Page 18

PIPER

T he new year arrives with brutal efficiency, dumping eight inches of snow on Boston overnight and plunging the campus into the particular blend of post-holiday blues and back-to-school frenzy that defines January at UB.

I'm sitting in Professor Bennett's office on the first Monday of the spring semester, determined to be professional despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach.

"Piper," Professor Bennett greets, closing the door behind him. "Apologies for the delay. The department meeting ran long."

I straighten in my chair. “N-No problem at all.”

He settles at his desk, pulling out a familiar folder with the Williamson Fellowship logo. "I wanted to update you on your application status before the semester gets too hectic."

This is what I came here for. And yet my heart pounds against my ribs. "Yes?"

"You're not just on the shortlist anymore.” A rare smile creases his distinguished face. "You're one of the final three candidates."

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. "Three? Out of how many applications?"

"One hundred and seventeen."

I press my palms flat against my thighs to keep them from trembling. "That's... wow."

"Indeed." He slides a letter across the desk. "The final interview is scheduled for May 18th in New York, the Monday after graduation. The committee was particularly impressed with your podcast's innovative approach to relationship communication."

"The podcast," I echo, mind racing to Liam.

Racing to his laugh, his unexpected insights.

The way he challenges me to think beyond my highly researched bubble.

"It demonstrates exactly the kind of fresh perspective the Williamson looks for," Professor Bennett keeps going. "Creative yet substantive, accessible but not simplistic."

I scan the letter, the formal invitation to the New York interview swimming before my eyes.

This is it.

Everything I've worked for…

The opportunity my mother never got to complete. Hell, my ticket to the career I've dreamed about since I was sixteen.

So why does my stomach feel like it's twisted in knots?

"Thank you," I manage, tucking the letter carefully into my bag. "I'll be ready."

"I have no doubt," Professor Bennett says with confidence that warms me. "Your mother would be incredibly proud."

"You have to tell him," Abigail blurts out that evening, pacing our small living room while I sit cross-legged on the couch, staring at the fellowship letter. "Like, immediately."

"I know," I sigh, my fingertips grazing over the embossed letterhead. "I just haven't found the right moment. Between holiday travel and his training schedule and the podcast recordings?—"

"Those sound like excuses," she interrupts gently. "And very un-Piper-like ones at that."

My eyes roll. "I'm aware."

"So, what's really going on? Are you worried he won't support your New York dreams?"

"No….Maybe? I don't know what happens after graduation for either of us. He has scouts watching, NHL prospects, that freaking Brampton game they’re all dreading, and?—“

"All the more reason to have the conversation now.” Her smile slips. “Before things get even more serious."

I scoff. “They're not that?—“

But Abigail cuts me off before the lie comes out with a look that could wither houseplants.

"Piper. You've been practically living at that house whenever Derek's away.

You two finish each other's sentences during podcast recordings.

And you have a secret drawer of his hoodies that you think I don't know about. "

“Oh come on. That's just practical clothing storage."

"Sure, and I'm just 'researching social media engagement' when I stalk my ex's Instagram.

" She sits beside me. "Look, I've never seen you like this with anyone.

The way you light up when he texts, how you actually relax when he's around.

.. it's a good thing. But good things require honest communication. "

"You're right.” I square my shoulders. “I’ll do it…”

Abigail glares.

I lick my dry lips. “I will—I’ll tell him tonight."

My phone buzzes with a text from Liam.

LIAM

Outside your building. Dress warm. I have a surprise.

I show Abigail the text.

"Perfect timing," she hums. "The universe is basically shoving you toward this conversation."

I change quickly into jeans and a sweater, wrapping a scarf around my neck before grabbing my coat and the fellowship letter, which I tuck securely into my pocket.

Liam waits outside, leaning against his car, snowflakes catching in his dark curls. His handsome face breaks into that crooked smile that still makes my heart stutter, even after weeks of secret dating.

"There she is," he says, pulling me into a quick kiss. "Ready for your surprise?"

"Depends on the surprise," I reply, trying to summon the resolve to bring up New York first. "If it involves ice fishing or extreme snowboarding, I have serious reservations."

He laughs, opening the passenger door. "Nothing quite so traumatic for your organized soul." He reaches into his pocket and produces two tickets. "Just these."

I squint at the tickets, then gasp. "Civil Twilight? At the Orpheum? But they've been sold out for months!"

"I know a guy who knows a guy," he says, looking pleased with my reaction. "Figured we should celebrate breaking download records three weeks in a row."

"Liam, this is...How did you even know they're my favorite band?"

"You mentioned it during the 36 Questions," he reminds me. "And you have their poster above your desk. I pay attention, Thompson."

The fellowship letter seems to burn in my pocket, but as I look at his expectant face, the words stick in my throat. "When's the show?"

"Tonight.” He grins. "Hence the surprise element. They go on in an hour."

Okay, then. Tonight.

I'll tell him after the concert, I decide.

No sense in dampening this moment with complicated conversations about future plans.

I paste on a smile that threatens to crack in the corner. “Then let's go," I say instead, pushing the guilt aside. "I can't believe you remembered they're my favorite."

His expression softens as he brushes a snowflake from my cheek. "I remember everything about you, Piper. That's kind of the problem."

The concert is transcendent.

That’s the only word for it.

The pulsing lights, soul-stirring lyrics, and Liam's solid presence beside me, his hand finding mine in the darkness.

His body sways slightly out of rhythm in a way that has my teeth biting into my bottom lip.

When the band plays their most famous love song, he wraps his arms around me from behind, chin resting on my shoulder, and for a perfect moment… nothing exists beyond the music and his warmth.

Afterward, tipsy on overpriced beer and adrenaline, we tumble into his apartment (Derek conveniently away at another pickle ball tournament just outside of town).

We leave behind a trail of coats and scarves and every single complication from the day—all the way from the front door to his bedroom.

The kisses are different tonight, the touches slower, more deliberate.

It’s almost as if we’re afraid that if we rush…we’ll lose this moment. This feeling.

This cocoon of secrecy that no one else but us can touch.

Liam’s large, slightly calloused hands skim the surface of my body, his hazel eyes never leaving mine…making it impossible to hide the secrets behind mine.

Together, in bed, naked and joined, I fit around him like we were made for this.

Made for now.

He moves slow at first. Then faster. Then deeper. As for me, I take everything he has to give… and beg for more.

By the time my body is ready to reach the cliff, I know it’s not just my climax building.

It’s my connection to Liam Sullivan.

The risk.

And I shatter, tangled, breathless in his arms—not just in orgasm but in everything else I’ve been holding back.

Afterward, we lie wrapped in one another, our bodies a mess of sweat and limbs and warmth.

My eyes are wet with more than just my arousal as we rest, swaddled in silky sheets, Liam’s fingertips slowly rubbing errant circles across my bare hips.

I lift my head to look at him, my pulse practically humming beneath my skin.

“Liam, I—There's something I need to tell you about?—"

"I'm falling in love with you," he interrupts softly, the words hanging in the darkness between us.

My breath catches, heart stuttering painfully in my chest.

"You don't have to say anything.” His hazel gaze is steady, calm—sure. "I just... wanted you to know. This isn't casual for me. Hasn't been for a while."

The fellowship letter remains in my coat pocket, abandoned somewhere in the living room.

New York feels simultaneously impossibly distant and alarmingly close.

And I know I should tell him. Right now.

About the fellowship, the interview, the potential move.

Instead, I find myself rising up on one elbow to look at him properly, his chiseled features softened in the dim glow from the streetlight outside his window.

"I'm falling in love with you too," I whisper, the truth of it resonating through me even as guilt gnaws at my insides. "It terrifies me, but I am."

His answering smile is so genuinely happy, so trusting, that the weight of my omission settles like a stone in my stomach.

Tomorrow, I promise myself as he pulls me closer.

I'll tell him everything tomorrow.

But as I drift to sleep in his arms, I can't shake the feeling that "tomorrow" might already be too late.