No Ordinary Love (A Modern Vintage Romance #5)

21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Amara

I blocked Lucas on my phone again and also didn't open the door when he knocked. I told Jax to tell Rena to tell Lucas ( sigh , I know that wasn't very adult of me ) to back the fuck off. I was done . Kath could have him for all I cared.

I also handed in my resignation. Bobby, Basil, and Gemma were unhappy. I now had a meeting booked with the Chancellor because, apparently, she wasn't happy with my decision either.

It made me feel great that my colleagues thought so highly of me that they wanted me to stay; it also made me feel guilty, weak, and pathetic. I was a lovesick woman who was giving up her job because of a man. The feminist in me was snarling at me. My heart felt sore. My brain was tired of thinking.

My father had told me to stop being hard on myself. "You're coming home to your father. You're taking a break to get emotionally healthy. That's not weak. It takes strength to admit you need to take care of yourself. Also, I love the idea of having my daughter to myself for a few months."

My father was so supportive that I thought about what Rena had said. Our circumstances defined us. I came from a family where there was love and freedom of choice. Lucas came from a family where there was duty and obligation.

All that did was confirm for me that we were too different for our relationship to work. And, honestly, I wasn't here to fix some man's childhood issues. I was not Lucas's mother or therapist; I was his girlfriend…well, I used to be. I was no one's Band-Aid, not even Lucas's, no matter how much I loved him. The love would pass, I decided, once I left this beautiful city that I knew I'd miss.

I walked into Chancellor Sharon Armstrong's office with a sense of finality. I'd tell her that I was moving on, that I wanted change.

"Amara, so glad you could make time for me." Chancellor Armstrong was as welcoming as always. She was the first African American woman to become Chancellor and had a commanding presence—tall, poised, with an air of authority that didn't need to be stated. Her office reflected that too: elegant but not ostentatious, filled with books and awards that spoke to a lifetime of hard-earned respect. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, Chancellor," I replied, sitting and smoothing my skirt, trying to maintain my composure.

"I received your resignation letter," she began, not wasting any time. "I have to say, Amara, I'm disappointed. You've been an invaluable part of this institution, and it's hard to imagine the School of Communication without you."

I swallowed, feeling a pang of guilt. "I appreciate that, Chancellor. It wasn't an easy decision, but I think it's the right one for me."

Chancellor Armstrong nodded thoughtfully. "I understand the need for a fresh start, Amara. But I also know you're someone who's deeply committed to the work you do. Which is why I wanted to talk to you before you made any final decisions."

I frowned, curiosity piqued despite my resolve. "Okay."

"There's a project I'd like you to consider." She leaned slightly forward, her expression serious. "It's an important one and not just for the university, but for women across the state. The South Carolina Women's Health Advocacy Network has approached us to help them develop and improve educational programs focused on women's health and nutrition, particularly in marginalized communities. The goal is to address disparities in maternal mortality rates and ensure that women in these communities have access to the information and resources they need for healthier pregnancies and better overall health outcomes."

My heart skipped a beat, excitement sparking to life despite my attempts to keep it tamped down. This was precisely the kind of work I'd always dreamed of doing—using my expertise to make a difference in people's lives.

"That sounds incredible, Chancellor. But I'm not sure I'm the right person for it. I'm leaving."

I was going to head out right after the semester ended so I could spend Christmas and New Year's Eve with my father and then stay with him while I figured out what the hell to do with my life.

Chancellor Armstrong smiled, her eyes lit with excitement. "I know that NYU is searching, under the radar, mind you, for someone with your qualifications. I think a project like this would make you more attractive to them."

I sat up. NYU? They had a world-class health communications lab.

"Your work in the field has set you apart, and this project is the kind of challenge you excel at," the Chancellor continued, now confident she had my full attention. "If you agree to take this on, you can still leave at the end of the year, as you planned. But we need you on this project. It's vital."

"What about my classes?"

The Chancellor grinned. "Well, you have capable Teaching Assistants. Put them to work. I think you'll come out with an excellent paper from this project, for which you will be the lead author."

As an academic, you lived and died by the number of peer-reviewed papers you published. This was a very attractive proposition.

"I've never heard of this advocacy group. Who's running it?" I asked, trying to stay practical, even as my mind raced with possibilities.

Chancellor Armstrong's smile deepened. "It's a new organization; considering the current climate, they just emerged. They're very well-funded. The advocacy network is led by a friend who has been working with WIC and other programs for years."

The Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC) was a federal one that aimed to safeguard the health of low-income women, infants, and children up to age five who were at nutrition risk.

"I'm flattered that you've asked me." My thoughts were swirling, already coming up with plans on how to work on this project. "Will there be others from the college working on this project with me?"

"I think you can put your team together once you have all the information."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Without interference?" This was not how such externally funded projects often worked.

"Yes. Well, you have to work with the head of the advocacy group, of course, but these people are just as passionate about talking to women about their health as you are."

"This is an amazing opportunity, as you well know." I grinned, feeling happy for the first time in a long time.

So what if my heart was broken? My professional life was still going gangbusters, wasn't it? That would have to be enough for now. I'd have to enjoy this as much as I could and ignore the pain inside that told me I'd never love a man again as I did Lucas, that I'd lost the love of my life. Pretty dramatic stuff for a boring academic like me.

"I'm thrilled to hear you accept this project on behalf of the college." She leaned forward and put her elbows to rest on the table. "What I like about you is that you don't shy away from a challenge, Amara. You're someone who sees a need and steps up to meet it. This project needs you."

Her words resonated with the part of me that had always been driven by purpose, by the need to make a difference. The truth was, I didn't want to slink out of Charleston with my tail between my legs, running away from the mess of my relationship with Lucas. I wanted to go on my terms, having accomplished something meaningful. And this project could be exactly that.

"This is quite the farewell gift you're giving me." My heart was full of gratitude for the love and support I received from the university. "I'll stay until the end of the year as planned and work on this project and, if needed, beyond. I may have to devise a remote plan, but I'll finish the work."

Chancellor Armstrong nodded, satisfaction in her eyes. "Thank you, Amara."

"No, thank you, Chancellor." I rose and shook her hand.

There was a skip in my step as I walked out of her office. I immediately called Basil and told him about the project.

"That sounds fabulous. You know, UCLA might also have room for someone like you," he told me. "Why don't you send me your latest CV and I'll send it around here."

California would not be a bad place to move to.

But you don't really want to move away from Charleston, do you, Amara? You're letting a man drive you away from a place and a job you love.

"I'll do that."

"Hey, you know, if you change your mind after this project, the college will be happy to tear up your resignation letter," Basil reminded me.

"I feel like I'm letting him run me out of town."

Basil laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I think Lucas is probably planning on doing everything he can to keep you in Charleston. I know you're pissed about what happened, but it wasn't his fault."

"When did you become such a Lucas fan?" I accused.

"Trying to be fair here, Sunshine. You know I love you, so take this in that light—you're not the most forgiving person in the world. You hate conflict, so when things become difficult, you don't talk it through; you run away."

It was a fair assessment.

"Lucas and I are nothing but drama."

"You both love each other, and you're both caught up in your heads. He wants to be the good Covington, and you want him to know how you think and feel without telling him."

"Stop being so logical," I grumbled. "I have class. I got to go."

I hung up the phone, but Basil's words lingered in my mind, unsettling as they were. He had a way of cutting through the bullshit, of seeing right through me, and as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I wasn't the most forgiving person, and I did have a habit of running when things got tough. But acknowledging that didn't make it any easier to face the mess Lucas and I were.

Was love really enough?

As I walked across the campus, the skip in my step from earlier started to falter. The excitement about the project still buzzed in my veins, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety, too—about Lucas, about leaving Charleston, about whether I was doing the right thing.

But then another thought crept in, one that Basil had planted, whether he meant to or not: What if I wasn't done with Lucas? What if, deep down, I didn't want to be done?

I shook my head, trying to clear away the doubts. This wasn't about Lucas, I reminded myself. This was about the project, about making a difference in women's health in a state where it was desperately needed. And yet, no matter how many times I repeated that to myself, I couldn't deny the truth lurking underneath: I didn't want to leave .

I reached the door of my classroom, my hand hovering over the handle as Basil's words replayed in my mind. You both love each other, and you're both caught up in your heads.

Argh! I didn't want to think about Lucas. I didn't want to think about what Basil had said.

I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped into the classroom. My students were already there, chatting amongst themselves, their voices a comforting hum in the background. For a moment, I stood still, letting the normalcy of it all wash over me, grounding me.

As I walked to the front of the room and set down my bag, I made a decision. I wasn't going to let Lucas run me out of town, but I also wasn't going to let myself run away from him . From us . There were things we needed to talk about, things that needed to be said, and if I was staying in Charleston, then I owed it to both of us to have those conversations.

But not today. I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready.

Girl, you're so chicken!

On that internal critique, I clapped my hands together to get the attention of my students. "Alright, who can tell me the three main constructs that can modify an individual's perceptions according to the Health Belief Model?"