Page 84 of Boiling Point
I let out a long, steady breath. “I’ve been looking for jobs.” I turned my hand, offering it if she wanted to take it. “At other universities. So you and I can live however the hell we like without worrying about scandal or fallout.”
Her fingers curled into mine like a tether.
“I wasn’t going to tell you yet,” I admitted. “Not until I found something concrete. But after this week here, with you—I can’t pretend the status quo is good enough.”
Her gaze was steady, but I felt uncertainty fraying its edges. “Where would you go?” she asked. “You’ve worked so hard at Page. You’re up for tenure soon.”
I shook my head. “It’s not such a big deal.”
She bit her lip, unconvinced.
“There are a few promising positions,” I continued. “One in Dallas. One in Fort Worth. Either would keep me fairly close.” She tightened her grip, and I knew she understood what I meant. “I came to Page to disappear for a while. And I do like it, but if I’m serious about advancing in my field, I should be at a larger institution.”
Gabrielle stared down at our hands, a furrow creasing her brow. “I’ve been looking into transferring too,” she said, her voice nearly lost in the wind.
I tipped her chin up to meet her eyes. “You came to Page as a legacy student. I thought being there mattered to you.”
“Theideaof it mattered.” She exhaled a breath that carried more than just air. “And I like it too. But I think I was trying to live up to my dad.” Her words were quiet but firm. “But Dad would want me to do what makes me happy, not walk his path out of duty.” Her voice steadied, like she’d finally started believing herself. “Besides, it’s really hard being at a place where I’m so much older than everyone else. It’s brutal trying to make friends with people who can’t even drink yet—legally anyway—and think Greek life is the end-all be-all of everything that’s important.” She looked at me, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not sure how many more Sloane Cartwrights I can handle.”
I laughed, and the sound felt like relief. “Hate to break it to you, but Sloane Cartwrights are everywhere. On both sides of the Atlantic.”
“Great,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’ll make sure we keep the wine stocked.”
Dusk had fully fallen. The air was crisp against my skin, but beneath it, something certain simmered in my bones. The way her eyes locked on mine. The way she leaned into me, like she was ready to fall and only needed to know I’d catch her. I would. A thousand times over.
She laughed softly, out of nowhere.
“What is it?”
She dipped her head, smiling before looking back up at me. “Last week during office hours, you went over the high points of Faraday’s Law with me. Do you remember?”
“Of course.”Why the hell was she thinking about exam material now?
“This”—she squeezed my hand—“is Faraday’s Law.”
I blinked. “You’ll have to explain that one to me.”
She tilted her head, that slow, devastating smile pulling at her lips. “You said movement creates change,” she murmured. “That if nothing moves, nothing changes. But if you move a wire through a magnetic field—or move the field itself—you generate something new. Electricity. Power.”
I stared at her, her words slamming into me before my mind could catch up.
She drew closer, our joined hands locked between us. “That’s what this is, Cal. Us. I was fine just sitting still. Safe. Predictable. But then you walked into my world—” Her voice cracked, fierce and beautiful. “And everything shifted. You moved me. And there’s no going back.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Gabrielle smiled—all nerves, defiance, and heart. “You changed the field. You changed me. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
I didn’t even realize I was moving until I had her pulled into my arms and crushed against me, her heartbeat pounding frantically against mine. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling the salt and sun and sweetness of her.
“God, Gabrielle,” I whispered, my voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve just done to me.”
She tipped her head back, smiling up at me, unguarded and radiant. “Oh, I think I do.”
I kissed her then—slow, deep, reverent—the way you kiss the only person who’s ever tilted your world and made it stay that way.
When we finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine, soft and steady, like she was anchoring me to the earth.
“I love you,” I rasped. I knew it for certain—had known it for ages. And at last, I gave the words to her. Deliberately. Too big to cage, too true to ever hold back.
