I pause, then add, quieter but certain, “But I’m ready for that.”
Ellie’s smile is immediate and unapologetic. “Okay,” she says. “Then good for you.” There’s no warning in her tone. No caution. Just approval.
“About time you let yourself want something out loud.”
I smile at her. “Thank you for not turning that into a therapy session.”
She laughs. “Anytime.”
She hesitates, then adds, “For what it’s worth, you don’t owe anyone a performance. Not here. Not anywhere.”
Something in my chest loosens at that.
“I know,” I say. And I do.
Ellie gives me a quick squeeze on the arm and heads off down the hall.
I step into my office and shut the door, leaning back against it for a second before moving to my desk. Outside, voices drift faintly from the quad. Laughter. Conversation. Life moving forward at its usual pace.
I stay there longer than necessary, back against the door, phone heavy in my hand.
Asking him feels different than seeing him. Different than kissing him in a parking lot or pretending restraint is the same thing as certainty. This is deliberate. This is me choosing to be seen instead of letting circumstances do it for me.
I sit at my desk and unlock my phone. His name is right there. Easy. Familiar. I tell myself it’s practical.
The gala is a donor event. He’ll already be there. It makes sense to arrive together instead of circling each other all night like a question no one wants to ask out loud.
That logic doesn’t stop the flicker of nerves when I tap his name.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hey,” he says, and the sound of his voice settles something low in my chest.
“Hey,” I reply, then clear my throat. “Do you have a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
I close my eyes briefly, then open them again. “So… the gala’s this weekend.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m required to be there. Department expectations.”
I knew this already and I nod even though he can’t see me. “Right. I figured.”
There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just waiting.
I draw in a breath. “I was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”
Another pause. Shorter this time.
“As your plus one?” he asks, calm, careful not to assume.
“Yes.” The word comes out steadier than I expect.
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d like that,” he says. “And I’d love to go with you.”
My grip on the phone tightens, warmth blooming through my chest before I can stop it.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Then… okay.”
