Chapter Twenty-Two — Rhett #2
“You’re not a temporary version of my life.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“You say that like you don’t.”
“I’m trying.”
She touched my face.
One hand against my jaw.
The public sidewalk disappeared.
Not literally.
People still passed.
Some noticed.
For once, I did not care.
“I accepted Boston because I want the work,” she said. “I’m staying with you because I want you.”
My chest tightened.
“Those are separate choices.”
“Yes.”
“And both are real.”
“Yes.”
The certainty in her voice did something painful and good.
I leaned into her palm.
“Post that.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“Not publicly.”
I touched her wrist lightly.
“Just keep saying it to me.”
Her expression softened.
“I can do that.”
“Frequently.”
“Demanding.”
“Emotionally high-maintenance.”
“You hid that well.”
“Marketable face.”
She smiled.
Finally.
Small.
Real.
The version that always felt earned.
She lowered her hand.
Then looked at the draft.
“I’m not posting.”
Relief moved through me.
I tried not to show it.
Failed.
Tessa noticed.
“Do not look victorious.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I support your choice.”
“Smugly.”
“Still support.”
She deleted the draft.
Not dramatically.
One tap.
Gone.
Then locked the screen.
“What now?” I asked.
“We let the statement stand.”
“And the comments?”
“We stop reading them.”
“That seems difficult.”
“You will need supervision.”
“I’m familiar.”
She slipped her phone into her coat pocket.
Then reached for mine.
I handed it over.
She turned it off.
Completely.
I stared.
“That feels authoritarian.”
“Preventative.”
“My mother may call.”
“She has my number.”
“Coach?”
“He can find you.”
“Emergency?”
“We are standing ten feet from campus security.”
“You planned this.”
“I did.”
“Romantic.”
“Necessary.”
She put my phone into her bag.
I considered objecting.
Then she took my hand.
I decided survival was possible.
We continued walking.
No destination.
No phones.
No public statement.
Only winter air and the strange quiet that existed when the internet could not reach us.
After several minutes, Tessa said, “I received the Boston schedule.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“And?”
“Orientation starts June third at eight.”
“Cruel.”
“I need to arrive June first.”
Two days earlier than expected.
The number lodged in my chest.
I kept walking.
“Okay.”
She glanced at me.
“You hate that word.”
“I’m growing.”
“Say the real thing.”
I exhaled.
“I hate losing two days.”
Her face softened.
“Me too.”
“And?”
“Housing is included.”
“That helps.”
“I’ll have a roommate.”
“Less good.”
“A woman named Priya.”
“Neutral.”
“She studies public policy.”
“Threatening.”
Tessa smiled.
“I thought we were avoiding jealousy games.”
“I’m threatened by policy.”
“She has a boyfriend.”
“Excellent woman.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“And supportive.”
“Debatable.”
She squeezed my hand.
“I want you to visit the second weekend.”
My pulse shifted.
“You already know?”
“Yes.”
“You made a schedule.”
“Obviously.”
“Show me.”
“It’s preliminary.”
“Tessa.”
She looked pleased.
Possibly because I was asking to see a schedule.
I had changed.
Deeply.
Disturbingly.
“There’s a hotel near the apartment,” she said.
“I can stay with you.”
“The housing rules may not allow guests.”
“Terrible institution.”
“And my roommate exists.”
“Also inconvenient.”
“We can spend the day together.”
“Two days.”
“One full day and most of Sunday.”
“Negotiation begins.”
“We have class schedules.”
“I have persistence.”
“Clearly.”
That sentence again.
Not reassurance now.
Affection.
I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.
She looked at me.
Warm.
Steady.
No uncertainty about us in that moment.
“We’ll make it work,” she said.
The promise was dangerous.
Not because she meant it less.
Because neither of us knew what work would require yet.
I nodded.
“We’ll try.”
Her expression changed.
Not disappointed.
Approving.
“Better.”
Honest.
Not false reassurance.
One of the rules.
We reached the frozen fountain where we had discussed Boston after the interview.
Snow had gathered along the stone edge.
Tessa stopped.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“I think we should tell people.”
My chest tightened again.
“Tell people what?”
“That we’re together.”
I glanced around.
“People know.”
“They assume.”
“They have photographs.”
“They don’t have the truth from us.”
I waited.
This seemed dangerously close to the public explanation we had just rejected.
Tessa saw the concern.
“Not a statement.”
“Then?”
“Just stop denying it.”
I looked at her.
“That’s all?”
“No announcement. No feature. No performance.”
She stepped closer.
“If someone asks, we tell the truth.”
My pulse kicked.
“Which truth?”
Her eyes warmed.
“That you’re my boyfriend.”
I smiled.
Could not stop it.
“And?”
“And I’m your girlfriend.”
“Strong.”
“Do not make it unbearable.”
“Too late.”
“And Boston does not change that.”
The smile faded into something deeper.
“No.”
She took my hand in both of hers.
“We don’t owe anyone the details.”
“No.”
“But I don’t want privacy to feel like hiding.”
That mattered.
Especially to me.
The guy who had spent years using public charm to avoid private truth.
Now Tessa wanted the truth visible without making it available.
A boundary.
Not a secret.
I nodded.
“All right.”
Her mouth curved.
“That word sounds better now.”
“Context.”
She stepped into me.
I wrapped one arm around her waist.
“Can I kiss you in front of the fountain?” I asked.
“This is not a significant location.”
“We had an emotional conversation here.”
“We have emotional conversations everywhere.”
“Relationship branding.”
“Absolutely not.”
I kissed her anyway.
After she said yes.
Quietly.
Against my mouth.
The kiss was warm despite the cold.
Unhurried.
Public enough that two students walking past recognized us.
One whispered.
The other lifted a phone.
Tessa noticed.
So did I.
Neither of us stepped away.
Not because the camera deserved anything.
Because it did not get to choose the moment either.
When we finally separated, Tessa looked toward the students.
One had lowered the phone.
Possibly embarrassed.
Good.
Then she looked back at me.
“Still hate the internet?” she asked.
“Completely.”
“Still love me?”
“More.”
“That was not one of the response options.”
“I improvise.”
She smiled.
And this time, when someone saw it, the smile still belonged to us.