#kwrites.txt

A blast of cool air hits her when she finally reaches the literary building and hauls open one of the large oak doors. The click-clacking continues with each step, echoing across the marble hall leading to her office.

Her phone pings as she digs in her purse for her office keys, and she fishes the device out. A text lights up the screen, the name ELLIE with a dinosaur emoji hovering above the message.

forgot to tell u art club starts today. oh and the bus sucks.

With a deep sigh and a shake of her head, Tess taps out a response.

Did you forget your headphones?

no but it’s hard to listen to music when everything is so loud and smells like shit

I thought Riley rode the bus too. Is she not with you?

her mom got a new shift and started dropping her off. stupid hospital.

Stupid hospital

u could just send me to that prep school

For the last time: NO

u suck

Gonna screenshot this and show it to you one day when you’re calling me from college in the middle of the night

whatever. love u i guess.

Love you too, El.

With a grin, Tess clicks her phone off and unlocks the office. The remnants of the old computer the university replaced for her still sit in the corner, and boxes of old paper assignments she needs to shred are stacked on the other side of the room. 

She tosses her purse onto the buttery leather sofa, phone still in hand as she settles down at her desk and shoves away the binders littering its surface.

Her phone pings once more. Ellie’s texted her a photo of two cartoon dinosaurs with their necks wrapped around one another. Tapping the heart on the image, she lays the device face down and boots up her computer. 

At least a few dozen emails have flooded her inbox—reminders about staff meetings, phishing scam warnings, advertising from an educational resource she used once, more phishing scams.

Just as she’s got the messages whittled down to the most important, a tap on her door catches her attention.

Her oldest and most trusted colleague and mentor, Dr. Frank Murray, beams down at her from the doorway. 

“Morning, Dr. Servopoulos.”

“Frank!” she rises from her chair to embrace him in a hug. “How was your summer? You must’ve enjoyed yourself. We haven’t seen you since June.”

“Well, you know Bill.” He air kisses her on both cheeks. “He bitched and moaned about the beach all the way to Nantucket, but as soon as he discovered deep sea fishing…”

A laugh rises in Tess’s chest as she takes him in. His salt and pepper beard is trimmed down, and he’s gotten himself a tan. The familiar, comforting twinkle in his eyes shines a little brighter.

“Semi-retirement looks good on you,” she assures him.

“I should hope so.” His hands slide into the pockets of his slacks, and his gaze casts to the ground. “Considering it’ll probably be full retirement by this time next year.”

Tess pouts. “Oh, you’re not allowed to leave.”

With a bittersweet smile, Frank pats her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, kid. You’ve got your own department to run.”

And he’s right. She does. Marlene, the current English department chair, has been whispering about being courted by Boston College. If she vacates, Tess is the most senior professor. 

The only reason she and Frank cross paths regularly is because she was one of his teachers when he was headmaster at Barrington Prep. They’d taught together for several years before that, and he missed the classroom as soon as he stepped into admin. When Haversham offered him a position, he’d accepted—and put in a good word for Tess when she needed it most.

With English and history sharing a building at Haversham, he’d made a point to continue looking after her, even if it meant they only had five minutes to enjoy a coffee in the lounge once a month. Ellie had even been the flower girl at his and Bill’s wedding a decade ago, though she’d thrown a fit about the frilly dress.

“It won’t be the same without you,” Tess laments, and Frank nods sympathetically.

“Believe me, I’m gonna be just as lost for a while.” Shifting gears, though, he claps his hands together. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to be sad. I actually wanted to give you a heads up.”

Tess folds her arms across her chest. A heads up? That’s never good. “About what?”

“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this—and trust me, I gave it some thought—

“Dr. Murray?”

Frank’s TA, Henry, is out of breath as he glances sheepishly between the two of them.

“Sorry,” he mutters, then turns to Frank. “That new guy is here.”

“Ah,” Frank nods. “Let him know I’ll be right up.”

Henry nods and hurries back to the stairwell. They really need to install some elevators in this building.

Hurriedly, Frank addresses Tess.

“I’ve gotta take care of this,” he offers apologetically. “I’ll explain everything later.”

Understanding, though having to make a conscious effort to rid her mind of the possibilities that threaten to race around, Tess bobs her head. “Just don’t leave me hanging, okay?”

He grins. “I’ll do my best.”

Then he disappears. 

There’s no doubt in Tess’s mind that he will try to make good on his word. There is every doubt, however, that he will succeed—not for any fault of his own, of course. Any educated guesses she can make about his calendar and the number of people who will sweep in and out of his office today tell her she just got the best of his time. 

Before she can let that sinking feeling settle in, she forces herself to take a walk. Marlene mentioned something about needing copies before their meeting, and she can use a coffee. Maybe she’ll run over to the art building and see if that kit she’d paid the lead professor to order for Ellie has arrived. Maybe she’ll take her time mass printing her syllabus.

Whatever news Frank has to deliver can’t possibly be that bad.

-x-x-x-

Professors and other university faculty bustle about the hallways as Joel leans on the railing overlooking the wide foyer. Sun beams in through the tall windows across the way, just a little too bright for his taste first thing in the morning. Joel’s early fifties haven’t been kind on his eyes.

Adjusting his glasses, he stands straight again, back popping with each movement of his vertebrae. Henry, the TA who had welcomed him into Frank’s office, scurries down the marbled pathway toward him.

“He’ll be right with you,” he promises. “But I think that stack of paperwork he wanted to get you started on is on his desk.”

“Sounds great.” 

Joel nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he follows the young man toward one of the offices down the hall. 

Henry rambles on for a while, sharing information about departmental practices and important facilities in the building and on campus. Not that Joel needs it. His years teaching just a few blocks over at Barrington had consisted of many a field trip to Haversham with junior and senior students. 

The university hasn’t changed much in fifteen years.

Except Frank. He had left Barrington shortly after Joel had moved back to Texas. They’d kept in touch professionally and sporadically over the years, but seeing him here now is as comforting as it is terrifying.

Which is why, when the good professor finally joins them, Joel immediately rises to his feet from the cushy leather chair he’d pulled up.

“Dr. Miller,” he greets, holding out his hand, a warm smile spreading across his face.

Joel shakes his head sheepishly as he accepts the handshake. “Ain’t got my doctorate, sir, but thank you.”

Frank chuckles. “Joel, if you call me sir ever again, I will rescind my recommendation from the dean to let you teach here.”

“Of course,” Joel nods politely. “How’re you doin’, Frank?”

“That’s more like it.” The other man crosses the room and settles in behind his desk, inviting Joel to join him. “I’m well. My husband and I just bought a little cottage further north. Did I tell you I got married?”

“You didn’t.” None of their conversations over the years had delved into any particularly personal matters. Awkwardly, he adds, “Congratulations.”

“It’s been ages now, but thank you. And yourself?”

Joel shakes his head. “Just tryin’ to get settled back into the city. My dad passed away last year, and my brother’s still out here with his wife.”

“Tommy?”

“Yeah. You know him?” 

As far as he can remember, his brother had no crossover into his previous professional life. He’d come out to visit for a week one summer when they were still in their twenties, met his wife, and bounced back and forth between Texas and Massachusetts until he was mature enough to put a ring on it and stay put.

“Sure. Maria covers a lot of our legal matters here.”

Joel frowns. “He never mentioned that.”

Not that Tommy would realize how crucial a role Frank had played for him all those years ago. But the fact that they’re even the slightest bit tied together in such a big city has his gears turning. That’s far too big a coincidence, and Tommy saying nothing raises a red flag. The most logical sense would be that he and Maria were still in touch with—

No. No, they wouldn’t. Not without saying a word.

Would they?

He shakes the thought, grateful when Frank changes the subject. “Anyway, we’re glad to have you. Did Henry give you the rundown?”

“He did,” Joel confirms. “The man’s an expert on this department. Although, I have to say…I’m still surprised you agreed to take me on after all this time, especially when I resigned halfway through a school year last time we worked together.”

Frank folds his hands together on his desk, releasing a deep sigh. “Joel, what you were going through then was…unprecedented.”

A knot twists in Joel’s stomach, and he can’t help but squirm a bit in his seat. This man doesn’t know the half of it…

“You also secured tenure at Texas at Austin,” Frank continues, “and you’re one of the best historians I’ve ever met. I’d be a damn fool to pass you over.”

Solemnly, Joel leans back in his chair and crosses on leg over the other. “I appreciate that. It’s strange enough bein’ back in this city. Nice to see a familiar face.”

The older man smiles and says vaguely, “I’m sure you’ll find a few around here.”

“That supposed to mean somethin’?”

The question has his new department leader shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Which cause Joel to squirm a bit.

Just as Frank opens his mouth to speak, someone knocks on his door. The dean, here to see their new hire.

Whatever the hell he meant, Joel does not find out.

-x-x-x-

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me with Gail.”

The disgust in her teenager’s voice is palpable as Tess emerges from the faculty restroom, now out of her office wear and donning a royal blue cocktail dress. She adjusts the tote with her other clothing across one shoulder as she click-clacks back to her office, holding her phone to her ear with the other hand. 

“Ellie, she won’t even be there with you,” she reminds her daughter. “All she’s gonna do is pop over from next door a couple of times to make sure you’re okay. And that you ate."

“No danger in forgetting that,” Ellie mutters, and Tess can hear the whoosh of their refrigerator door and the thunk of heavy glass against marble. “Been thinkin’ about this casserole all day.”

“See, I made your favorite. You’ll be fine.”

“Mom, Gail hates me."

“She does not.” Tess lays her phone on her desk and turns on the speaker as she pins diamond studs in her ears. “Who ran off those little punks who followed you home from the park a few weeks ago?”

There’s a long pause before Ellie grumbles, “Gail.”

“And who snuck you ice cream when I made you mow the lawn and wash the car for ditching school?”

“Gail.”

“Exactly.” She checks her dress for any stray dust or strands of hair. “You should thank her.”

The truth is that Gail is retired and, having the time on her hands, is the only person who Tess can count on to look after Ellie on nights like tonight. Not that Ellie totally needs the supervision. Tess herself was a latchkey kid growing up, and fourteen is old enough to spend a few hours alone. Boston is a big city, though, and her daughter’s track record has spoken for itself.

“I wish Riley’s mom was home tonight,” Ellie grumbles as the microwave beeps in the background. “I’d rather go over to her house.”

“When was the last time you saw each other outside of school?”

“A while,” the teenager mumbles, but she doesn’t elaborate.

A quick glance at her watch tells Tess that she needs to high tail it over to the campus center.

With no time to press her daughter, she says, “Hey, El, I’ve gotta go. Call or text me if you need anything, okay?”

“What time will you be home?”

“No later than 9:00,” Tess promises.

But Ellie answers with, “Sure, okay.”

Guilt rises in Tess’s chest. Prep for the new term has taken over the last couple of weeks. After a summer of making it home by 4:00, most of her nights have ended closer to 6:00 or 7:00. Ellie returning to school last week certainly helped to take up that time, but the disappointment in her daughter’s voice tugs at her.

“9:00,” she repeats. “And tomorrow, I’ll help you with homework after dinner, and we can watch Savage Starlight. School night be damned.”

There’s a long pause before Ellie asks, “With popcorn?”

“With popcorn.”

“Drizzled in caramel?”

“And dinosaur sprinkles,” she offers.

“Shit, they make those??”

Tess only chuckles at Ellie’s enthusiasm, guilt abating. At least for now. “I’ll try to make it home as early as I can escape.”

They exchange their goodbyes, and Tess takes off. The sooner she arrives at the mixer, the sooner she can plausibly leave without anyone looking down on her.

At least it’s only a mixer. The worst this event can be is boring, which she’s increasingly grateful for as her fifties fast approach. No one will fault her for ducking out early. 

She clings to that hope like her impractically tight dress is clinging to her. 

Just as she’s wondering if she’s too damn old to be torturing herself with uncomfortable clothing, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on her office wall.

Fuck it. She can sacrifice a little discomfort for the way this dress looks on her for one night.

-x-x-x-

Joel rolls the thin stem of a champagne flute between his fingers, trying to pay attention to the ramblings of Dr. Petrov, an eighty-year-old professor of Eastern European history who should have retired a long time ago. Henry, next to him, doesn't appear to be fairing much better as he downs another hit of his own drink and shifts back and forth on his feet.

Frank, smooth as ever, must sense their agitation and smiles gently at his colleague. "Alexei, have you eaten yet? The shrimp bar is delightful.”

Dr. Petrov stops mid-sentence, tilts his head, and nods. "Oh, I suppose I should eat something, shouldn't I?" he muses in his surprisingly thick Ukrainian accent.

With all the patience of a Kindergarten teacher, Frank walks across the room with the elderly man and helps him find a plate. Somehow, he manages to carry on the conversation with him.

"These things usually this…?" Joel trails off, debating on how to sound the least rude.

"Riveting?" Henry offers with a snicker.

Joel tips his drink to him. "Let's go with that."

"It's hit or miss. They only do these a couple times a year. As if we have much to do with any of the faculty outside our departments."

With a grunt of agreement, Joel notes, "Can't say I knew more than ten professors at Texas at Austin. Not the same as teachin' high school."

"You taught high school?"

"A long time ago." Joel waves a dismissive hand. "I'm better with adult learners. Teenagers are—"

"A handful?" Henry guesses. At Joel's nod, he smiles. "My little brother isn't quite ten yet, and he's already getting there."

"That's a big age gap."

"Our dad remarried after my mom left," Henry explains. His eyes go dark, and he trains them on his now empty champagne flute. "He passed a couple of years ago, though, and I still live at home to help my stepmom take care of him."

The words tug at Joel's chest, but he quickly swallows the lump that forms in his throat and downs it with a merely tolerable sip of champagne.

A whole university and they can't spring for hard liquor.

"You've got a lot on your plate, huh?" he observes.

"You can say that." Henry pauses, reflective now. "But I'll have my Master's in May, and hopefully a job curating at the Bostonian."

"You been in touch?"

"Interned earlier in the summer," Henry announces proudly.

"Congratulations."

Henry holds up his drink in appreciation. "Thanks, man."

The conversation tapers off, and Joel wanders through the rest of the party. Not that Haversham has a huge faculty, but Texas at Austin had been far more hands off with its professors. Across the room, the president of the university is shaking hands with Frank and his husband Bill, who has decidedly commandeered one of the corner tables. A couple of squirrely professors Joel had been introduced to from the math department are standing by smugly, watching everyone else.

All around him, the room buzzes with activity, and his head begins to grow fuzzy from more than the champagne. His eye roves around, searching for the nearest exit just in case. A few deep breaths later, he's calmed himself enough to not need an escape.

Crowds still get to him.

Food, he decides. He hasn't eaten since breakfast, and his damn doctor's been on his ass about his blood sugar.

As he weaves through the crowd toward the buffet, a hand reaches for his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. Henry again.

"Hey, there's someone you gotta meet," he says. "She's late, but you'll wanna get on her good side.”

Joel lifts his eyebrow as he follows, once again, finding himself lost in a sea of unfamiliar, well-dressed bodies. He could ask Henry if this can wait until after he grabs a bite, but the kid is just too damn enthusiastic. Who the hell would he be to disparage him?

However, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach as they draw closer. He scans the room for Frank again, silently begging the man to come rescue him as Henry says something about English and top rated.

"You'll like her," Henry insists, snapping Joel out of his revelry. "Dr. Servopoulos takes no shit and gets the best results."

The name practically smacks Joel in the face, has him slowing down, withdrawing.

He didn't…

Frank didn't…

"Who?" he asks, praying he heard the wrong name.

"Dr. Tess Servopoulos," Henry repeats.

Then he's pointing across the room at a brunette in a blue cocktail dress and legs for miles.

Legs he knows very well.

Too well.

Fifteen years, and other than a few pounds gained and deeper laugh lines on her face, she looks exactly the same. Hell, she looks better than he left her. Not that he can blame her. She was always better without him.

Fuck his damn life.

Joel swallows as they inch closer. He should run. He should leave this party immediately. He can avoid her for a year, seek employment elsewhere. She never has to know.

Then her eyes lock with his, and it's too late.

Her mouth hangs open, and they stare at each other until she catches herself absently tipping the champagne glass in her hand. She shakes off a little champagne spilled onto her fingers, reaching for a cocktail napkin from a passing server.

When her gaze returns to his, it burns. The glow of the warm chandelier above them reflects off her irises, and he can swear he sees fire in them.

Before Henry can draw them close enough to speak though, a dark-haired woman with warm, brown skin catches Tess's attention. Tess follows without hesitation, glaring back at him.

Next to Joel, Henry recoils, a look of confusion crossing his face. His lips press together, the ridge between his eyebrows crinkling.

"Did I piss in her Cheerios this morning?" Henry mutters, then he turns to Joel. "Or do you two know each other?"

A server passes by with a tray of champagne, and Joel deposits his now empty flute before reaching for another.

Her knuckles are white against the marble now, fists balled up, her chest heaving with heavy, angry breaths.

He knows better.

He's supposed to be my goddamn friend.

Had she had a chance to drink more than a few sips of champagne, her next decision would be much less measured. Her composure as she leaves the restroom would betray her, risk making a fool of herself and her colleague in front of her superiors and donors who help fund her position.

Instead, she glides calmly and confidently back to the party, scanning the room for Frank.

And Joel.

Her eyes land on the latter, who is all the way across the room, in deep conversation with a professor she thinks is in the sciences. When she pauses to truly appraise him, her heart clenches.

She hates to admit that he looks handsome in his blazer, gray streaking his hair. Something in him, though, has hardened. The warmth that had once enveloped her—that could once envelop a whole room—still hasn't returned.

Not since—

"Tess?"

The voice has her whipping around, and she finds herself face to face with Frank.

Frank, who at least has the decency to look ashamed for his betrayal. The light in his eyes has dimmed, lips pressed together. He knows that she knows.

A quick survey of their immediate surroundings reveals no one else within earshot. They're off to the side, still on the edge of the hallway leading to the restroom.

"How could you?" she hisses.

"Tess—"

"You know what that man put me through," she reminds him, fighting tears that threaten to well up. "Why would you bring him here?"

Frank squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. "Tess, please…"

"No. You owe me an explanation for this one."

Slowly, he takes a measured breath. He can't even look at her now.

"I was out of options," he admits. At her prompting glare, he explains, "We interviewed candidate after candidate. All summer. And right now, we have no one in my department qualified to take over once I'm gone."

"And Joel is qualified?"

"He is."

Tess scoffs at that. He wouldn't be saying that if he'd known the number of times Joel showed up to school hungover during those final months, or the deadlines she'd rescued his ass from because he wouldn't have made them.

"He is," Frank repeats. "You haven't seen his credentials since he left, and you also haven't seen how impressed the dean was. I tried to talk anyone else up, but the dean was insistent, and I honestly couldn't see anyone else taking over. I don't trust strangers. But I know Joel Miller, and he was a damn good teacher when I was his admin."

Tess folds her arms over her chest, resisting the urge to stomp her foot like a toddler. He's right. He's fucking right.

Up until things had changed, she'd envied her ex-husband's ability in the classroom. She'd coveted his charm, or the way students hung onto his every word. Whereas he could command silence by just lifting his hand in the air, she'd often had to resort to stronger call-and-response tactics. The few students who hated her thought he was the greatest teacher in the world.

It pissed her off to no end.

Tess searches for a rebuttal that doesn't require exposing Joel's fire-able offenses before he left. (That's a can of worms she does not want to open.)

Finally, she settles on, "I thought I was your friend, Frank."

"You are, but what do you want me to do Tess?" he asks calmly. "Have him fired for no reason with only weeks left before term? Hope that one of our rejects hasn't already been hired elsewhere?"

"You shouldn't have let this happen in the first place. You had nothing to lose by going to bat for someone else. Fuck what the dean thinks."

Frank just shakes his head. "It's too late now, and I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough right now." Her chin quivers, and her legs feel wobbly again. Her next words rip through her far worse than seeing her ex-husband again. "It's going to take a long time for me to trust you again."

With that, she spins on her heel.

"Tess—"

"I'm going home," she snaps, yanking her arm away as he reaches for her. "If anyone asks, Ellie got sick."

With that, she leaves him, stalking her way toward the entrance.

On her way out, Joel catches her eye again. Fucking bastard.

Frank may have helped him get here, but how dare he? Thinking he can come crawling back to Boston after all these years with his tail tucked between his legs? (Or worse: proudly.) Thinking he can infringe on her territory, her career?

Remind her of the part of her heart she'd locked away because she couldn't completely erase him?

Well, he isn't going to ruin this. She doesn't need to breathe the same air as him. She'll avoid him if she has to, pretend he doesn't exist.

That starts with going home to her daughter.

That is one part of her life he can't touch.

-x-x-x-

Joel's strategy, as it were, is to hide.

Not that Tess would come seek him out, but the less chance they have to run into one another again, the better. Because if they are forced to actually speak, he will not come out unscathed.

He has been on the receiving end of her venom—deservedly so—and he doesn't relish the idea of a repeat.

What the hell was he thinking, coming back to Boston? Why did he reach out to the last professional connection they shared? What the hell did he expect, applying to teach at the university down the street from where they'd taught together?

More importantly, why hadn't his asshole brother said anything when he'd applied to Haversham? Unless Tess and Maria really had stopped being friends. Although, Tommy had straight up told him after the divorce that he wasn't in the business of telling the woman he planned to marry who she could and could not spend time with. Especially his particular woman of choice.

It also can't be an accident that Maria has a professional relationship with the university.

Tommy will be owing him dinner—and several explanations—in the next few days.

As part of his strategy of hiding, Joel grabs another drink and finds a pod of professors to blend in with. He nods while they speak, smiling as if he understands a riveting discussion about dissection labs and new stem cell research.

Across the room, he notices a flash of blue weaving through the crowd. Tess is on a mission, high-tailing into the door.

A small, microscopic part of him wants to chase after her. Seven years of marriage and fifteen years to convince himself he didn't need her. That he doesn't miss her.

He doesn't. The two of them working at the same university can only lead to disaster.

"Joel?"

Frank's voice breaks him out of his reverie, has him looking up from his drink as he sits next to him at one of the banquet tables.

Frank.

He knew. Tommy may or may not be keeping information from him, but this man here knew exactly what situation Joel was walking into.

And he didn't warn him.

The though has him gripping his champagne flute tighter.

"I suppose you're angry at me, too," Frank says.

Joel takes a deep measured breath, because damn right he's angry. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have taken the job if I'd said your ex-wife was here?"

"No, but I could've had time to look for somethin' else. I coulda stayed in Texas."

Frank nods. "It was a selfish choice, I know," he admits sadly. "But, Joel…we need you here. And the education job market in Boston is bullshit."

"Don't try to justify it." Joel shakes his head, setting his glass aside. Gruffly, he adds, "She and I are gonna have to tiptoe around each other to pretend we ain't here together, or a shit storm is gonna blow in. There won't be no in between."

"If you change your mind—"

"I ain't changin' my damn mind." His insistence and the way he postures startles Frank, who sinks back a little in his chair. "I made a commitment, signed a contract. We just gotta be adults an' get through it. I'm too old for bullshit."

Frank chortles. "Well, you're handling this a lot better than she is."

The words no shit, she ran out of here die on the tip of Joel's tongue.

Fuck.

How is he gonna do this? How is he gonna see this woman every day and pretend? How is he going to cope with the ache in his chest that he felt the second he laid eyes on her again after so long?

He would be better off alone in Austin, his only family thousands of miles away. Maybe that's where he should return after his contacted terms are up. Tommy has proven time and time again that he, Maria, and his nephews don't need him.

No one does anymore.

"Just tell me one thing," he says, leaning back in his seat. "Is she happy?"

Frank's gaze finds its way to the tablecloth, his fingers tracing patterns in the silk. Buying time.

Joel waits with baited breath, unsure that he actually wants to hear the answer. Or even what answer he hopes Frank will give him. Would he be more at peace knowing the woman he once loved has moved on, or would he rather have the satisfaction of knowing that she is actually miserable without him?

Or a secret third thing:

"She's…as happy as she can be, I think," is Frank's assessment. "I've seen her all over the place for the last decade, but I know she loves what she does, and her life isn't anything she doesn't want it to be."

At that, Joel has to nod appreciatively. "Of course not. She ain't never done nothin' she don't want to."

"No she hasn't," Frank agrees with a slight smile.

The wave of affection quickly crests and abates, though, leaving emptiness in its wake.

Tess Servopoulos hasn't been Joel Miller's for a long time. She'd made it perfectly clear that she never wanted to be his again.

And who could blame her?

The irreparable damage was done. Her new life, whatever she's got going for herself, is none of his goddamn business.

So, to that, he toasts what's left in his glass.

Tonight, he wants to crash out so hard in his cold, empty bed that he doesn't even have dreams to remember in the morning.

He wants to pass out before he can let his mind dwell further on her.

-x-x-x-

Daylight is still on Tess's side—but just barely—when she pulls into the driveway of her two-story craftsman.

Four years in this house, and she's still proud of it.

She'd chosen the crisp white siding and the dark trim. She'd painted the cherry red door herself. Ellie had helped her lay the brick walkway when it needed to be replaced.

As she clicks the button to open the garage, she notices Ellie's bike sitting right in front of the entrance.

How many times had she warned her…?

With a huff, she cuts the ignition to the car and climbs out, her heels clicking against the brick beneath them. As she wheels the bike into the garage and off to the side, a head of gray hair peeks in.

"Well, you're back sooner than I expected," her neighbor observes, leaning against the frame of the garage and crossing her arms. "Thought I was gonna get the door slammed in my face at least twice tonight, but saved by the bell, I guess."

"Hi, Gail," Tess greets flatly. Then, parking the bike on its kickstand, straightens up. "Thanks for checking in on her."

"Don't know about that," Gail snorts. "Your kid said exactly two words to me. I'd hardly call that checking in."

"I've already talked to her about being rude to you."

"Sweetie," she shakes her head, "she's already made up her mind. I don't give a fuck anymore."

Tess sighs. "Which is more than I can say about most adults who meet her."

"Well, I already raised a menace of my own," Gail shrugs, "I can handle looking after another."

Tess purses her lips and narrows her eyes. "How commendable of you."

The snark earns her an eyeroll. "Relax, I'm not judging you. But if you aren't grateful—"

"I'm plenty grateful." Tess glares at her, then reaches in her clutch for a twenty. "Thank you again, Gail. I've got my menace from here."

Gail snatches the bill from her fingers. "Fine then."

As she drifts off toward her own house next door, Tess can hear her mutter, "It was a compliment."

Now alone, and not having enough energy to care about cranky neighbors, Tess doesn't bother pulling the car in. Instead, she presses the button on the wall to close the garage door as she enters the house.

From the mudroom, she can hear the hum of the TV. Ellie hasn't turned on any lights aside from the kitchen nightlights, so the flickering glow of the screen is all that appears to be illuminating the living room.

Tess slips off her heels, relief hitting her immediately as the blood flows properly to her sore feet again. The tile of the mudroom and the kitchen are blessedly cool against swollen bare skin.

In the living room, Ellie has a notebook in her lap, pen scratching wildly at the open pages. On the television, the Hubble Space telescope spins, making way for graphics of an imagined Jupiter.

"What are we watching?" Tess asks, startling her daughter.

Ellie jumps and slams her notebook shut, sliding it under the throw pillow next to her.

"Some space documentary," she says casually. "I think NASA gave up with Mars. I'm getting tired of seeing the same concept cartoons of planets."

Tess chuckles, settling in next to Ellie on the couch and rubbing her arms as the chill of the air conditioning hits her. "How rude of them not to have live imaging of planets thousands of lightyears away. Can't they work any faster?"

"Exactly. You cold?"

Tess nods as Ellie reaches for the wool throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch. She covers the two of them, leaning into her mother, who wraps her arms around her.

"You're home early."

"Party was lame."

"God, I can imagine. I'm so much more fun than them."

"You actually are."

She leaves out the part where her ex-husband showed up.

Ellie knows she was married before, but she doesn't need to know anything about Joel. Nor does she need to know that her mother's ex is back in town.

There are just some things you protect your kid from, and this man has nothing to do with her or them.

"Did you get your homework done?"

Ellie grins smugly. "Didn't have any."

The lie is palpable, and she shrinks under her mother's scrutinizing gaze.

"Okay, I got my science homework done," she corrects.

"Ellie…"

"Relax. I'll do algebra on the bus tomorrow."

"You expect to concentrate when, as you so colorfully put it, everything is so loud and smells like shit?"

Ellie huffs, lips pouting, arms folded across her chest. "No, I guess not."

"Here," Tess nudges her, "get your textbook, and I'll help you."

"You suck at math, though," Ellie tells her, reaching down for her backpack that's sitting on the floor against the sofa.

She struggles with the bag, dropping it with a thump in the empty seat next to her.

Tess gapes at her. "I've got two Master's degrees and a PhD. I'm fairly certain I can pass a high school math class. And what have you got in there? Bricks?"

Ellie reaches in the backpack for her thick algebra textbook and a notebook. "Take that up with the public school system. Or send me to prep school. They'll give us all Chromebooks."

Touché.

"At least tell me we're not doing slope."

"Negatory, Ghostrider."

"Thank god," Tess breathes as Ellie flips open the book on her lap.

And it's worse.

"Welcome to the joys of inequalities."

"Ah, fuck."

-x-x-x-

Joel doesn't sleep.

After cabbing it back to his still quite sparse apartment with a small stack of unpacked boxes, he'd paced the living room with a finger of scotch. He'd debated on calling Tommy for over an hour before deciding he was too drunk and the headache wasn't worth it.

When he'd finally fallen asleep in his empty bed with its plain cotton sheets and quilt, the dreams started.

Mostly of the last day he'd seen Tess Servopoulos.

"Are you sure?" he'd asked, to which she'd scribbled her signature on the papers and thrown the pen down before walking out of the room.

She hadn't wanted anything. Not the apartment, not a piece of his inheritance. Not even the collection of postcards from their travels—Milan, Rio, Tokyo, Dublin, New Amsterdam, Melbourne, Paris.

"She went with us to Paris," she'd said as they looked through the memorabilia in the weeks leading up to the final settlement, allowing the attached photo of a family of three slip from her fingers back into its shoebox.

Joel had woken up and wrestled with that same shoebox last night, debating on opening it and burning every postcard and photo inside of it. At 2:00 AM he'd finally shoved it on a shelf in his bedroom closet and managed to doze for the next few hours.

As he wanders across the quad the next morning, living on adrenaline and his to-go espresso—he doesn't normally deal with the fancy shit but today warranted a stop—his body stands on high alert. The most brief glimpse of Tess, and he is ready to swerve.

The quad is empty, though, except for Dr. Petrov, who is tossing seeds to a flock of pigeons and cooing at them. When he notices Joel, he squints through his thick glasses before waving a wrinkled hand.

Of course he would be the only other person here at 7:15.

Joel mutters a polite hello as he passes and lets himself into the literary building. Inside, not another peep.

Good.

As he rounds the corner to the staircase, however, the slick leather padfolio on the stack of books he's balancing with one arm begins to slide. Before he can catch it, it slips out from under his hold and drops to the floor with a satisfying thwack, taking the entire stack with it.

"Damn it," he murmurs under his breath, bending down to pick up his collection.

When he rises again, he only faintly registers the click-clacking of heels drawing closer. As he turns with his full arms and full cup of coffee, he collides with the owner of the high heels, who gasps loudly.

In front of him, burgundy power suit and silk blouse covered in coffee, is Tess. Frozen still, hands hanging mid-air.

Her face is as red as the exposed part of her chest, and he isn't certain if she is going to scream or cry.

Well, that relationship hadn’t ended on a happy note. It’s been two years, though, and he’s been perfectly fine on his own since. If Tess isn’t looking for more than sex, who is he to complain? Especially when he’d had her swaying and rocking above him in her bed, or he’d bent her over her sofa, or he’d had his head between her thighs and she’d called out his name. 

Except, she’d kicked him out before he could even entertain the notion of sleep after they were done.

Not that he had any reason to stay. She’s not his girlfriend. However, she’s studiously avoided him since. 

Either that, or their schedules have, once again, not lined up. One thing he has learned is that she’s a photographer for a pretty prominent magazine covering the Boston area, and she takes freelance jobs on the side. Between his long hours and her unpredictable hours, it stands to reason they might not be home at the same time. After all, it had taken a full week of her living in the building for him to even see her.

But then another Friday night comes and goes, and he hasn’t heard a peep. She’d also neglected to give him her number.

By Saturday evening, she’s not shown up, and he decides to pop over and see if she’d like to maybe grab some Thai food. Or let him cook for her. Tommy’s off with his new girl, and the idea of eating alone on a Saturday night is downright sad.

When he knocks, however, there is no answer.

With a sigh, he resigns himself to flying solo. He could walk to the pub down the street, maybe try one of their burgers. It’s the closest he’s gonna get to comfort food in this city; Boston isn’t known for its barbecue or Tex Mex, and he’s not big on sea food.

After bundling himself up, he braces himself for the brisk walk to the pub.

O’Connell’s is surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night. There’s an empty seat at the bar, where he parks his ass and orders a Jack and Coke.

Around him, patrons chat and play pool. Couples canoodle around the cracking stone fireplace. The Celtics are on the large screens above the bar, getting their asses handed to them on their own turf. 

For a while, he’s content just enjoying his silent drink when a loud, deep, full-bellied laugh rings across the bar.

It’s a familiar laugh, one he’d heard last weekend after he and Tess had gone tumbling onto her floor after round one on her sofa had left them both jelly-legged. Breathless and sweaty beneath him, she’d reared her head back deliriously.

It had been the hottest thing she’d done all night.

Lo and behold, when Joel cranes his neck in the direction of the laugh, there she is.

She’s dressed up in mostly black silk and lace, with the exception of her maroon velvet blazer. Her makeup is done, as her long, silky hair is pinned back on one side. 

And she’s sitting across a booth from an attractive, well-dressed, slightly older man. His beard looks professionally groomed, and the watch on his wrist glints from across the room.

Joel’s grip tightens around his glass, his blood flowing hot now. Is this why he hasn’t heard from her? She’s got a completely different type, and she just needed to get his bum ass out of her system?

She don’t owe you shit, he reminds himself. Calm the fuck down.

Just as he’s contemplating cancelling the burger he ordered so he can leave, her eye catches his. Quickly, he turns his head in hopes maybe she’ll think she just imagined him there.

Then she stands up, and before he knows it, she’s sidling up next to him at the bar.

“Vodka cranberry,” she tells the bartender as she lifts herself into one of the plush leather seats. Then she turns and gives Joel a bright-eyed smirk.

Joel sighs and clasps his hands around his glass, hanging his head. “I wasn’t tryin’ to interrupt you, ya know.”

“You didn’t,” she assures, reaching for the ice cold glass the bartender sets in front of her and stirring the ice with the tiny straw.

“Coulda fooled me. Sure you don’t wanna bring that drink back to your date? Or is it goin’ that badly?”

“Who, Frank?” she snorts, sipping her drink. “He’s not my date. We’ve been friends since he mentored me in college. I’m photographing his wedding. This is business.”

Joel looks around at the man again, now sitting alone and scrolling through his phone. If that’s true, where’s the fiancée?

“A little odd, meetin’ with only one half of the couple, ain’t it?” he asks.

For a moment, she tilts her head, and her brows knit together, scrutinizing him. Then her eyes grow wide and her lips turn up. “You’re jealous!” she accuses 

“No,” he argues a little too quickly. “I’ve just never known a woman who wasn’t obsessed with every detail of her wedding.”

Tess shakes her head in disbelief. “Not that I buy your stereotypes, but if we’re using them, then I guess it makes a lot of sense that Bill isn’t a woman.”

The statement catches Joel mid-sip, and he stops, lowering his glass. “Who the hell is Bill?”

“Frank’s fiancé.”

Oh. Oh.

“I see,” Joel says, feeling his cheeks flush as humiliation settles into the pit of his stomach. Well, he’d certainly fucked up that assessment.

Tess eyes him curiously, leaning back a little. “You okay there, Tex? Did I disturb your southern sensibilities with that info?”

Joel shakes his head. “Nah. I just need to work on my habit of makin’ an ass of U and me.”

That earns a chuckle from her, her body relaxing again. Then she leans in closer, her voice low as she says, “Guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you that if you are worried about competition, your only concern should be that girl over there.”

Tess points a glassy black manicured nail to a young brown-skinned woman sitting in one of the arm chairs by the fire, one leg crossed over the other while she chats with a group of friends. She’s polished with her power suit and her dark hair pulled up into a sleek twist.

“We’ve bought each other drinks a few times,” Tess continues. “I think she’s got a girlfriend now, but there was something for a bit.”

Joel arches an eyebrow. “That so?”

Tess offers him a challenging look, almost daring him to have an opinion. “Does that change anything?”

“No,” he shakes his head. Then leans in even closer to her. “The only thing I give a shit about, Tess,” he lowers his voice, “is that we fucked, and I don’t even have your number so I can acknowledge your existence.”

The statement has her licking her lips, eyes roving his face before she says, “Thought we agreed that was just fun.”

“We did, but I like to have a little decorum. You live right next to me, for god’s sake. I ain’t gonna pretend it didn’t happen.” Then he whispers. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

Her eyes darken, lips parting, and god he wants to lean over and taste her again. He’s close enough. A few more inches would close the distance, and the shiver that runs through him when her hand finds his thigh doesn’t help.

Christ.

Joel is grateful, however, when Tess’s friend—Frank?—joins them and places a hand on her shoulder.

“I have to go meet Bill,” he tells her, “but I sent him pictures of those samples you brought and he said, ‘I guess that’s fine.’”

“Wow!” Tess marvels, the pair sharing a knowing grin. “That’s a huge compliment coming from him.”

“He can be nice when he wants to.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, but I’ll take your word,” she tells him. “Is our test session a-go?”

“Got it all sorted,” Frank promises. Then he notices Joel. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. Tess, is this—?”

“Joel,” he fills in, reaching his hand out to the other man. “Tess’s neighbor. We live right next to each other.”

Frank accepts the handshake before arching an eyebrow at Tess, “That’s…surprising.”

Something about the way he says it tells Joel that there’s information he’s holding back. What the hell has she told this stranger about him?

Her cheeks turn pink, and she focuses on her drink. “Well, we finally met, and I thought it’d be rude not to say hi.”

“Oh, no, she hates me,” Joel assures. “She came over here to tell me to get lost.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “I didn’t come over here to tell you to get lost. I came over here to make you buy me a drink for pissing off my cat with your karaoke night.”

An amused chuckle escapes him because, yes, he and Tommy had some friends over in the middle of the week to blow off some steam. Part of him had hoped to goad her into coming back, and when she didn’t, he’d assumed she hadn’t even been home.

The implications that she had been home aren’t lost on him, but then another realization hits him.

“Wait, you have a cat?”

Frank speaks up before Tess can answer the question. “I’ll leave you to your night.” Then he addresses Tess directly. “Email me the details about the test session so we can go ahead and do that.

“You’ll have that tomorrow,” she promises, and the two exchange goodbyes.

Frank offers Joel a brief nice to meet you before rushing out. Then it’s just the two of them again.

Once again, Tess becomes extremely fascinated with her vodka cranberry. And Joel is left feeling just a bit smug.

A bit smug, but also hot around the collar thinking about the bullshit she’s clearly been spouting.

“So,” he’s the first one to speak, “you’ve been talkin’ about me?”

She peers up at him over her glass. “Maybe.”

“But only about everything before last weekend, when you actually met me.”

Tess shrugs at that. “Do I have something to tell anyone about last weekend?”

“If it means people can stop thinkin’ I’m some intolerable asshole before even meetin’ me, sure.” Then he leans in, resting his elbows on the bar. “Or are you embarrassed?”

Her eyebrows knit together at that, and she lowers her voice, hissing. “I have nothing to be embarrassed about, and I have better things to do than expose my sex life.”

“I wasn’t talkin’ about the sex,” he clarifies, “but glad to know you think I’m even slightly worried about performance reviews.”

At that she scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re an arrogant asshole, actually.”

“Nah, sweetheart,” he throws back the last of his drink, “I jus’ know what I’m good at.”

The glare she gives him cuts him like a knife. And goddamn her for being the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on, even when she’s pissed at him.

Especially when she’s pissed at him.

The spell is quickly broken with her next words: “You weren’t that impressive, you know.”

Now it’s his turn to glare. 

Tess doesn’t strike him as a woman who would fake her own pleasure. For one, she doesn’t give a damn about preserving his feelings. For another, she’d been vocal with him.

There was not a moment he touched her when she wasn’t either praising him or guiding him. She knew what she liked and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. 

And she screamed his name. She’d clawed at him, at her sheets. She’d eagerly moved with him, against him, and he’d felt her. He thought he would have bruises on the side of his head from how hard her thighs had clenched around him; he’d certainly left with a sore scalp and red marks on his back.

“I ain’t stupid,” he speaks right into her ear. “I know what a woman enjoyin’ herself looks and sounds like, and I know when she’s lyin’ to me.”

Tess tilts her head, and her nose is inches from his now. “Do you?”

“I’ll prove it if I have to.”

Those words are all it takes for her to ask for her tab. But it’s the heat in her gaze that has him paying and following her out the door.

-x-x-x-

They’d barely made it to their building and into the elevator before he was kissing her. God, he’s a good kisser. She’d only had two drinks, but everything in her feels liquid. Molten.

When his hands slip into her coat and find her skin beneath her silk blouse, she wants to melt and consume him. Joel knows it, too, so sure in the way he touches her. Riling him up worked exactly in her favor. Not that she needed to, but seeing him get worked up was more fun than simply asking.

She’s a terrible liar when she wants to be.

The elevator dings, and they manage to compose themselves long enough to leave the older couple that steps on completely oblivious to their antics. By the time they reach Tess’s apartment, however, all patience is gone.

Coats and shoes are the first to go, followed by her blazer and Joel’s jeans. They don’t even make it to her couch, Joel pinning her against the wall instead. The moan that rises in her throat when his hand slips beneath her shirt and pushes her bra aside is almost embarrassing.

“Still can’t believe you have these,” he mutters between hot kisses.

She sighs into his mouth as his thumb circles her nipple. “Never met an adventurous girl, Tex?”

“Oh, I’ve met plenty,” he assures. “Just none like—Christ.”

Her hand has slipped into his boxers and is wrapped around him. His shudder and the way he slams his free hand against the wall sends a jolt straight down to her core. 

For a moment, he enjoys the lazy strokes, his hips moving with them. His eyes are closed, and a weak little whimper escapes him when she nibbles on his ear. She doesn’t even mind that his touch has ceased on her breast. 

Knowing he’s so responsive and pliable to her touch is more than enough.

“Tess,” he croaks.

And she whispers in his ear, “Yes?”

Then his fingers clasp gently around her wrist, forcing her to stop. “I came here to prove somethin’, and I’m damn well set on doin’ that before anything else.”

The low, gravelly need in his voice goes straight to her bloodstream and flows south. Were she a less prideful woman, she might be begging him. Only he’s not allowed to have the satisfaction of confirming exactly how strongly her body reacts to him yet.

He’s going to have to work for it.

“Try your best,” she challenges, suppressing a moan when he lifts her shirt and, having unclasped her bra without her noticing, brings his lips to her exposed chest.

From there, clothes are shed. Her shirt and bra are tossed onto the floor, along with his boxers, leaving her bare from the waist up and him bare from the waist down. They barely make it to the sofa, where she lays back, and he begins to unbutton her dark velvet jeans. Those disappear in seconds, leaving her in nothing but her lace panties. 

Soon, he descends on her, pressing kisses along the inside of her thigh. The memory of what he’d achieved with those lips and his tongue last weekend sends heat pooling. 

Instinctively, her hips lift to encourage him closer to where she wants him. His sly grin, however, tells her he’s in no hurry. He’s going to drag this out until she’s screaming, and he’s going to enjoy doing it.

She is going to enjoy this even more.

His fingers hook around the waistband of her underwear, and the anticipation buzzes as he slides them down her legs. Her heart pounds as hungry eyes take her in. For a moment, he just hovers over her, appreciating, savoring.

Just as she’s about to ask what is taking him so damn long, his lips crush against hers again, and his hands are everywhere. Desperately, she clutches at him, pulling him closer as he kisses her breathless. Her fingers find the hem of his shirt, needing it off of him immediately, when--

“Prrrtttt.”

Before Tess knows what’s happening, Joel yelps and tears himself away from her, sending a gray blob flying across the room. 

A light pitter-patter of feet and a soft mewl emanate from the darkest corner of the apartment, accompanied by a moving shadow. The culprit stays hidden, though, and Tess has to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

“What the hell was that??” Joel demands, head swiveling around the room, trying to find the source of his fright. Then he gapes at her. “Are you laughing?”

Tess bites into her own hand but can’t help herself. The mood may be effectively killed, and she’s certainly not benefitting, but the look of bewilderment on this man’s face is just too damn good.

“Relax,” she chokes out between giggles, “that’s just Stormy.”

“Stormy?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches on the couch. 

“My cat.”

As if on cue, Stormy emerges from the shadowy corner and struts over to the coffee table. Proudly, she chirps as she jumps up onto the wooden surface, tail swaying back and forth. Her short silvery gray fur shimmers under the lamplight, pupils wide in her green eyes.

Joel stares open-mouthed at the animal, reaching for one of the throw pillows to cover his lap. “How did I not see this cat last weekend?”

Tess pushes herself up to a seated position and reaches out to scratch Stormy’s chin. “She’s shy with new people. She probably hid in her cupboard the whole time.”

“Must be clean, too. I can normally smell a cat.”

“Oh, I clean up after her obsessively, and she’s an anal retentive priss.” Again, on cue, Stormy starts grooming her little paw.

“Wonder where she got that from,” Joel mutters under his breath. At her death glare, he holds up two hands in surrender, “Kidding!”

With a shake of her head, she rises from the sofa, running a hand through Joel’s hair as she crosses in front of him.

He lets her get halfway across the room before he asks, “Where are you going?”

Tess turns and hitches a thumb toward the door on the wall closest to his apartment. “To the bedroom so we don’t get cockblocked again. Did you think you were getting out of this one, Tex?”

Quickly, almost dumbly, he shakes his head.

“Then get your cowboy ass in gear and let’s go. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.” She rests her hands on her hips. “Unless you’re gonna let a cat ruin all the fun.”

His gaze turns back to Stormy, still cleaning herself on the coffee table, and then back to Tess. Then, with a sigh, he pushes himself off the couch and shuffles after her.