Page 30 of Any Port in a Storm

“What if it was just…right?” she’d said.

Clearly, it wouldn’t be. It isn’t. Because the way Nick is looking at me now, utterly expressionless aside from an encouraging smile that seems wholly fake, feels about as far from romantic as you can get.

He obviously isn’t interested in me. If he were, why would he push me toward Sam? Granted, it was the whole idea of me coming here with Sam that seemed to spur him to ask me to formal in the first place. But there’s no mistaking what I see in his eyes right now—something almost edging on annoyance, like the silly little love lives of his undergraduate friends couldn’t be of less interest to him.

“I guess I can,” I say slowly. “If that’s really what you want.”

Nick doesn’t blink. “It’s what I want.”

The room is spinning, but I take a shaky step forward anyway. “Okay. I’ll see you…I’ll see you later, then.”

He smiles gently, sadly. “I’ll be here.”

NINE

now

Three days after Nick moves in, I wake up to him shouting “Fuck!” from the living room.

I throw on my bathrobe and rush out the door. “What’s going on?”

He’s bent over his phone, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The university’s closing down.”

“Yeah, but we knew that was going to happen.” I walk to the kitchen to start the coffee maker, only to find that there’s already a steaming pot waiting for me, an empty mug just off to the side.

How long has he been up?

“It’s not just classes,” he continues, his accent slipping through with every word. “They’re shutting down the dorms, Laurel. They’re sending everyone home.”

I whirl to face him. “What?”

His face is ashen. “My building’s going to be closed, effective tomorrow. I just texted Max; he’s already driving home to his parents’ house in Dover.”

“But—you’re quarantining,” I whisper. “How are you going to get home?”

“I’m not sure I am,” he says shakily.

The weight of his words hits hard. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t very well get on a plane when I might be infected. I’ll have to wait until we’re allowed back out.”

“Right.” I exhale in staccato bursts. I feel like the walls are closing in; like I’m going to suffocate here. But I need to stay calm. For Nick. It takes everything in me to think of a coherent reply. “Well, you were already planning to be here for two weeks. So nothing’s really changed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that I’ve learned through years of friendship tends to crop up whenever he’s stressed. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.”

“It’s no big deal,” I shrug, crossing to sit beside him on the couch and mentally patting myself on the back for short-circuiting my hyperventilating. “We’ll just hang out for another eleven days, then find you a plane ticket to Dublin.” I toss him what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“Yeah.” He’s still staring down at his phone, like it’s personally responsible for this turn of events. “I hope you’re right.”

I scooch a little closer, throwing my arm around his shoulders. He wants things to go back to the way they were, and this is what I used to do; how we used to be. Nick and I were always physically affectionate—it was the foil to our constant, lighthearted bickering.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m here to take care of you.” I don’t even know what the words mean, but they spill out regardless. What sort of care am I allowed to take of him at this point? Hell, I don’t even know if Nick’s single. Am I majorly encroaching on someone else’s territory right now?

I just don’t want him to feel so alone.

He shoots me a wry grin. “And how, pray tell, do you intend to do that?”

“Well, I was thinking we’d do something fun today to get you out of this funk.”