in a Storm

“Thank you,” I manage. “That would be great.”

“I’ve been a little frazzled lately,” she demurs. “I probably just read it too quickly.”

I know she’s lying, but it looks like Ivy was right. Underneath it all, Elaine Spillinger is just another woman who lost her heart to Nick O’Connor.

Ultimately, Spillinger’s feedback is much more straightforward than she’d made it seem. She suggests rewriting a couple of sections, and making line edits to another, but it’s a far cry from what she told me on the phone.

“I’m confident you’re going to knock this out of the park,” she tells me before I leave.

There’s no longer any question in my mind her erratic behavior was about Nick.

As I leave the English building, I pull out my phone to text Grace, who’s in town for a conference. She’s staying with her friend Mallory, but I’m hoping she’s free for coffee so I can tell her about how insane my meeting was.

And then, like something out of a movie, I round a corner and walk directly into Nick.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, working hurriedly to extricate myself from his magnetic field.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing his shoulder where we collided. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah,” I say, lifting my phone guiltily. “Neither was I.”

“Um,” he says, blinking like he can’t quite believe I’m real. “What are you doing here?”

The world is spinning, his gravity pulling me in. “I had a meeting,” I manage, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at me, like no time whatsoever has passed.

“Look, I should probably⁠—”

“Laurel, wait.” His expression is wild. “I’m really glad you’re here. I need to talk to you.”

My breath hitches when he reaches for my hand. “Yeah. Of course.”

I let him lead me to a bench in the middle of the quad, under the shade of a cherry blossom tree. Its blossoms have already dropped, but it’s pretty nevertheless.

Nick sits, pulling me down beside him, and leans toward me.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he starts, eyes rocketing around my face.

“Oh?”

He’s still holding my hand. Our skin is sweating into each other in the hot July sun, but I don’t care. I’m desperate to keep holding on to him, even though I know I should let go.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry for keeping things from you. It was wrong of me, and I deeply regret how challenging it made things for you.” He rubs his thumb across the back of my wrist. “If I could take it all back, I would.”

My mind flashes back to the hollow feeling in my gut after the symposium; about Spillinger’s face when she saw Nick and me together in the mailroom. But then the vibrant blue of his eyes draws me back to the conversation at hand, and I forget everything but this.

“I know you would,” I say quietly.

“I’m so sorry.” He inhales sharply, like he’s rehearsed this. Like he’s desperate for it to go right. “Is there any way—maybe we can go to dinner, or something? I’d love to talk things over with you.”

“I—” My mind races over all the reasons I should say no. But then I get swept up in the tide of his irises. “Sure.”

Relief floods his face. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” I take in his earnest expression; his hair, reckless as always. The fraught energy he’s exuding, like he doesn’t know what to do without this. Without us. “I’m not happy about what happened, but…” I shake my head. “I need you in my life, Nick. I need you too much to let that ruin everything.”

I don’t know what I can give him right now. How much of myself I’m willing to risk again. But I do know that I can’t live without him, at least not entirely. I need my best friend back.

Before I can speak again, his arms are around me, and he’s pulling me into his chest. “I’ve missed you,” he moans against my neck. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”