“To whom? How you feel about … everything—people, places, things, events, good times, tragedies, the past, the future—it only has to make sense to you. In this life, we don't owe anyone anything. No explanation. Feelings are the most personal part of who we are. You’re not accountable for your feelings any more than you’re accountable for the amount of oxygen you consume. Think for yourself. And don’t ever let anyone tell you how to feel.”

I frowned. “I think you tried to make me feel bad when I told you I was taught that homosexuality was wrong.”

“Well, if you think I was trying to tell you how to feel, then fuck me. But I don’t believe our thoughts are always in-line with our feelings. And sometimes we think what we believe we’re supposed to think, despite our feelings. When your feelings align with your thoughts, then you’re thinking for your fucking self. So if you feel it’s wrong to love someone who is of the same sex, then don’t let anybody tell you your feelings are wrong. But show the rest of the world the same courtesy, and don’t tell anyone else how they should feel.”

I nodded a few times. He was right. Professor Fisher teaching more life lessons. I didn’t know how to distinguish between my feelings and my thoughts. How much of me was authentic and how much of me was manufactured through sermons and lectures?

“How do you feel about me, Fisher?”

With a neutral expression, he lifted his shoulder into a slow-motion shrug. “It’s none of your business.”

And just that magically, I wasn’t angry. Not at Fisher, or my parents, or God. All that seemed to matter was Fisher Mann did have feelings for me. My business or not. He felt things for me.

“I’m leaving.” I stood and grabbed my backpack.

He nodded twice. “I’m watching you leave.”

When I reached the door, I turned my head, restraining my grin for a few seconds. “But is it as good as watching me come?”

Fisher smiled like blowing up a balloon, one centimeter at a time. “Speechless.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Hey! Oh my gosh. I wasn’t expecting you today.” I knew something was up when the basement door wasn’t locked.

Rory glanced up from the kitchen counter where her hands furiously chopped vegetables. “Surprise. I got an earlier flight. And since I wanted it to be a true surprise, I grabbed an Uber home. I didn’t even tell Fisher I was coming home today … until about five minutes ago. I just texted him. I’m making dinner for the three of us.”

The three of us.

Lovely.