30. Nick
NICK
M y stomach ties itself in knots when Labor Day rolls around, and not because classes start tomorrow.
I’ll be gone by Labor Day .
Zinnia’s words have played on an endless loop in my head for the past two weeks, each moment together growing more urgent.
I keep waiting for her to tell me it’s time, that her bags are packed and she has to go, but it hasn’t come.
It was easy to dismiss before Labor Day arrived, but as the early dawn light creeps in under the blinds on Monday, I can no longer hold the fear at bay.
Is she leaving today?
I roll my head to the side, looking at Zinnia in my bed.
She’s so peaceful, dark hair splayed out on the pillow, one arm thrown casually across me, legs tangled in the sheets.
We spent the entire weekend together, and while I’m surprised to find I’m ready for class tomorrow, I’m not ready for her to leave.
I’ve known it from the start, I think, but it became undeniable on Thursday night.
Seeing Marcus should have freaked me out, and in the past I would have totally withdrawn, but it had the opposite effect.
When Zinnia asked if I was thinking about him after life drawing, I was, but not in the way she assumed.
I wasn’t ruminating on what happened between my brother and me all those years ago; I was replaying that moment Zinnia defended me so fiercely.
And when I wasn’t thinking about that, I was remembering what Marcus said to me at his bachelor party.
Once I met Priya it was like a light came on. All these years I thought I’d been living, but I was kidding myself.
It’s exactly how I feel with Zinnia, and knowing she’s leaving soon made me want her more urgently than ever.
That’s why I had to have her on that sofa in June’s studio.
Why I couldn’t wait. It’s not enough that we’ve spent two solid weeks together, that we’ve fucked on every surface in my apartment. I need more.
I need so much more with her.
She stirs, eyelids fluttering open to find me looking at her. A smile curls along her lips, and she sighs, trailing her hand across my chest.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Morning.” My voice comes out hoarse, whether from sleep or emotion, I don’t know. I want to pull her close and make love to her, to spend the entire day curled up in my sheets together, but that will only make it so much harder when she leaves. Instead, I rise, pulling on my underwear. “Coffee?”
She nods, and I pad out to the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine.
I glance out the window onto the street below as I wait for the machine to heat, gaze landing on the doorstep, where I spotted Zinnia the day she rang my buzzer, and my heart went fucking nuts at seeing her there.
At knowing she’d come to see me, even though she shouldn’t.
It feels like a lifetime ago now, and while this would be so much easier if she wasn’t about to leave, I also don’t regret it for a second. I can’t.
Zinnia’s sitting up in bed when I return, wearing one of my T-shirts, her expression thoughtful. I hand over a steaming cup of coffee and climb into bed beside her. When she leans in to kiss me, I linger, heart aching.
“So, listen,” she says at length, cradling her mug. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
My gut tightens instantly. Here it comes.
She eyes me uncertainly over her mug, then finally murmurs, “I’ve been thinking about sticking around in New York for a while.”
Surprise flashes through me. I stare at her, heart beating hard.
“Really?” I ask, unable to stop hope from creeping into my voice. She hears it and smiles.
“Yes. What do you think?”
“I love that idea,” I reply, probably a little too hastily, and force myself to dial it back, dropping my gaze to my mug.
“I know it wasn’t the plan,” she adds, and I can feel her gaze on the side of my face. “So if you don’t want… I mean, this, us…”
Fuck it .
I set my coffee down and turn to face her squarely, taking her hand.
“You have to know I’m crazy about you, Zinnia.
Every time I think about you leaving…” I swallow the emotion rising in my throat, voice gruff as I add, “If you stay, I want to keep doing this.” No, that’s not right. “I need to keep doing this. With you.”
Her eyes move between mine, shimmering. “I feel the same.”
Thank God .
My chest expands, filling with relief, and something else. Something I’m too scared to acknowledge. I press my mouth to hers, focusing on the softness of her lips. On the knowledge that this isn’t over.
But as she draws away, her brow dips. “I should also tell you… I enrolled in another class at NYU.”
Oh.
Shit.
Dread immediately eclipses the relief. I tear my gaze away as her words sink in, contemplating what this means.
I’ll be dating a student on campus. A student I used to teach. I can’t do that.
And yet, I find myself wavering.
“Which class?” I ask.
“ Art, Patronage, and Power in Renaissance Italy . I think the professor’s name is Teagan Webber.”
I let my breath out in a long stream. At least it’s not one of my classes.
And Dr. Webber’s class is excellent. I can absolutely see why Zinnia’s drawn to it.
If anything, I’m fucking proud she’s taking another class.
Thrilled that she’s studying further in a field she has a natural gift for. A field that lights her up.
I take a long sip of coffee as I process this, trying to figure out what to do. I’m over the moon that Zinnia is sticking around, and almost delirious that she feels the same as I do.
But there’s no denying this complicates things.
My gaze drifts back to her, sipping coffee in my bed.
She’s wearing an old T-shirt of mine, one I usually throw on when I shower after the gym.
It’s loose and worn now, the neck stretched, and it slips low on one shoulder, revealing a hint of her smooth, creamy skin.
I marvel at the shared ease between us, how the past two weeks have not only felt exhilarating, they’ve felt natural.
A few months ago, I could never have imagined a woman in my bed like this, and now I can’t imagine it without her.
Her eyes lift to find me staring at her, and heat flickers in their hazel depths. Any doubt I feel evaporates as my blood burns with desire. With the need to keep her close.
The fact is, there’s nothing to figure out.
Zinnia’s staying in the city, and there’s no way I won’t be with her.
So what if I was her professor? We met before that, and we’re both adults.
She won’t be in my class, and honestly, even if she was?
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m not sure that would stop me.
“We’ll make it work,” I tell her.
And when she smiles with relief, setting her coffee down to snuggle close, I know there was no other answer to give.