Chapter Sixteen — Rhett #2
“If you want the internship, take it.”
“And us?”
“We figure it out.”
“You make that sound possible.”
“It is possible.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
The honesty mattered.
I saw it land.
“I just know I would rather try something difficult with you than make it easy by ending it before we have to.”
Her eyes shone.
Not tears.
Close enough that my chest hurt.
Tessa looked away.
Then back.
“I hate uncertainty.”
“That part is obvious.”
“I hate not having an outcome.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“I could leave for the summer.”
“That’s possible.”
“And you’re still asking.”
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“Why?”
I touched the edge of the folder.
Not her.
Not yet.
“Because you’re worth the part I can’t control.”
For once, she had no answer.
Then she set the folder on the stone ledge beside us.
Reached for my jacket.
Pulled me down.
And kissed me.
Publicly.
Not dramatically.
Not for the university.
A real kiss in the middle of the courtyard while students walked around us.
Her hands tightened at my lapels.
Mine settled at her waist.
I kissed her back carefully.
Not because I did not want more.
Because this answer deserved attention.
When she pulled away, her face was flushed.
Her breathing uneven.
Her eyes steady.
“Yes,” she said.
My brain stopped.
“Yes?”
“Exclusively.”
The word moved through me like a goal horn.
I smiled.
Could not help it.
Tessa narrowed her eyes.
“Do not make this a spectacle.”
“Impossible.”
“Rhett.”
I kissed her again.
Quickly.
She tried not to smile.
Failed.
I touched my forehead to hers.
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“You heard me.”
“I want confirmation.”
“You love documentation.”
“I’m learning.”
Her hands loosened around my jacket but did not move away.
“We’re dating,” she said.
“For real.”
“For real.”
“No expiration date.”
“Do not push.”
“Understood.”
“Boston is still unresolved.”
“I heard you.”
“My father will have opinions.”
“Mine too.”
She blinked.
“Your mother?”
I smiled.
“Enthusiastic opinions.”
Tessa looked suddenly nervous.
“Do not tell her yet.”
“She already thinks you’re coming for Thanksgiving.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before this was real.”
I studied her.
“Would real make her less likely to invite you?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Tessa covered her face briefly.
“This is already a mistake.”
I pulled her hands down gently.
“Too late.”
Her expression softened.
Then she glanced at the proposal.
“We still need to answer the university.”
“Easy.”
“No interview.”
“No campaign.”
“No explaining us to strangers.”
She nodded.
“I can write the email.”
“We can write it.”
Her eyes lifted.
“We?”
“Relationship.”
That smile appeared again.
Small.
Real.
Mine.
“Fine,” she said.
We sat on a bench beneath the arch.
Tessa opened her laptop.
Of course she had one in her bag.
She drafted the email.
I objected to the phrase thank you for the thoughtful opportunity because the opportunity was not thoughtful.
She told me professional correspondence was not the place for emotional accuracy.
I suggested regrettably unable to participate.
She changed it to respectfully decline.
We argued over the sign-off.
Then sent it together.
No announcement.
No drama.
One boundary.
Chosen by both of us.
Tessa closed the laptop.
“That felt easier than expected.”
“Most rebellion does.”
“This was not rebellion.”
“It was mildly rebellious.”
“It was an email.”
“Every revolution begins somewhere.”
She looked at me.
“You are going to be exhausting as a boyfriend.”
The word nearly made me stop breathing.
Boyfriend.
Not temporary rumor-management partner.
Not campus hazard.
Boyfriend.
I tried to act normal.
Failed.
“Say that again.”
“No.”
“You keep denying me joy.”
“You have enough.”
“I have exactly one girlfriend.”
Her face warmed.
“You are impossible.”
“And exclusive.”
“That is not a personality trait.”
“It is now.”
We left the courtyard hand in hand.
That part was new.
Not the contact.
The meaning.
Students looked.
Someone whispered.
A guy near the stairs recognized me and lifted his phone.
Tessa’s grip tightened.
I slowed.
“You okay?”
She glanced at the phone.
Then at me.
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She did not pull away.
Neither did I.
For once, the public version matched the private truth.
That should have felt uncomplicated.
It almost did.
Until we reached the parking lot and Tessa’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her father.
The careful voice returned before she even answered.
“Hi, Dad.”
I stayed beside her.
Not touching now.
Giving her room.
She listened.
Her expression changed.
First surprise.
Then tension.
Then something close to fear.
“What do you mean they moved it up?”
I straightened.
She turned away slightly.
“When?”
A pause.
“No, I understand.”
Another.
“I’ll call them.”
Her hand tightened around the phone.
“Yes. I said I’ll call.”
She ended the call.
For a moment, she stood completely still.
“What happened?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“The Boston firm moved the interview.”
“To when?”
“Friday.”
Two days.
The word landed between us.
Not a decision.
Not yet.
But close enough to cast a shadow.
Tessa looked down at our joined hands.
Then slowly let go.
Not rejection.
Reflex.
The old need to separate feelings from practical choices.
I felt it anyway.
“Do you want the interview?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.”
There it was again.
The answer that meant she knew enough to be afraid.
I kept my voice steady.
“You should take it.”
Her gaze snapped to mine.
“You just asked me to be your girlfriend.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re telling me to interview in Boston.”
“I’m telling you not to reject something because of me.”
Her expression tightened.
“What if I accept it because it’s safer?”
“Then don’t.”
“That is not helpful.”
“Fair.”
“You said choosing you did not mean choosing against myself.”
“It doesn’t.”
“But what if I don’t know which choice is mine?”
The question hurt because I had no answer.
So I gave the only one I trusted.
“Then we figure that out too.”
Her eyes searched mine.
The confidence she wanted was not there.
I could not promise Boston would not change us.
Could not promise distance would be easy.
Could not promise she would choose me.
But I could promise not to make fear choose for either of us.
I reached for her hand again.
Stopped halfway.
Waited.
Tessa looked at it.
Then placed hers in mine.
Her grip was tight.
“Friday,” she said.
“Friday.”
“And us?”
“Nothing between us has changed.”
The words sounded stronger than I felt.
Maybe that was what courage was.
Not certainty.
Choosing the truth while uncertainty remained.
Tessa stepped closer.
Rested her forehead briefly against my chest.
I wrapped my arms around her.
No camera.
No joke.
No easy answer.
Just us.
Real now.
And already facing the first thing that might pull us apart.