I swing my foot at his ass, and he scurries out of the way just in time. “I kind of love you,” I call as he runs up the stairs.
He stops halfway up, turning to me with a broad smile, the one with the dimple that makes my heart feel like it’s grown too big too quickly à la the Grinch. “Kind of? I’m moving in the wrong direction.”
I laugh and turn back to my flashcards. Inez is immediately at my side.
“Can you two just kiss already?” she asks in a low voice, her eyes on Colton, who’s undoubtedly dialing my father as we speak.
I nudge her with my shoulder. “You know we aren’t like that.”
We’ve heard some variation of this for fourteen years, though Inez’s comments have kicked up considerably since he came back to Boston. No one can seem to accept that we are, and have always been, just friends. There may have been a blip of attractionnow and then on my side, but nothing worth risking our friendship over.
He’s been my person since the first week of college, when I word vomited my enthusiasm all over him and he responded by asking genuine questions instead of making fun of me. I spent all freshman year waiting for the moment I’d be too much for him, like I’ve been for everyone else, but it never came.
Inez purses her lips and side-eyes me, the embodiment of theSure, Janmeme.
“Men and women can be friends, you know!” I say.
“I absolutely agree. But not you two.”
I scoff. She can say what she wants, but our friendship is deeper than any romantic relationship I’ve ever seen. Romance fades, even when the relationship is built on a solid foundation of friendship. And when those relationships end, so does the friendship. Who in their right mind would risk it?
“Don’t we have more important things to focus on than your matchmaking attempts?” I ask Inez, fluttering my notecards in front of my face like a fan.
“Ready for this?” she asks, tugging on one of her long, dark brown curls.
“Isnoan acceptable answer?” I ask with a laugh.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders, laughing with me. “Not really.”
The door opens again, and this time, a group of much less friendly faces walk through. No more time for second-guessing. It’s showtime.
2
COLTON
I letmyself have one last look at Quinn before I slip out of the auditorium. Ten years apart, and her effect hasn’t worn off a bit. I may as well still be an awkward eighteen-year-old, mesmerized by her dark expressive eyes and the way her mind jumps so quickly from topic to topic.
I thought these feelings would fade while I was abroad. A decade without seeing each other in person should have cured me of this, but it was like she was right next to me every day. A whiff of limoncello may as well have been Quinn behind me, her citrusy scent hanging in the air. Her laugh, loud and unabashed, echoed in my head when my new colleagues didn’t even chuckle at my deadpan sarcasm. And on the days when the cursor blinked on the screen, my research nowhere near done and the pressure pushing down on me like a medieval torture device, she was the only one I wanted to talk to, no matter how many other women I tried to build something with.
I pull up my missed call log, hitting Richard Riley’s contact and fighting back my anger at the way Quinn’s eyes went carefully blank at his name. There’s nothing careful or vacant about her. She’s meant to be loud. Passionate, with thoughts flowingout of her like the constant stream of water from the fountains around Rome.
My phone rings out five times before Richard picks up, and I can practically see him sitting at his giant wooden desk, watching the lit-up screen and waiting until the last second to pick up as one of his weird power plays.
I hate the man. And I idolize him and then hate myself for idolizing him. He’s a horrible father, and I’ll never forgive the pain he’s inflicted on the most important person in my life. But he’s also brilliant, and he’s dedicated a lot of time and energy to helping me build a name in the field. The darkest part of me—the part that’s a terrible friend who doesn’t deserve her—always sighs in relief when Quinn insists I keep working with him.
“Colton, how are you doing, son?”
I flinch every time he calls me that. When I was in college, I’d fantasize about Quinn realizing she had feelings for me, the two of us building a life together and me being welcomed into this impressive, overachieving family like an equal. Now, it makes my skin crawl, him claiming me as his own while dismissing the person whoishis.
“Doing well, Richard. But I’m about to go into a faculty senate meeting, so I’ll have to keep this short.”
A clap sounds down the line, like he’s slapped his hand on his knee. “I knew you’d dive straight into building a name on campus. Never forget how important service is for your tenure package, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer dutifully, although I’ve been through this conversation a dozen times between him and my other mentor, Dr. Cassia.
While Richard’s support is somewhat performative—he wants to claim ownership of my successes—Dr. Cassia’s been in my corner since freshman year, just like Quinn. The two of them took an angry, defensive kid who was sure he’d never fit in on a university campus and turned me into who I am today. They’rethe reason I had the confidence to go off the path I’d planned, the reason I believed supporting my mother and pursuing my passion weren’t mutually exclusive.
“Now, about this summer,” Richard says, “I’ll be in Rome longer than expected. I wanted to get something on the calendar.”
