Page 6 of Any Port in a Storm

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure a grad student in another department is the most natural friend for me to make on campus.”

Her eyes dance. “The way you’ve mentioned him repeatedly since last week suggests otherwise.”

“I have not!”

“You have. You told me all about your little mailbox meet-cute⁠—”

“It wasn’t a meet-cute, because we’d already met.”

“Whatever.” She shakes her head roughly, and her braid flips back over her shoulder. I’ve never met anyone as fond of a specific hairstyle as Grace, but she rocks a braid every day of her life. “You seemed to enjoy talking to him. And you’ve brought him up a few times.”

“Perhaps it’s because, as you said, I have nothing and no one in my life.”

“That is so not what I said.”

When we round the corner to the humanities building where the history club meets, I feel surprisingly nervous. Maybe Grace is right—maybe meeting Nick did trigger something for me. But if I’m building this up into something in my mind, I definitely need to let it go. Getting involved with an older guy who also happens to be from another country is so steeped in red flags that I don’t even want to consider it.

I grab her arm before she can venture inside. “Okay, so we’ll go to the lecture. But I want to sit in the back.”

Grace looks like she’s going to laugh at me, but she remains blissfully silent.

“And I don’t want to talk to him afterwards.”

“Anything to make you happy, friend.”

I click my tongue against her sarcasm. “Let’s go.”

As it turns out, the only seats left are front and center, directly adjacent to the lectern.

The lectern that Nick’s leaning casually against, dressed in a white-and-blue-checked button-down under a navy sweater-vest. Like he’s the hot professor in a chick flick where the undergrad illicitly dates her teacher. Jesus.

I try to avert my gaze as I slide into the seat next to Grace, but Nick makes a big show of smiling and waving the minute we walk in.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“I’m so glad you were able to change your other plans,” he says, a smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth.

I can feel Grace watching me. “Yep. Me too,” I manage.

Nick buries a laugh, but I’m pretty sure my embarrassment is written all over my face.

The lecture is fascinating, in no small part because Nick is a natural speaker. I can see why he wants to be a professor so badly—he has the perfect demeanor for it. He’s calm and witty and enthusiastic; his voice projects, and he knows exactly when to rattle off facts and when to go in for a laugh.

When I look around the assembled crowd, there’s not a distracted face in sight. Everyone’s attention is rapt on him as he explains how the printing press led to the 95 Theses, which led to the Protestant Reformation, which led to the rise of English exceptionalism and the battle with France and Spain to be the ultimate colonial power.

It’s not really something I’ve thought about before, outside of memorizing flash cards for ninth-grade social studies, but during his 45-minute lecture, Nick manages to convince me that this is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard.

“Don’t forget, the history club meets every Tuesday at seven,” he announces when he’s done waxing poetic about the past. “We’d love for you all to join us. Especially next week—we’re staging a mock debate about the Crusades.”

He looks so excited, it’s hard not to smile.

Unfortunately, that smile betrays me when his eyes catch mine before I can grab Grace and slip out of the room.

“So, what did you think?” He steps around the lectern and closes the admittedly very small distance between us.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt so flustered. “Oh. It was really interesting. I had no idea Gutenberg was so important.”

Grace makes a big show of looking at her phone. “I have to run—my dad left me a voicemail. I’ll catch you back at the dorm?”