“Hardy-har-har,” I replied, fumbling through my sock and underwear drawer to find the best candidates to bring on the trip. Several pairs of my panties were simply not travel-worthy.
“What’s funny?” Ellie plunked a hand on her hip. “I wasn’t joking.” She had that look on her face she always got right before she turned really bossy. I knew it well. No doubt it was an excellent trait in a nurse practitioner. In a best friend, it sometimes got on my nerves.
“I’m not going to write a romance novel,” I said, gearing up to win a conversational argument we’d had many times before.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.” I located the decent underwear candidates and shuffled back over to my suitcase with them. Then I returned to the drawer to inspect the socks.
Ellie shrugged. She was examining my white cotton day dress. “Because you’re a snob and you’re worried that the other snobs will look down their snobby noses at you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have you know I’ve been seriously rethinking my snobbery lately. But that’s not the only reason why I can’t write a romance novel.”
“Oh, really, what’re the other reasons?”
I waved a hand in the air. “You seem to think writing a romance novel is just something you decide to do one day, like having a bagel for breakfast.”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t give me that crap, Meg. You’re one of the best writers I’ve ever known and you’ve been reading books about writing for years.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of people are good writers and study it, but it doesn’t mean they should actually write a book. Besides, I’m really busy trying to get tenure and write articles and be taken seriously in my field.”
Ellie rolled her eyes too. We enjoyed attempting to out-eye-roll each another upon occasion. “You have a freakin’ Ph.D. That’s pretty serious.”
“Yes, and I’d like to get tenure. It’s time.”
“So after you get tenure, will you write the damn book?”
I tossed a couple of pairs of socks on the bed. I liked to get everything onto the surface before packing, like a general going to war. I had a sketch of my perfect packing plan in my day planner. “I’m probably never getting tenure.” I winced. “Dr. Holmes kinda threatened me.”
“What!” Uh-oh. Ellie was about to go full mama bear now.
I scrunched up my nose. “He kinda told me I shouldn’t jeopardize Harrison and Lacey’s chances.”
Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yeah? I hope you kinda told him he could go eff himself.”
I unzipped my matching packing cubes that I’d left dryer sheets in. “He’s my boss.”
Ellie paced toward the window. “He’s a jerk. Damn it. Why didn’t you tell me this before? We’ll sue his ass.”
“If I sue his ass, I’m never getting tenure.” I sighed.
Ellie turned back to face me. Her eyes narrowed on my face. “Megs, have you ever wondered why you’re going to the competition to try to win if you think it will put your job in jeopardy? That doesn’t sound like someone who values tenure above all else. Not that I don’t think you should do it. Believe me, I do. I’m just sayin’.” She picked up a pair of my Regency slippers and rubbed her hand over the white satin.
“I know. I can’t help myself. It just doesn’t seem fair and I can’t stand it when things aren’t fair. Besides, Lacey and Harrison are probably going to win anyway. Let’s face it.”
“No. Don’t say that. I can’t wait for you to beat those assholes. And doing it with that super-hot new Mr. Darcy you’ve got is just going to make it that much better.” She smiled from ear to ear.
“You think Jeremy’s hot?” I tried to sound nonchalant, like, “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”
Ellie made a surprised semi-snorting sound. “Is there any debate on the subject?”
“No.” I couldn’t help the sly smile that popped to my lips. “Mitchell thinks so, too.”
A half-smile curved her lips. “That’s because Mitchell isn’t blind.”
I put both hands on my hips and eyed the huge amount of clothing and accessories that I needed to fit into my suitcases. “He told me I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off of Jeremy in England.”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out one foot. “Uh, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother trying.”
“Ellie! I have a boyfriend.” I shook my head at her.
“A boyfriend who’s being a total dick right now. Sorry, Megs, but it’s true.”
I’d always known Ellie didn’t particularly love Harrison. They weren’t much alike, and she was always going to have my back, which was how it should be, but I did wish she’d make an effort to get along with him better. I had, however, told her how he hadn’t defended me and my maxi dress.
“Harrison meets all my criteria,” I insisted.
“Ah, yes, the infamous Future Husband Checklist.”
“What? It’s useful.” I picked up my planner to consult my packing list. I needed to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything before I began.
“I’m sure it is, but Jeremy looks like he stepped out of the pages of a romance novel. A hot one.”
I rolled my eyes again. “The right way to find a good husband isn’t like the silliness in romance novels, however amusing they are to read,” I added before she read me the riot act. “The right way to find a husband,” I continued, “is to write a list of deal-breaker attributes and ensure the man you date has them all before you go and do something reckless like fall in love.”
Romance novels and Pride and Prejudice were fanciful. In real life, couples fell in love in solid, easy, friendly, dependable ways. Just like how I’d met Harrison.
It had been my first day at Everton. He’d been there only a month longer than I had and agreed to show me the ropes around the history department. I thought he was handsome immediately, and he had kind eyes. He took me out for sushi. I was impressed that he ate sushi and not just things like hot dogs and hamburgers like my dad did. Harrison was tall, thin, and wore sweater vests and khakis. My perfect vision of a history professor. He had a Jimmy Stewart-like charm and a ready smile on his face. We were inseparable from nearly that first day on, but we were only friends. He was kind and polite to me. He took me for sushi again on my birthday. He asked how my day was. Little things like that. I was hoping he’d ask me out, but he never did. At least not for a while. We’d been friends and colleagues for nearly a year before I finally just asked him.
He said yes, and we went to this restaurant called Bartolotta’s Lake Park Bistro and we had fun. He admitted he hadn’t asked me out because he didn’t want me to think he was sexually harassing me, a highly visible issue on PC college campuses like ours. But after our date, he asked if I’d like to go on another and I said yes, and after that it was simply implied that we were a couple.
He didn’t kiss me until date number four. We were sitting on my couch after coming home from dinner, talking about history as usual, and he stopped and cleared his throat and said, “Meg, I hope you won’t be offended, but I’d like to ask your permission to...to...kiss you.”