The Professor's Green Card Marriage E-Book

Heidi Cullinan

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 293

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

I'll marry you. Professor Valentyn Shevchenko isn't sure how to react when, after months of ineffective flirting, the cute barista's first words to him are a proposal. In many ways, Peter Grunberg is the solution to all his problems. With his work visa inexplicably denied, Valentyn is running out of options to keep from being deported. But is a green card marriage really the answer? Is it still a marriage of convenience when he's this attracted to his potential spouse? Peter came to his uncle's coffee shop in Boulder, Colorado, to reset his life after his struggles with selective mutism returned with a vengeance. He never meant his first words to the handsome ecology professor to be an offer of marriage, but he's not backing out now. It doesn't matter that Peter struggles to find words. He can say everything he needs to with his body. Though this relationship may have started out back-to-front, Valentyn and Peter are determined to make their fake marriage real. But one misstep in their immigration interview could bring everything crashing down. They'll have to hope that their love is enough to overcome all their obstacles and give them the prize they've both been dreaming of: a certified happy ever after.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Sneak Peek

Dedication | Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Coming Soon

About the Author | By Heidi Cullinan

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Copyright

The Professor’s Green Card Marriage

By Heidi Cullinan

I’ll marry you.

Professor Valentyn Shevchenko isn’t sure how to react when, after months of ineffective flirting, the cute barista’s first words to him are a proposal. In many ways, Peter Grunberg is the solution to all his problems. With his work visa inexplicably denied, Valentyn is running out of options to keep from being deported. But is a green card marriage really the answer? Is it still a marriage of convenience when he’s this attracted to his potential spouse?

Peter came to his uncle’s coffee shop in Boulder, Colorado, to reset his life after his struggles with selective mutism returned with a vengeance. He never meant his first words to the handsome ecology professor to be an offer of marriage, but he’s not backing out now. It doesn’t matter that Peter struggles to find words. He can say everything he needs to with his body.

Though this relationship may have started out back-to-front, Valentyn and Peter are determined to make their fake marriage real. But one misstep in their immigration interview could bring everything crashing down. They’ll have to hope that their love is enough to overcome all their obstacles and give them the prize they’ve both been dreaming of: a certified happy ever after.

Valentyn shut his eyes and let more of his fears tumble out. “I don’t want to go back to Ukraine. I understand I’ll feel out of place wherever I am, that I’ll always struggle, but I’d rather struggle here.”

Peter gripped Valentyn’s hand. It was clear he had a lot to say, was frustrated by not being able to say it.

Valentyn stroked Peter’s skin. “It’s all right. Take your time. I’m not going to turn away.” He smiled wryly. “I can’t. But I also don’t want to. I think that’s why I’m so panicked. Were circumstances different, I would want to date you anyway. I would still be patient.” He frowned. “Though maybe we should focus on friendship first. And if you still want to help me, we can—”

He stopped talking as Peter stood, hauled him half out of his seat, and leaned over the table to kiss him hard on the mouth.

For the immigrants.

Acknowledgments

THANKS to whatever muse let me finish this book, and to my patrons, who have the patience of saints, especially Sarah Plunkett.

Chapter One

THE man with the Russian accent sat by the window as usual.

He’d been there on Peter’s first day at the coffee shop and had shown up regularly ever since, grabbing coffee on his way to the University of Colorado Boulder, where he was a professor. Peter knew this from eavesdropping on the man and his frequent companion, lurking within range as he cleaned the tables and emptied the dirty dish bin. Peter kept trying to catch the man’s name, but he’d never managed it, so he continued to be The Man With the Russian Accent. Amy, who usually worked the counter during the same shift as Peter, didn’t take down names for orders, only called out drinks or took them to the tables.

Russian Accent got a breve latte every time. Peter usually made the coffee unless he was in the back doing dishes, and once Russian Accent leaned over the bar to say thanks. “You make the best breves in town.” His low voice curled around the edges of the words in ways that made Peter tingle.

Unsurprisingly, Peter hadn’t been able to respond to him. He’d ducked his head in a nod of acknowledgment and gone back to loading the tub with dishes. The man didn’t seem offended when Peter didn’t respond, though, only inclined his head and took the coffee to his table.

Peter liked the man a lot. While he washed dishes or filled food orders, he imagined talking to him. He wanted to know where the man came from. Had he lived in the United States long? What had brought him here? Did he like Colorado? What did he think of Boulder? Why did he like breves so much? Was that a thing in his country? Peter had seen the man doing the crossword puzzle once, and he wanted to ask him about that too, if he did it regularly or if that had been a whim. Peter liked crossword puzzles. He did a lot of them, and he had a whole shelf full of completed volumes back at his mom’s house. Did the man have a favorite crossword puzzle writer?

When Peter lay in his bed in the tiny closet-turned-bedroom in his uncle’s house, he stared at the ceiling and imagined asking Russian Accent out. In the palace of his mind, Peter would smile and flirt for a few days, and then he’d ask if he could take the man to get ice cream. Sometimes he pretended Russian Accent was new to Boulder, and Peter offered to show him around. Occasionally Peter imagined he lived in an apartment of his own and told Russian Accent if he came over, he’d make him an even better breve. He’d show him how to do it himself.

Frequently Peter imagined them having sex. A few times he’d fantasized about doing it in the alley behind the shop. Nothing like that would ever happen in real life, as all Peter’s exes—all four of them—had made it clear he was horrible in bed. In his mind, though, no one could critique him, so he had whatever fantasies he liked. Peter had no idea if the man was gay or bi. But it didn’t matter because he was never going to talk to him.

He couldn’t. Literally. There would be no flirting, no suave invitations. Eventually the man would move on or date someone else, and Peter would still be washing dishes at his uncle’s coffeehouse.

Then one day he went to wipe down tables and overheard Russian Accent talking to his friend.

“…can’t believe they hung you out to dry like this.” The professor who didn’t have a Russian accent said this. He had an accent, but it sounded vaguely Southern. Maybe Texas? Peter hadn’t traveled enough to guess. It was a subtle twang that echoed on his words. He looked vaguely Latino, but honestly that had made Peter think he was local until he’d opened his mouth.

Russian Accent folded into himself. “I asked if we could appeal the decision, but my lawyer said no.”

“We need you in that department. I can’t believe that wasn’t enough.”

“I worry Immigration rejected me because they know something about me they don’t like. They didn’t tell me I’d stepped out of line, but if they’re listening to our phones the way we think they are, that might have been enough.”

Immigration? Peter had been about to leave the area and wipe down other tables when he heard this. He took his time going to the dirty dish bin with the trash he’d collected from a table, still trying to listen.

Maybe-Texas Accent ran a hand through his thinning hair. It stood up on end after he messed with it, but he was too agitated to notice. “And the administration isn’t helping you?”

Russian Accent shook his head. “There’s not much they can do.” The object of Peter’s interest pursed his lips, but then his shoulders slumped further. “Dennis, I can’t go back.”

At the dish bin, Peter paused, taking note. All right. Maybe-Texas Accent was named Dennis.

Dennis was as determined as Russian Accent was dejected. “What about asylum?”

“No good. I can’t prove persecution.”

“Well, that leaves marriage.”

Russian Accent looked acutely pained.

Peter stewed in internal frustration and went back to wiping tables, hoping no one noticed he’d already taken care of these. He wished he knew his crush’s first name instead of his friend’s.

Dennis scowled. “If only James hadn’t been so fickle, this would already be settled. It might be worth it to ask him, to tell him the stakes.”

The man held up a hand. “No. James and I were a bad fit, and the way we parted doesn’t give me much room. I can’t ask him for help.”

“You’ve got to ask someone. If I weren’t married, I’d do it.”

Peter frowned at the table he had now wiped down three times. Was this what it sounded like? Was Russian Accent about to get deported? Peter didn’t like that thought at all.

Who was this James? Russian Accent’s ex?

Wait, James?

Russian Accent sighed in frustration. “There’s no one to ask. I only know people through the college, and I certainly can’t ask one of them for a green card marriage. They don’t even know I’m gay.”

Peter abruptly stopped wiping the table.

Green card marriage?

Gay?

“Why not?” When Russian Accent made an angry noise through his nose, Dennis continued. “Fine. Nobody from the college. Put out an ad, then.”

“Do you have a brain in your skull? That will get me a one-way ticket to Kyiv.”

Oh. At the dish return once more, Peter made a fuss of tugging a napkin from beneath a plate. Not a Russian accent. Ukrainian accent.

“Also, keep your voice down,” Ukrainian Accent murmured. “I don’t need you to inspire someone to call ICE.”

Out of his peripheral vision, Peter saw Ukrainian Accent glance his way. Well, this was one time that selective mutism was an advantage, he supposed. There was no chance Peter’s blank expression gave any clue he’d heard a word they’d been saying.

Even so, he reluctantly acknowledged he’d overstayed his welcome. With an internal sigh, he hoisted the bin out of the dish return.

Dennis spoke more quietly now, but Peter could still hear him. “Your visa hasn’t expired yet.”

“You think they’ll stop to check?”

“Well, you’re not brown. You’re literally Caucasian.”

“No, I’m not from the Caucasus region. I’m Ukrainian. But I take your point, as we’re cousins.” Ukrainian Accent grunted and hunkered down further. He was practically nose to the table now and very glum.

Peter wished there were something he could do. Even if he had been able to talk to the man, there was nothing to say, nothing to do that would help him.

Well. A fluttery feeling bloomed in his stomach. There was one thing he could do that would help the man out, according to Dennis.

Marriage.

The fluttery feeling twined with yearning and fear as Peter considered the thought. Obviously he couldn’t do that. If he was unable to acknowledge the man when he accepted his drink order, he certainly couldn’t propose. Still. The thought was heady. A bit of overkill when it came to the flirting department, and definitely not something to decide on a whim after eavesdropping, but… well, it was the most delicious fantasy yet. He lingered for a second, shutting his eyes and imagining himself walking over to Ukrainian Accent, taking his hand as he dropped to one knee.

Never fear, I’ll marry you.

Peter wanted to laugh, though nothing showed on his face. What a dramatic image. It would never work. Never.

He wished it would, though. He wished he could live out the yearning in his heart, the desire to connect boldly, wildly. He didn’t need to propose to the man, but he wished he could at least smile at him.

No, honestly, I want to propose to him, to swoop in and rescue him. I want to be the hero. I want to help him. I want all of it.

But I can’t.

Dejected, Peter started for the kitchen.

Dennis wasn’t giving up. “I’m telling you. We can find someone for you to marry. Maybe you’re right, randos are better. Man or woman, doesn’t matter. They just have to be a citizen.”

Peter tightened his grip on the bin as he disappeared around the corner. He should have kept going, but he stopped, frustrated and tangled even though he didn’t have a right to be.

I’m a citizen. Ask me. I’ll do it.

Ukrainian Accent made a noise through his nose. “That’s never going to work.”

“Sure it will. It’s a business arrangement. All you need is someone who will play along.” He gestured to the coffee bar. “Hell, you can marry that girl who works behind the counter. She’s cute and peppy. I’ll even ask her for you.”

The bin slipped out of Peter’s hands, tumbling to the floor. The sound of shattering cups and plates and clattering silverware sent off a discordant buzz in his ears as he fell to his knees, rushing to clean up the mess.

I don’t want him to marry Amy. I don’t want him to marry anyone except me.

Peter’s hands shook as he struggled to contain the mess. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Dennis had said. He wouldn’t really ask Amy to marry Ukrainian Accent Man, would he? She might say yes. Peter hadn’t told her he liked Ukrainian Accent Man. He still didn’t know her well enough to predict if that would stop her, but it hardly mattered. He was just now to the point he could talk to her during work without mental preparation. A heart-to-heart about his secret crush needing a green card marriage was beyond him right now.

Why hadn’t Dennis suggested him? Why hadn’t he said he’d talk to him? Clearly Ukrainian Accent was gay. Peter was a better choice. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t talk to Dennis either. You can’t talk to anyone. You can’t save anyone, because you can’t even save yourself. You don’t even know this guy’s name, but you’re inventing fantasies about him. You think he wants your attention? No chance. He’s never going to look at you for more than a well-made breve anyway. Stop this nonsense. Clean up your mess, get back to work, and forget him.

“Are you all right?”

Peter froze.

Ukrainian Accent.

He crouched in front of Peter on the other side of the bin, picking up silverware and placing it into the tub.

Funny, his hands shook too.

He knew Peter had heard them.

Peter’s mind raced, rattling off everything he wanted to say. I’m sorry for eavesdropping, and I won’t call ICE. I won’t tell anyone. That’s a joke, see? Because I can’t tell anyone. Except I want to tell you all kinds of things. More than I want anything else. And now that I know you’re gay, I really wish I could tell you how much I want to help you.

Trembling, Peter lifted his head enough to get a glimpse at the man. He stared at Peter, wary.

I want to talk to him. I want to reply. I want to tell him….

Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He would try the trick. It didn’t work often with strangers, but usually he didn’t want to engage with a stranger this much. He shut out the coffee shop, shut out everything, sliding back to his elementary school classroom. He imagined the man was his mother, asking if he was all right. That she….

No. That one wouldn’t work.

He tried again. Put himself in the same elementary school classroom, but this time he saw his fourth-grade teacher smiling at him and holding an envelope. Inside was the thing he wanted the most. When he was young, that thing had been a new crossword book, or a ticket for a free ice cream cone, or any of several glorious treats.

Right now something very different waited in the imaginary envelope. “Tell me what you want to say,” his teacher told him, “and you can have what you want.”

Peter clutched the edges of the bin. One sentence. He could do once sentence, if he kept his eyes shut, if he didn’t stop imagining the envelope. Tell him you’re okay. Say that you’re fine. Say thank you. Say anything, damn it.

“Hello?” Ukrainian Accent sounded quite worried. Tentatively, he touched Peter’s hand.

Dizzy, Peter’s brain rioted, and instead of the reply he’d planned, something else entirely fell out of his mouth.

“I’ll… marry you.”

Peter opened his eyes.

VALENTYN stared at the young man in front of him, unsure of what had just happened.

He must be the same age as some of Valentyn’s graduate students, but he was so quiet and so shy he seemed younger. Several times during coffee runs, Valentyn had tried to talk to him, make eye contact with him, but he’d only been rebuffed.

Had this individual truly just asked Valentyn to marry him?

What was strange was the young man said nothing more, only stared down at the tub of dirty dishes, hands trembling as he picked up broken pieces of plate and cup and placed them carefully inside.

What was Valentyn supposed to say?

“Oh my God, Peter, what did you do?”

Valentyn turned toward the voice—this was the girl who worked behind the counter, the one Dennis had suggested he propose to. She was the opposite of the young man in front of him, all brightness and bounces. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at the mess on the floor.

The young man looked up, his gaze landing near the girl’s knees.

She softened and touched his shoulder. “It’s fine. But go get the broom and the Wet Floor sign.”

The young man—Peter, had she said?—went rigid. He stared into the bin, lips pursed, like he wanted to argue. But all he did was cast Valentyn’s shoulder a glance full of indiscernible intensity and rise to his feet.

Valentyn rose too, still watching Peter carefully. “Are you all right?”

Peter nodded, head cast down. He looked frustrated and miserable as he hurried away.

“Don’t mind him.” The girl crouched down, efficiently picking up the last of the mess. “He doesn’t talk much. It’s nothing personal. I’ll make sure he wasn’t hurt. But are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was sitting at my table. I only came over to help.” He stared at Peter’s retreating back, mind whirring to process everything.

I’ll marry you.

Peter had heard them, no question. That wasn’t good. Had that been some kind of joke? It hadn’t seemed like it, but Valentyn couldn’t work out what else it was supposed to be. Certainly not a serious offer?

But what if it was?

Valentyn had watched Peter ever since the young man had started working at Procaffeination. He was slight and pretty in a way that had always caught Valentyn’s eye. The quietness attracted him too. More than once Valentyn had stopped his work to admire Peter’s efficiency of movement, the way he had a tendency to rub his fingers delicately on his apron after picking up one too many dirty plates. There was a sharpness about his face as well that hinted at a deep intelligence.

He needed to talk to Peter. He needed to find out what he’d meant, whether Peter was promising trouble or salvation.

“You can go back to your seat.” The girl smiled cheerily as she hefted the bin onto her hip. “We’ve got this.”

Valentyn searched for Peter, who hadn’t yet reappeared from the kitchen.

The girl’s smile slipped a little. “You didn’t try to talk to him before, did you? Did you make him drop the tub?”

Valentyn blinked at her. “Sorry?”

Her smile evaporated. She glanced at the door to the kitchen, then spoke in a low and no-nonsense tone. “I’m not joking around. He doesn’t talk much, and he never talks to strangers. He can’t. I don’t want to get into it because it’s none of your business, but Peter’s a good guy. He’s just got that mutism thing is all. He can’t talk to you.”

Puzzle pieces began to click into place. Murmuring thanks, Valentyn returned to his seat, head spinning.

Dennis, ever the gossipmonger, leaned in close as Valentyn sat. “What was all of that?”

Valentyn waved him quiet as he pulled out his phone. Mutism. The search page instantly filled with articles, all titled selective mutism. He scanned them, lips moving.

Dennis continued to stare at him, curious but quiet.

When Peter returned with the broom, he didn’t look at Valentyn, but his face and ears were beet red. He moved the broom angrily across the floor. The girl was gone.

God, but Peter was adorable.

Had he been serious?

What if he was?

Heartbeat quickening, Valentyn dug through his bag, produced a paper and pen, and hurried over to Peter before he could slip away again.

Peter glanced at him, then very deliberately didn’t look at him again. Just like the time Valentyn had complimented him on his coffee-making skills—his disastrous attempt at flirting.

Except maybe it hadn’t been a disaster at all.

Clutching the pad and pen, Valentyn stood beside Peter and the Wet Floor sign. “Were you serious?”

The broom stopped. After a pause, still not looking up, Peter nodded.

Valentyn’s heart was going to beat right out of his chest. “So you heard me talking about my… problem with Dennis?”

Peter’s shoulders rounded. He glanced longingly at the pad of paper and pen.

Valentyn handed it to him. Peter took a great deal of time to write with a shaking hand, then passed the tablet over. Sorry.

Valentyn’s cheeks heated now too. “But you weren’t making a joke when you asked me that? When you proposed to me?”

After a long pause, Peter shook his head.

Was this really happening? Valentyn didn’t know what was appropriate to say right now. He wanted to ask why someone would simply offer themselves up like that to a complete stranger. He also wanted to ask if he was right, if Peter had figured out he was flirting before and simply hadn’t been able to respond. He wanted to apologize for not figuring out Peter had selective mutism, but he wasn’t sure if he should say Peter’s coworker had spilled the beans.

Plus the girl, who was back at the counter, looked ready to punch him. Valentyn didn’t have any time left to dither.

Lifting the pad, he scribbled down his name, his email, and his phone number, then passed them to Peter.

Peter took the paper, clutching it as if it were a hundred-dollar bill. Then he dropped the broom and hurried out of the dining room, head down the entire way.

The girl came back, picked up the broom, and aimed it at Valentyn.

Holding up his hands, Valentyn backed away. His heart beat too fast in his chest. He was confused, unsteady. He wasn’t sure he should have given the man his number, let alone his name. He worried his impulsiveness had just put him in danger. Gathering his belongings, he headed for the door.

Dennis hurried after. “Val, what are you—Val, wait up!”

Valentyn didn’t wait. He stepped out of the shop and headed toward the university, trying not to worry he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Chapter Two

VALENTYN. Man With the Ukrainian Accent was named Valentyn.

Dr. Valentyn Savvich Shevchenko, to be exact.

Peter googled the hell out of him as soon as he went on break. Valentyn was a visiting professor in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and seemed to be pretty well-respected in his field. He had several social media accounts, including a YouTube channel. It was half in Ukrainian—or maybe Russian, Peter honestly wasn’t sure—and half in English. His bio on the college web page said he’d gone to undergrad at Iowa State University and grad school at Ohio State, then returned to Kyiv to teach for a few years before coming to teach at the University of Colorado Boulder. He had a lot of positive student reviews at CU.

His English YouTube videos largely focused on restoration ecology, but several were about the importance of protecting the environment. Could the man be more perfect for Peter? He knew he’d felt a connection for a reason.

Valentyn’s Twitter account had thirty-five followers. His profile picture was… a rock. He tweeted about six or seven times a month and retweeted a lot of stuff about ecology, most of it highly technical. Well, Peter assumed the non-English stuff was about ecology.

There were a few other hits in English that mentioned articles Valentyn had written, and Peter read them enthusiastically. They were a little technical, but he relished the idea of digesting anything about his crush.

While Peter did the dishes, he put in his Bluetooth headphones and watched some videos on how to speak Ukrainian. They were highly enlightening on more than just language. Also, he felt cool finally knowing how to say some of those letters that had baffled him whenever he saw Cyrillic script before. Who would have guessed a backwards R sounded like ja?

He had to pause one of the videos when Amy tapped him on the shoulder. She looked worried. “Is everything okay?” She kept eyeing him carefully. “What did that guy say to you?”

It took him a few seconds to reply. “N-nothing. It’s fine.” He gave her a smile he hoped was only mildly weird. Unless he was with his family, they always felt practiced.

She looked dubious, but she didn’t press the issue. “I’m going back out to the front. But if you want to tell me anything, you know I’m always willing to listen, right?”

Still smiling, absolutely sure it was an off-kilter one, Peter nodded.

She returned to the main part of the coffee shop, and he resumed his videos. He got through two more before the back door opened.

It was his uncle. Smiling for real this time, Peter paused the video and took out his headphones. “Hey, Uncle Joe.”

“Hey yourself. Everything good?”

Peter thought about the phone number in his pocket. “Very good.”

Joe nodded. “Gonna do some payroll. How’s business been?”

“Steady. The usual grad students and people with summer courses, and some professors.”

Joe stopped at the large garbage can where Amy had dumped the broken dishes. “What the hell happened here?”

“I dropped a tub. Sorry.”

Joe waved a hand at him. “So long as nobody was hurt.” He frowned at Peter. “Wait, did someone bother you?”

Peter pursed his lips. “Why does everyone assume someone bothers me?”

Joe said nothing, but he came over and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Your mom called me this afternoon. She misses you.”

“I’ll call her tonight.”

“I’ll remind you.” Joe slapped his belly and sighed. “All right, I’m gonna go hit the books.”

“Have fun.”

Amy stuck her head through the door. “Peter, can you come help me with drinks? I’m slammed.”

Peter nodded, heart skipping a beat in fear as he realized she might have heard him speaking easily to his uncle. He put his earbuds next to his phone on the ledge after turning them off and set down his towel to go fill the drink orders.

When his shift was over, he hopped on his bike and hurried home. It was a sunny, mild afternoon, and the five-mile ride was flat. After saying hello to his aunt and cousins, he grabbed a bottle of water and shut himself in his tiny room, plugged in his phone, and got out the paper with Valentyn’s number on it.

Squaring his shoulders, he applied his thumbs to the keyboard and began to type furiously.

Hello, Dr. Shevchenko. This is Peter Grunberg, the one who dropped the bin at Procaffeinationand asked you to marry him. How are you? Is this a good time to talk?

Sipping his water bottle, he switched over to Twitter and got in several arguments about the environment until a notification bubble sent a preview of Valentyn’s reply, which came inside of three minutes.

Good evening, Peter. Thanks for reaching out. Sorry again for startling you. And please, call me Val.

Peter smiled and flipped back to the text message app.

Okay. I will. I hope it wasn’t too weird that I said I’d marry you? I didn’t mean to open with that.

This time he waited for the reply.

You did surprise me.

What, you don’t get proposed to every day? What’s wrong with the men in Boulder?

LOL. You’re quite a charmer, aren’t you?

Well, I can be, in text. In person I have trouble talking to people, but when you give me a keyboard, my performance is quite different…. Peter hesitated before typing the rest. Since you offered me a notepad, it looks like you figured that out already, though.

Your coworker gave me a big hint. I hope that’s all right.

I mean, it’s not like you can hide selective mutism. At least you didn’t assume I was unintelligent. Or autistic. Absolutely no shade at autism. It’s just that I’m not. I can’t talk to people I don’t know well when they’re in front of me, especially in a busy setting. It’s always been that way. Peter’s heart raced as he typed again. Sorry if I’m coming off as too intense. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time, but I haven’t been able to until now.

A pause, lots of typing without anything coming through. No need to apologize. More pause, more typing. So you have trouble talking to strangers, but there are some people you can talk this freely with in person?

Yep. My family and a few close friends. I’m not scared of people either. Obviously, since I proposed to you. A lot of times I want to talk, but it doesn’t work. Like with you. I always noticed you sitting at the window and wanted to say something. We’ve had a lot of conversations in my head you didn’t know about.

Well, now we’re having a real one. This was the longest pause yet. So you heard about my predicament.

I did. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but… okay, I eavesdropped on purpose. Sorry. But I’m not going to turn you in or anything. I want to help. You aren’t able to stay in the US, but you want to, right? You couldn’t get an employment visa, and your only chance now is a green card marriage?

Shorter pause. Yes.

I did some research on it. Pretty rough. How much time is left on the visa you have now?

Four months. I was counting on a new one through the H-1B visa program, but the current administration has made that process tougher than it should be. With my J1 visa, there’s no recourse outside of marriage that will keep me in the country, not in time before I’m legally required to return.

That really blows. I’m sorry. Peter settled deeper into his pillows. So are you willing to do a green card marriage? With me?

I’m not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, but is it wise for you to offer this to someone you hadn’t spoken to until today and know nothing at all about?

Well, I wanted to get to know you first. But sure. I’m game.

Just like that?

Peter bit his lip. Maybe not get married tomorrow. Totally cool with a discussion about it, though.

You do understand you wouldn’t be able to date anyone for years if you went through with this. I would receive a conditional green card because we’d have been married for less than two years at the time of the interview and final approval, and so we’ll have to wait two years from that point to file to remove the restriction. That would mean we’d need to live as married that entire time. I wouldn’t want to risk ICE finding out it was a fake.

That’s not a problem. Also, it’s funny how you think people are lined up to date me.

What’s wrong with the people in Boulder?

Ha, ha.

What’s good for the goose, etc.

Peter grinned.

Valentyn sent a second message. Well, I’m humbled and honored you’d even consider this. Please know I don’t expect anything, that I view this as entirely in your court.

No, this has to be a mutual decision, I think. I mean, I get you have a lot invested in this, but I’m a stranger to you too.

A pause. It seems to me that meeting up will have some significant disadvantages for you?How do you propose we go about getting to know one another? And I’m sorry if that’s a clueless question.

Peter smiled at his phone. He liked this guy. It’s not a clueless question. Yeah, I won’t be able to talk like this in person. But there’s a lot we can do without talking.

Realizing what that had sounded like, he blushed from head to toe and frantically typed again.

I didn’t mean that to be a come-on! Sorry!

Well. Now I’m disappointed.

Now Peter blushed for an entirely different reason. But he also smiled. Wryly. I’m a little shy about that too. I tend to frustrate potential partners on so many levels. I haven’t yet met anyone willing to put up with me.

If they view being with you as putting up with you, you’re better off without them.

Now you sound like my aunt. Peter snuggled happily onto his side, though, and bit his bottom lip.

That doesn’t make it not true. A pause. So, to the point: how would you like to proceed?

How long do we have until it’s the point of no return for you?

I’m not entirely sure. I think as long as I get married before my visa expires, I’m covered, but sooner is better than later, I suspect. And should you decide this isn’t for you, which is entirely valid, I’ll want a little time to try… other avenues. I have no idea what those are, but if I don’t think of something, Dennis will.

That’s the guy you were with today, right?

Yes. He teaches world literature at CU.

Cool. Well, as to your question, I’d say let’s meet as soon as possible, but regular texts or emails wouldn’t be a bad idea. He sighed, then pressed on. Also, please don’t be weirded out when we meet and I can’t look you in the eye or say much. It’s not because I don’t want to see you.

Understood.

There was a long pause. Peter worried things had become awkward and was working out the best way to lighten the mood when he got another text.

Very sorry. I’ve had someone come into my office and should go. Please feel free to email me anything you like, or send me texts, whatever suits you. Later this evening after my lecture, I’ll do the same.

Peter let out a sigh of relief. Sure. And no worries. Talk to you later.

He got another smiley emoji, and then the conversation went silent.

Clutching his phone to his chest, Peter stared dreamily at the wall, a goofy, giddy grin spread across his face.

VALENTYN