44. Zinnia
ZINNIA
I t takes all my strength not to go straight to Nick’s office.
This isn’t an on-campus conversation. I can’t show up in the middle of Nick’s workday and expect him to make time for me. And the things I feel—the things I need to say—aren’t for my professor.
They’re for Nick.
Instead, I head to his apartment. I wasn’t supposed to come over until after work tonight, but I can’t wait until then. Even if he won’t be home for hours, I feel closer to him there. I can put on his T-shirt and crawl into his bed. Drink his tea, read his books.
And hope that when he does eventually get home, he’ll forgive me for walking out yesterday.
I glance quickly over my shoulder as I unlock the door to his building, making sure there’s no one we know nearby. Even if Nick is planning to tell the department chair, I should still be careful. The last thing we need is someone reporting us before he gets the chance.
I’m tired as I let myself into Nick’s apartment, so it takes me completely by surprise when I close the door behind me and turn to find him sitting on the sofa.
“Zinnia,” he says, looking up in shock.
He’s as handsome as always, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. His glasses sit haphazardly on his nose, the walnut-brown waves of his hair all mussed, as if he’s been tugging on it in frustration.
In his hands, he holds his pencil and sketchbook. From here, I can just make out what he’s drawing. My heart skips a beat.
It’s me.
He rises too quickly, sketchbook and pencil clattering onto the coffee table, but he doesn’t notice. Instead, his eyes are glued to mine, wide and hopeful.
“What are you doing here, honey?” he asks, like he’s never seen a better sight in his life.
And every atom in my body sings with sweet relief.
“I’m so sorry.” I cross to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him close. Emotion thickens my throat, my voice breaking as I say, “I should never have walked out yesterday.”
“Hey.” He strokes a gentle hand over my hair. “I know it was a lot, and you needed time. I understand.”
I draw back, needing him to see my face. To see how much I mean every word.
“It wasn’t about you. About us. Because what you said… I want that. I want to stay in the city with you. I want this to be permanent.”
His eyes fill with emotion, and he takes off his glasses, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes.
“But…” I suck in a fortifying breath, hoping this doesn’t hurt him like I worry it will. “I can’t move in here.”
His face falls. “You don’t want to live with me?”
“I absolutely want to live with you, but there’s more to it than that.” I lower myself onto his leather sofa. “I have to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you sooner.”
He sinks beside me, his face lined with concern. “What is it?”
“You know my grandmother, Sylvia. She’s a donor to the art history department at NYU.”
“Sylvia,” Nick repeats, as if he can’t place the name. Then he sits up suddenly. “Wait. Sylvia Sinclair is your grandmother?”
“That’s her.”
“Shit.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I never connected the name.”
“I didn’t know she was connected to the university, or I would have said something.
” But as I say this, I realize how little I’ve told him about Gran.
I never intended to keep Nick in the dark, but I guess I felt protective of her, much like she always has for me.
And I wasn’t ready to admit how worried I’ve been.
It was easier to distract myself with class, work, and sneaking around.
But underneath all that, maybe I wasn’t ready to let Nick into my life fully. Maybe I was still unsure about whether I’d get to keep him.
“How is she?” Nick asks, then his face contorts in a grimace. “Does she know about us?”
“Yes. I’d been trying to hide it from her because I wasn’t sure what she’d think, but…
” I shake my head, still struggling to believe it.
“She wanted it to happen, and enrolled me in your class because she thought we should meet. She also encouraged June to hire you at the community arts center. When I told her we’d fallen in love…
” A laugh escapes me. “She was very pleased.”
Nick wipes a hand down his face, processing this. “Holy crap.”
I nod in agreement. My thoughts exactly.
His brow creases in confusion. “What does this have to do with us living together?”
My breath trickles out. “Gran’s… not great.
That’s actually the reason I came to New York.
Her neighbor Poppy called me, worried about Gran forgetting things, making little mistakes.
I thought Poppy was overreacting at first, but I came to see what she meant.
Gran needs support, and more than I can give her. ”
I pause, my throat prickling as I think back over our conversation. Nick takes my hands, stroking his thumb across my knuckles. Even through my worries about Gran, his touch is enough to steady me. To remind me I’m not doing this alone.
“She’s moving into an assisted living facility on Remsen Street,” I say. “And… she’s leaving her house to me.”
Nick’s mouth pops open in surprise. “She’s giving you her house?”
I nod. God, I still can’t believe it. That beautiful old brownstone is mine.
My own home.
Nerves pinch my belly as I glance at Nick. “Would you…” I shift my weight anxiously. “Would you ever consider living there, with me?”
“Move into Sylvia’s house?” He hesitates briefly, like he’s measuring the weight of it. “That’s not something I’d take lightly.”
I pause, understanding his hesitation when he phrases it like that. He knows Gran through work. I can see why that might make this… complicated.
“It will be my house when Gran leaves,” I remind him, and he gives a slow nod of acknowledgment. “It’s where I want to live, and I want you there with me. I know you love this place,” I say, motioning around us, “and you’ve been here forever, but it’s your apartment. I want a place that’s ours .”
He softens, leaning closer, and it gives me the courage to go on.
“The brownstone is really nice. It’s on Fruit Street, near the community arts center.
It probably needs a little work,” I add with a grimace, thinking of the crack in my ceiling, the curling wallpaper in the entry hall.
“But we could do that together. And it’s four floors, so there’s enough room for an office for you.
We could turn another room into a library, or—”
“Zinnia, honey.” Nick reaches out to cup my face, his fingers warm on my skin. “You’re staying in the city. You’re putting down roots for me. I can relocate to Brooklyn Heights for you.”
“Really?” Hope whispers through me at the thought that he might actually be prepared to do this. To move for me.
He gives a firm nod. “Of course. It makes sense. You need to be nearby for Sylvia. Besides, I love the neighborhood, and it will be good to be closer to Marcus and Priya.”
“That’s true,” I say.
“But…” He shakes his head. “The main reason is that I want to be with you. I want to be where you are.”
“You wouldn’t mind giving this place up for me?”
He leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine. “If I get to keep you—keep us —I’m not giving anything up.”
My heart fills my chest, but I remind myself this isn’t all he has to do for me.
He still has to put his job on the line.
Just the thought of it twists my insides, and my mind races as I try to come up with an alternative.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to do that if I dropped out of his class or left NYU altogether.
He’s already risked so much for me, and I don’t want to ask him for more. It’s time I gave something up for him .
“So, about telling the university,” I begin, and Nick’s expression shifts. “I don’t think you should.”
A groove sinks between his brows. “Why not?”
“I can’t ask you to take that chance, Nick. This matters too much to me.”
He huffs a small, ironic laugh, glancing down at his hands. “That’s exactly why I already did.”
My heart stops. “What?”
“I told them this morning.”
“But…” I blink, thinking of the way I left yesterday. “I walked out.”
“Yes, but I knew what I wanted. What mattered to me.”
“What if…” I swallow. “What if I’d decided to leave?”
His eyes lift to mine, that denim-blue brighter than ever. “I didn’t need to wait for that certainty to choose you.” He strokes my cheek, feather-soft. “You’re worth the risk, Zinnia. You’re worth the risk every time.”
A tear slips from my eye as I gaze at him. This beautiful, strong, passionate man. A man who never used to let himself feel anything, and now feels so much that he risked his career for me.
Risked his heart for me.
“What did they say?” I whisper, almost afraid to ask.
His expression clouds. “I’m so sorry, honey…” he begins, and my gut tightens into a fist.
Fuck. I knew it. He’s lost his job.
I suck in a trembling breath, but Nick continues, “You have to drop my class.”
My breath rushes out. “What?”
“It’s the only way I can stay on.”
“So…” I lean forward, hope bursting to life in my chest. “You’re not fired?”
“No. But—”
“Nick!” I yank him into my arms as a relieved laugh shudders out of me. “Oh, fuck. Oh my God.”
“Did you hear the part about dropping my class?” he says into my hair.
I squeeze tighter. “Yes. That’s fine.” I draw away with a shake of my head. “I should have dropped it the minute you took over.”
His eyes search mine, ringed with sadness. “But you love that class.”
“I love you more.”
“Fuck, Zinnia.” He pulls me against him, kissing me hard. “I love you so much.”
I climb into his lap, taking his glasses off to set on the coffee table behind me so I can kiss him properly. So I can rock against the hardness already forming in his jeans.
“Besides,” I say, between breathless kisses, “I can always take it again with another professor now that I’m staying.” I give him a wicked smile. “Or you can teach me everything I need to know at home.”
He releases a low growl, flipping me onto my back, bracing himself over me. “Damn right, I will.” His mouth covers mine, hot and urgent, fingers already working their way up my thigh. “And you’d better pay attention.”
“Yes, Professor,” I rasp, as his touch grazes my panties. I’m giddy as we kiss, as we quickly undress, realizing I’ve somehow gotten everything I didn’t know I needed.
“I can’t wait to live with you,” Nick says as he sinks inside me.
“I can’t wait to create a home with you. A life with you.”
After that, we don’t need words. We make love, every touch tinged with hunger. With relief.
With the promise of everything to come.