“It’s too soon. We’re not there yet, but maybe he wants to propose before I accept a job somewhere else. But I don’t know for sure, because I was a distracted mess tonight. I wanted to tell him about Easton being in town and how it means something to me.” I mess with my hair again and decide to give it up and take out the hair tie. “I was trying to do the right thing, but I didn’t know. . . I didn’t realize . . .”

She shuts the fridge. “You’re sure you don’t want that tequila?”

“Can’t. Easton memories.”

“Shit.” Teagan grabs a stool. She climbs onto it and digs through the cabinets over the refrigerator before coming out with a bottle of amber liquid. “Found this.” Of course Carter would have bourbon in the house. I’m pretty sure all my brothers keep it around. “Any objectionable memories with this?”

I shake my head. “Thanks, Tea.”

“Not a problem.” She grabs two glasses from the cabinet, pours us each a couple of fingers, and hands mine over. “Drink, and then start at the beginning.”

I take a sip, closing my eyes as the warmth from the liquor coats my throat and blooms in my chest. I’m not a big bourbon drinker, but it feels appropriate tonight. “I’m not ready to start at the beginning.”

“Okay. Then start with tonight. You’re . . . seeing someone? And it’s serious? Who is he?” I can tell she’s trying to hide it, but there’s undeniable hurt in her voice, and I feel like an ass for keeping secrets from my friend.

“I’ve been seeing someone from work.”

“For how long?”

I shrug. Do I count the first time I felt like he was flirting with me? The first time I accepted an invitation to dinner? The first time I slept with him? “I don’t even know if ‘seeing’ is the right label.” I swallow hard, shame dogging me. “We’ve been sleeping together, but we haven’t had a chance to figure out if we want it to be more than that.” It’s not exactly officially against the rules to sleep with members of your dissertation committee, but it’s certainly frowned upon. George and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement from the first morning I snuck out of his Grand Rapids apartment that we wouldn’t let what we’d done get out. Even without official repercussions, information like that could damage both of our reputations. He doesn’t need people thinking he’s a sleazy professor, and I don’t need people thinking I only made it through my doctorate because I was sleeping with the man in charge of deeming whether my work is worthy. “You’ve actually met him before. His name is George Alby.”

“But isn’t George . . .?”

“He’s the chairman of my dissertation committee.”