Chapter 4
COLTON
MAY — THIRTEEN WEEKS TO WIN OVER THE FACULTY
I stepped foot on a plane for the first time a week before my twenty-first birthday.
It was fucking terrifying.
West Virginia and Boston are close enough that when I needed to visit, I was able to take a train or, in desperate times, a shitty bus that made me wish I wasn’t going home at all. But planes were uncharted territory.
Without me asking, Quinn flew to Pittsburgh so we could fly out to Rome together.
I spent the entire three-hour drive from home to the city a nervous wreck.
But she was waiting there for me at the airport, two giant suitcases behind her and a backpack almost as big as her body strapped on.
She talked for half of the almost ten-hour flight about the spots she wanted to show me—never making me feel bad for being too nervous to respond and letting me squeeze her hand every time my stomach dropped.
Like that first flight, I spend this one pushed up against Quinn, trying to focus on the movie in front of me instead of the way her leg presses against mine.
The memory of her flushed skin as we held that scrap of nothing between us plays on a constant loop, like it’s transposed over the tiny screen on the back of the seat, a thousand times more vivid than the superhero movie I put on.
I don’t know what came over me in her apartment that day.
It was like the angel on my shoulder passed out from the shock of the lingerie, leaving me defenseless against the devil pushing me to see how far we’d go, and now I’m left with a million what ifs.
What if Inez hadn’t called?
What if Quinn had followed through?
What if I’d kissed her when her eyes flicked to my lips?
It’s going to be a long summer sharing an apartment with her.
Once we gather Quinn’s six thousand bags, we grab a cab to our new place.
It’s worth the extra cost—and fear, as the cabbie swerves between cars at an unholy speed—to see the city flying past us, flashes of concrete, marble, and steel making you feel like the taxi’s a time machine providing glimpses into history.
It doesn’t matter how much time I spend here.
Nothing can pull my attention from the world laid out before me. Not even Quinn.
When the cab drops us in front of an old building that definitely doesn’t have an elevator, Quinn looks between our luggage piled on the sidewalk and the small wooden door to our building. Then she clears her throat and gestures to her bags. “Well, get to it, Colton.”
I laugh. “Excuse me?”
She rolls her lips together in a failed attempt to hide her smile, especially since she’s never been able to figure out how to keep it from reaching her eyes. “You’re a strong guy. Should only take you three or four trips to get it all up there.”
“And what will you be doing while I take care of this?”
“There’s too much for one trip. Someone has to stay with the extra bags to keep them from being swiped by some guy on a Vespa.”
I eye the bag closest to me. “I don’t think that technique would work. This bag is bigger than a Vespa.”
She laughs and tugs the luggage in question closer to the building with a little grunt. “Fine, then to protect them from some guy in a giant van.”
“And why, exactly, am I the one who has to take up all the bags when you’re the one who packed two years’ worth of clothes?” I ask as I cross my arms over my chest. I’ll carry the bags, but I’m going to get a please out of her first.
“Because you have all of that,” she says, patting my biceps, and I don’t think I imagine the pressure of her fingers tightening.
“What do you say, Quinn?” I ask sternly.
She flutters her lashes, over the top and dramatic, and it shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “Please?”
“Good girl.”
Her grip definitely tightens on my arm that time, her eyes widening.
She recovers less than a second later, punching my arm with a laugh. “I never should have given you that stack of romance novels. It’s like I walked up to Thanos and handed him the Infinity Stones. The women of Rome are in danger.”
I chuckle, shaking off my disappointment. Of course her mind goes there. She’d never consider me for herself.
Even on my most hopeful days back in college, I never expected more than friendship from Quinn, who is all light and joy and can have her pick of whomever she wants.
Her friendship is enough. More than enough.
It’s everything. That moment in her apartment is messing with my head, making me see and hope for things I’d long given up on, and if I don’t want to mess up the most important thing in my life, I need to get my head on straight.
I grab the first two bags, grunting as I hoist them up. “The fuck did you pack in these?”
She yells a singsong thank you at my back as I make my way up for the first time. When we complete the last trip up—first for Quinn and third for me—I need a cold beer and a flat surface. Quinn knocks on the door of our new place, and the door tears open a second later.
Inez, who has been dragging the luggage into the apartment as I brought it up, is bouncing on her toes, a beaming smile on her face. “Welcome home, you two!”
We follow her inside, and my eyes run over the the apartment.
It couldn’t be more stereotypical if it tried.
Charming—if cold and uneven—terracotta bricks jostle our suitcases like we’re still out on the Roman streets.
Stucco walls, painted a warm yellow, feel like a hug in the bigger rooms and suffocating in the tiny kitchen off the foyer.
The exposed wooden beams would do any modern farmhouse proud, but make it seem like we’ve stepped back in time when paired with the rest of the apartment.
It has a large living area, with a couple plush leather couches and a massive dining table. I wonder how anyone is supposed to host a dinner party to fill that table when the kitchen can barely fit three people. It’s odd and old and perfect.
Inez points out the doors off the living room. “I took the one on this side. It’s smaller than the other two. Those rooms each have a desk, and I figured you’d appreciate a place to grade papers away from the school.”
“This is incredible. Thank you,” I say.
She smiles and nods before pointing back to the two remaining doors. “Those two are up for grabs. They’re basically the same, so it doesn’t matter. The only difference is the corner one has a better view.”
At the word view, Quinn’s and my eyes clash together. We’re two gladiators in the arena, sizing up the opponent, and that view’s our ticket to freedom. I’d do a lot of things for this woman—giving up a room with a view isn’t one of them.
Our fingers twitch towards our suitcases like this is the Old West. Each waiting for the other’s move. Each afraid to pull their eyes away and give the slightest advantage to the opponent. I half expect a tumbleweed to roll between us.
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly we’re both scrambling for our suitcases.
Unfortunately for Quinn, she brought three times as much as me.
As she reaches for one bag, I knock another one down between her and the room.
My other hand closes around my suitcase as I shoot off toward the far door.
Her laughter rings out behind me. “Asshole.”
I grin over my shoulder and see her scrambling over the suitcase, all luggage left behind in pursuit of the prize. But she can’t catch up to my long legs.
I fling my suitcase into the room, slamming the door behind me and flipping the lock with a satisfying click. Quinn’s body hits the door a second later. The doorknob turns, but there’s no way she’s getting in with that deadbolt.
“You’re such a cheater!”
“It’s not cheating. It’s strategy. Ask Sun Tzu.”
I toss my suitcase on the bed and yank open the drawers of the rickety dresser as she messes with the door again.
“Colton Ford Miller, don’t you dare unpack that suitcase in my room.”
“Not your room, Quinn Livia Riley.”
I start blindly throwing clothes into the drawers. Half of this stuff will need to be hung up later, but that’s not the point.
“You tricked me with that tricky suitcase…” She struggles to finish the sentence, too frustrated by my victory. “...trick!”
“It’s cute when you get flustered and lose your words.”
Her fist bangs against the door again. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you.”
“My momma raised me to be a winner,” I say, letting my accent slip back in full force.
I toss the empty suitcase under the bed. I allow one more laugh before I school my expression and walk to the door. Quinn’s leaning on the couch across from me with an adorable scowl.
“You’re a dick.”
I feign concern. “Did you want this room? I’m sorry. I wish I had known before I unpacked.” She shoulders past me with narrowed eyes. “Welcome to my crib.”
She glances over her shoulder with an infuriatingly sexy smirk. “You’re dating yourself, Dr. Miller.”
She saunters over to see the view I haven’t taken the time to look at in my mad dash to claim the bedroom. With her back to me, my eyes run down her body.
I saw the physical changes through our video calls and the hundreds of pictures she sent me, but it had all been theoretical to a certain point.
When I thought of her over the years, she was the last way I’d seen her in person, twenty-two with a giant smile on her face and tears sliding down her cheeks as she dropped me at the airport.
My brain’s still processing the changes in person.
She’s even more beautiful now with her blond hair cut short.
I’m temporarily mesmerized by the way it swings over her shoulders as her head follows the path of the Roman skyline.
She has laugh lines around her eyes now, and I’m grateful that she’s spent most of our time apart smiling even in the midst of her hurt.
She’s put on weight that makes her look like an ancient statue of Venus brought to life, all lush curves built for grabbing.
I look back up to find her watching me over her shoulder with a raised brow, and I clear my throat. “How’s the view?”
“Spectacular, you asshole.” With a final scowl at me, she turns back to the window.
I come up behind her to see for myself. She’s right.
The oranges, yellows, and reds of the buildings catch the sun.
Clotheslines dotted with drying laundry hang between them, a sign that the neighborhood still holds on to its local population.
Plenty of the buildings are showing age, their facade damaged and discolored, but that’s part of the joy of Rome.
Everything’s old. Centuries old. Every crumbling building and hole-in-the-wall courtyard makes me wonder what it’s seen over the course of its history, so significantly longer than my own.
I’m a blip, a mayfly. It should terrify me, but I find the consistency and grandeur of this place more comforting than intimidating.
Our apartment is in Trastevere, a historically local neighborhood that is becoming more popular with students, artists, and tourists by the day.
The dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica shines in the distance, capping off the perfect image of Rome.
I’ll never get over the contradiction of these historical sights next to the crumbling facades and ruins that litter so many corners.
The juxtaposition of a city collapsing under the weight of its own history next to the greatest—and most pristine—artistic and architectural feats.
I look down at the side of Quinn’s face, her eyes misting as she gazes over the city. She’s stunning, even more gorgeous than the view outside my bedroom window, and I’m struck by how lucky I am for the thousandth time.
“It’s been a while since I thanked you,” I say.
She rolls her eyes even as her lips curve up. “That again?”
“Yes, that again. You’re the reason I have this life.”
“You would have figured something out,” she says, fiddling with her shirt like my gratitude makes her uncomfortable.
“I don’t think I’d be living under a bridge now if you hadn’t stepped in. But I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have a career I love and a chance to travel the world doing it. Your belief in me changed everything, and I’ll never stop saying it.”
She teases her lip with her teeth as she squeezes past me, plopping down in the plush armchair set up in front of my new desk.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud, but you changed everything for me, too.”
I cross my arms and lean back against the windowsill. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. You were my first student.” I laugh and her smile grows.
“Seriously! You had so much potential and were being left behind by an educational system that acted like you should know everything. It wasn’t fair.
I got more joy out of helping you than I got out of all my classes combined.
It was the first time I questioned if the life laid out for me was the one I wanted. ”
“Dealing with my brooding bullshit was enjoyable?”
“Helping you figure out what you wanted to study and what you could do with it was enjoyable. Knowing I made a difference in your life was enjoyable. I’m not saying you don’t make a difference, too, but it didn’t feed my soul like it fed yours. You showed me that.”
I walk over and pull her up for a hug. “Then I guess we’re even.”
She lays her head on my chest, right over my heart. “Even.”
Quinn’s affectionate by nature. I learned that quickly and thoroughly when I thought she was also interested in me freshman year, only to find out that she started seeing a girl who lived on her hall.
But it doesn’t matter that her hugging me or kissing my cheek or twining our arms together as we walk is platonic, my heart kicks up every time.
She probably thinks I have a heart condition after all these years.
“Want to blow off unpacking and go grab some food?” she asks.
I lean back from the hug to look down at her. “Absolutely, I do. Let's reintroduce you to your city.”
Quinn bounces on her toes, all joy and excitement like the first day I met her. And just like then, I let her drag me along, out of our apartment and into the city.
Fourteen years later, and I’d still follow this girl anywhere.