Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

Mike nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. “Ethel visited me here several weeks ago, and she left quite the impression. Have a seat, Quinn.”

  The president of the university knew he only had eight minutes before his class, yet he wanted him to sit down. “I’ve only known Ethel since May, and we’ve grown very close.” Quinn rolled his shoulders back and sat up tall. “She invites me to dinner a couple of times a week.”

  “I see.” Mike remained standing.

  Lord, if you want me to tell him, you’re going to have to help me.

  “The demographic studies of Moscow and Latah County indicate that we have a healthy population of senior citizens here, who, like Ethel, are passionate about this university.”

  Quinn agreed. Ethel was passionate about the U of I. Mike had him sit down because he wanted to talk about Ethel.

  “We have families who’ve attended our university for four generations. Since Ethel’s visit, I’ve mulled over the idea of having senior volunteers here on campus.”

  “I think you’re onto something pretty special.”

  “I agree.” Mike nodded. “My mother volunteers at a hospital in Nampa. She loves it.”

  There were only six minutes left before his class. Mike’s stoicism when he’d first walked in wasn’t because he wanted to can him; it was because he’d been deep in thought. He knew nothing about the kiss.

  “Ethel said her granddaughter’s a graduate student here in US history.”

  “Uh, yes, yes, she is.” Quinn’s pulse picked up its pace. “I . . . have Katherine in my Civil War class.”

  Wide-eyed, Mike nodded.

  “Sunday evening, we went for a walk and . . .” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. “And . . .”

  “Sunday evening?” Mike’s head tilted and his gaze narrowed.

  “Yes, Sunday evening.”

  “Katherine . . . King?”

  “Yes, Ethel’s granddaughter.”

  “My wife and I also went for a walk Sunday evening.” Mike’s chest inflated.

  Mike and his wife couldn’t possibly have seen him kiss Katherine on Ethel’s front porch? Quinn swallowed and for a moment felt like he’d recently dined at The Green Dragon. No, that’s right, Mike Morrison lived up on Indian Hills Drive, only a few houses from Cindy’s. For them to have walked the curvy hill, and crossed both the railroad tracks and, the Lewiston highway, would have been very ambitious for a Sunday stroll.

  “Quinn, we’re pleased with your progress here.” Mike slowly lowered himself into his leather chair. “You’re very admired by students and your fellow peers. Your research, adept writing, and lecture skills are only going to further advance a department that we’re already very proud of. Quinn . . .” Mike reached for a pen. “Is the reason for your visit today twofold?”

  Twofold? Lord, are these words from You? Quinn waited for the small voice from the inner room. Twice Mike had prodded him. Despite only four minutes remaining before his class, Quinn remained seated.

  “Mike . . . I hate to disappoint you, but this visit is twofold.”

  With a slow, disbelieving shake of his head, Mike stared at the desk between them.

  “While I love this university, my job, this small town, my home, and neighborhood . . . I’ve recently made a mistake.” Quinn paused, and the small voice that had been quiet all morning whispered: Tell him.

  “That is if you could call kissing a beautiful woman that you’re in love with a mistake.” He smiled slightly at his epiphany. “I need to clarify that: I’ve only kissed Katherine King once.”

  “Katherine . . . King.” Mike crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

  “Yes, in three weeks she’ll officially graduate from the U of I.” Three weeks sounded lame. It didn’t soften anything. He’d erred on the side of big time.

  “Try as we may, there’s no getting around the fact, Quinn, that your actions involve a serious breach of ethics and proper standards of professional behavior.”

  “You’re right.” He’d completed ten years of higher education to have it end like this. “I knew better.” He pressed his lips together and nodded. It would be so hard to tell his folks.

  Elbows on the arms of his chair, Mike gripped his hands and up went the index finger steeple. Was it a sign? Was President Morrison a praying man?

  “Wait until the end of the semester to pursue the matter further.”

  “Pardon me?” Even when elated, grown men aren’t supposed to cry.

  “You heard me.”

  Quinn tipped his head back and grinned at the ceiling. “You have no idea. I feel like the weight of the world’s . . .”

  “It’s called grace.” Mike tidied some papers on top of his desk.

  Grace.

  Quinn stood up and shook the big man’s hand. On his way to the door, he heard Mike clear his throat.

  “Today’s conversation does not leave this room, Benton; we frown heavily on this type of incident.”

  “I understand completely.” Quinn paused his hand halfway to the door handle. He couldn’t even tell Katherine.

  “Remember . . . one letter stands between grace and grave.” Mike flipped back the lid of the cigar box. “The roll’s the size of the box!” He chuckled.

  The bell rang as Quinn strode down the hallway to his class. “Grace,” he whispered. “Grace!” Entering his classroom, he embraced his beloved US History 112 students with the widest of smiles.

  Good thing he wasn’t grading exams today; he would have given everyone A's.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Wednesday morning, Professor Evans’s Lewis and Clark lecture was unusually boring. Katherine found herself thinking about Quinn. During his Civil War lecture, he’d completely avoided looking toward the three students on her side of the room. History told her that when your beloved avoids looking at you, it’s always a bad sign. That’s when she’d officially started her Quinn List. Curious about what she’d written, she unzipped her backpack and pulled out the yellow, lined piece of paper.

  Why I will never fall for Quinn Benton:

  1. He dates merely to eliminate.

  2. He’s flighty . . . about women.

  3. He’s picky . . . about women.

  She read through number six. The list was far too short. After a moment’s contemplation, she penned:

  7. He dates out-of-towners, and I have become his in-between, small-town girl.

  8. The man obviously doesn’t like to be alone.

  9. After he’d kissed me, he apologized and said, “I should never have let that happen!”

  Sick to her stomach, she folded the list and returned it to her backpack. Oh, the things she could write about the man!

  Evans returned a recent essay. An A brightened the back page. A paisley-print sticky note beside it read: Stick around after class, we need to talk.

  The loopy penmanship belonged to Professor Fancy.

  Katherine glanced toward the front of the classroom. Cindy and Evans often took turns speaking and interrupting one another. Cindy took a step back toward the chalkboard, out of Evans’s peripheral zone, her eyes fastened on Katherine.

  “Because of Benton?” Katherine mouthed, hoping Cindy could read lips. She motioned left with her pointer finger in the direction of Benton’s classroom down the hall.

  “It was . . .” Professor Evans paused.

  Pen in hand, Katherine attempted to give Evans her undivided attention, while behind him Cindy wrote a “Y” on the board, and then immediately erased it.

  Was Cindy trying to get her take on the situation, so Quinn knew exactly where he stood with her before Friday? Not that much interest had been expressed in Miss Harvard. But, since their kiss, he hadn’t stopped by on his own initiative once. This morning didn’t count.

  “Miss King,” Evans said.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you formed an opinion?”

  Evans knew that she always had an opinion. She closed one eye slightly and scanned her last paragr
aph of notes. “Yes, what continues to fascinate me is . . .” She looked up into Evans’s smug smile. “Not only did Lewis bring a remarkable skill set to this immense undertaking, but Jefferson himself personally displayed—”

  “Come, come, Miss King, your answer, while clever, is completely off track. You are my most opinion-worthy student. Note that I did not say most opinionated. Something has distracted you, and it’s not the A-plus on your exam. Tell me, class . . .” Evans glanced over his shoulder at Cindy. “What did Professor Fancy just write and erase behind me on the board?”

  The 400-and 500-level Lewis and Clark summer school class was small: nine students. Two students stretched and yawned.

  Looking quite proud of herself, Angel LeFave raised her hand. “She wrote a V and erased it.”

  “Did you say . . . B?”

  “No, a V with a long tail.”

  Katherine blinked. Chuckles reverberated throughout the room. Angel was pursuing her undergraduate degree in US history while also pursuing her MRS degree. It was a wonder she’d lasted as long as she had.

  “Did she appear to have Miss King’s attention when she wrote the V with the long tail?” Professor Evans asked.

  Katherine glanced toward the hallway. Where was Charlene Strauss, the department chair, when a class really needed her?

  “Yes, I think so.” Angel smiled in her direction.

  “May I deduce, class, that a V with a long tail could be a Y. And that a “Y,” when written quickly on a chalkboard, could suffice for an abbreviation for the word . . . YES?”

  Mumbled yeses reverberated about the room.

  Behind Evans, Cindy reconstructed the evidence on the board.

  “Did anyone see Miss King prior to Miss Fancy’s unusual behavior? Was there any type of nonverbal communication between them?” Evans focused only on Angel.

  “Yes, there was.” Angel turned to smile at her. “Katherine had just pointed at me for some reason. I was going to ask her why after class.”

  “Pointed at you . . . hmm . . .” Evans’s voice trailed off. “Hmmm, Miss King and Miss Fancy, I’d like to speak with you both after class.”

  Katherine was reminded that he had his doctorate in both history and psychology.

  Before the end of class, Katherine ever so carefully unstuck Cindy’s sticky note, wadded it up to the size of a spitball, and scrunched it down into the front pocket of her jeans. She’d leave it there to go through the wash, at least, ten times. It was evidence that Evans would never see.

  After the bell, Katherine remained seated.

  “If my assumptions are correct . . .” Evans sat down at a desk in front of hers and turned to face her. “Cindy tried to warn you that Benton is leaning toward you not being invited to Friday night’s get-together.”

  “Again?” Her hand dropped to the desk.

  “Perhaps it has something to do with your grandmother’s front porch.”

  Did Evans also know about Grandma’s rhododendron bush?

  “What’s his reason this time?” The man continually baffled her.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps, you should go to his office and inquire in person.”

  Her heart felt like a sticky knot. “I promised myself I would never go to his office again.” Katherine’s fingertips tapped together. “I’m not sure I can make it to the Friday night get-together anyway. Joe asked me to make him dinner. He’s tired of dorm food.” She wasn’t lying, but she hadn’t finalized Joe’s request. Until now.

  “Cindy, do you think Benton is worried about bringing Katherine home Friday night?” Evans whispered over his shoulder. “If that’s all it is, you can drive her home.”

  Cindy approached them and, keeping an eye on the half-open door, whispered, “I don’t know what he’s thinking, except Katherine’s the first woman he’s kissed in two years. After being dumped without a decent apology by his fiancée, the man deserves a little patience.”

  Quinn’s breakup took on black-and-white qualities.

  “Did you know him then?” Katherine asked.

  “No, but Evans did. The day Sylvia left, Quinn had seen her driving a U-Haul truck around Moscow, and he’d wondered where she was going. She’d packed all her stuff, left town, and called a week later to tell him they were over. It’s taken him almost two years, but he’s able to laugh about it now.”

  Did they think Katherine was like his fiancée—avoiding pain, avoiding conflict, not communicating? Had he unknowingly picked two women very much alike?

  “Even when he wasn’t particularly fond of you, he respected your spunk,” Evans said.

  “I’m not sure that he’s particularly fond of me yet. Can you tell Benton that I’m sorry, but I won’t be there Friday night? I’m making Joe dinner.”

  “Good move, Katherine.” Evans grinned. “You know he’ll want you there now.”

  “Whichever way it goes with Miss Harvard . . .” Cindy whispered, “it’s going to be difficult for Quinn to discuss it in your presence.” She returned to her filing.

  Was it only because of the kiss that Quinn didn’t want her to be there on Friday, or was there more to it?

  “Come now, Katherine, where is your fighting spirit?” Evans asked.

  She knew exactly where it was: she’d left it on Grandma’s front porch.

  “I don’t understand your advice,” she whispered, her voice steady. “You encouraged what happened? And then you turned around and told him we can’t see each other for three weeks.”

  “I merely planted a seed. You added the Miracle-Gro, with your unexpected show of fragility during your phone call to Carl. It put Benton over the edge.”

  Was Evans trying to encourage her? Miracle-Gro?

  “He thinks you’re gorgeous.”

  Was he trying to put her over the edge?

  “He told Harold, his neighbor, that it hit him suddenly, and that he’s beginning to trip in your presence.”

  She recalled his trip into Grandma’s rhododendron and smiled.

  “When did you see his neighbor?” While she savored Benton’s sentiments, she met Evans’s warm gaze.

  “I drop by occasionally to deliver a small bag of groceries. He’s on a fixed income.”

  For some reason, he didn’t want Cindy to overhear that he and Harold were allies. They wanted Benton and her together. She’d sensed Evans’s alliance, but now she knew it.

  “I want him to meet Miss Palouse.” Katherine gripped her hands in her lap.

  “We all do, and you and I know Miss Harvard is simply a matter of getting his hair cut. He’s never even spoken to her. And the nurse, Miss Kitty Princeton, he’s only spoken to once.”

  Kitty? She’d never heard the nurse’s first name before. Throughout history, a lot of beautiful women had been named Kitty. Kitty Kallen. Kitty Kelly. Kitty Pryde . . . She didn’t like the sounds of Miss Kitty Princeton. Would Quinn’s blind dating ever stop?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Friday afternoon . . .

  Ethel was in the front yard weeding her bed of annuals when she came upon an annihilated row of orange marigolds. Fritz must have dug a hole beneath the fence and rolled in them to his heart’s content. Why she had a mind to go rap on the Hamiltons’ front door this very minute and give them a lecture on dog control.

  She was monkeying with the latch on the front gate when Quinn Benton’s dark blue Volvo drove up alongside the curb. He must have spotted her. Ethel’s heart warmed. He hadn’t called or stopped by since Sunday. Ethel had prayed and prayed that his and Katherine’s little kiss hadn’t ruined everything.

  He powered down his window and grinned.

  “Quinn . . .” Ethel waved both of her gardening gloved hands. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to call.” He set an arm along the open window, looking up at her. “I’m very late in thanking you for the delicious cinnamon roll. And, I delivered Mike’s. He got a chuckle out of how large it was.”

  “You
sure know how to make my day.” She patted her heart with one hand. “I have ground beef thawed. Why don’t you come over tonight for tacos or would you prefer meatloaf?”

  “I can’t; tonight’s Miss Harvard.”

  The kiss had ruined everything. She sensed it.

  “That makes you and Katherine both. Joe’s tired of dorm food and asked her to fix him a nice meal.”

  “Joe sounds like a typical college student, Ethel.”

  “That’s what Katherine said, too.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Is Katherine here?”

  He was asking about Katherine. Maybe he wanted to see her before his date with Miss Harvard. Maybe he missed her.

  “No, she walked to the store to get groceries for Joe. We miss you; well . . . at least, I do.”

  Ж

  We miss you; well . . . at least, I do. Had Ethel slipped? Did Katherine miss him, too?

  As Quinn continued up Lewis Street, he reminded himself of all the reasons Katherine would never fall in love with Joe Hillis again. Wouldn’t go to church with her, lack of punctuality, limited vocabulary.

  Though seeing and speaking with Ethel had been of comfort, it didn’t pacify his longing to speak with Katherine one last time before he drove to get his hair cut.

  He had a half hour before he needed to leave Moscow. He’d start at Tidyman’s; if Katherine wasn’t there, he’d go to Safeway. If heaven forbid, she and Joe were back together, he wanted to know now.

  Carrying a black plastic shopping basket, Quinn cruised through Tidyman’s, searching each aisle for a long-legged, beautiful blonde. He’d almost swear Katherine had worn a red V-necked T-shirt to class that day. He walked the perimeter of the store—produce, meats, fresh breads—she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  His insides twisted. He wanted to see her, be built back up before he left Moscow.

  Maybe she liked Safeway more than Tidyman’s; some people did. He drove across the Troy highway to the Moscow Mall and parked in front of Safeway. He hurried in, snagged a basket, and searched the aisles. The problem was that Ethel hadn’t been specific. He didn’t know what time Katherine had left. He flipped open his phone and pressed down on six.