He, too, appeared to forget and the comfort of their time together closed the gap until she was reclined, as relaxed on his couch as she’d be with any of her closest friends.
After Lydia left and he’d turned in for bed, Aarin laid there, unable to sleep. The TV show had unerringly picked up on the very thing he’d been struggling with and made it bigger, an object he couldn’t see around.
Why? This was the question he needed to answer the most. Why did that bother him?
A lot of canned responses rose in his head, but the truth was he hadn’t minded her showing up like she had. And he couldn’t have very well pushed her away, could he? He was home. She knew that. He wasn’t busy. She’d probably suspected that, too. It was only dinner and conversation.
Yet all of that felt like an excuse. He liked her … too much. Yes, like he’d told himself, they were in different places in life, but her twenty-two years and his thirty-one were only nine years apart and telling the truth to himself, she was the first girl he’d been even remotely interested in. She had to feel it, their chemistry, and that’d spurred her to come over like she had.
The voice in his head, the logical one reminded him he hadn’t done anything, and the lonely one, the one he listened to a lot lately, said this was the best he’d felt in several years. Still another, the man kept celibate, who’d lived chaste, that man fingered the sparks which flickered between them and dared himself to hang on. But all three fought against a cacophony of warnings he ought to heed. That if he knew what was good for him, he’d put his foot down, tell her things were getting out of hand, and go back to being Professor Kai. Thought of that, though, made the upcoming semester seem incredibly long.
He couldn’t break off anything before Saturday. He’d promised he wouldn’t back out. He ought to keep his word, and besides, she had a date Friday night. She might hit it off with whoever the boy was and everything would change.
He exhaled loudly, one hand rising to massage his head, the crippled one that felt her touch even when she wasn’t there.
CHAPTER 5
“Scott Slater.”
The guy introducing himself dipped his chin, the patchy fuzz growing on it little more than what a preteen boy was capable of. In fact, this guy had two strikes against him already. One, he’d worn a shirt emblazoned with the words, Lady Killer. Two, he smelled like booze, and something one hundred proof if she had to take a guess.
Dalton Thomas, on the other hand, was clean cut and attractive, six foot, sandy blond hair, if a bit too grabby her taste. Karen appeared both apologetic over Scott and nervous for herself. Lydia made no remark on it and determined to endure the night.
“Lydia,” she replied.
“Introductions made …” Dalton said, interrupting, “let’s get this party started.” He motioned toward his car, a sporty number that promised to be cramped, giving the gesture a flourish.
She set out the short distance across the lot, Scott falling in at her side.
He breathed too loud, a raspy wheeze, and as the night continued, he talked too much. About everything. Twice. Most of it was nonsensical information, ranging from his health to his score in some virtual reality game. All harmless, and boring.
She couldn’t help but compare the evening to her time with Aarin though. They were night and day different. Aarin was older and wiser. She preferred his quiet confidence given with his experiences of life. What he’d faced had made him strong and given him a perspective she respected. He had things to look back on that guided his footsteps and a gentle mannerism brought on by his time teaching. Plus, she and he had so much in common, their love for books and literature being the biggest.
Still, she didn’t want to give up on Scott initially and so, more than once, tried to steer the conversation onto something interesting. But he was inexhaustible, continuing onward as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “I” seemed to be his favorite pronoun, along with “me” and “my” during their dinner conversation. Afterward, forced into a movie seat beside him, she lost track of the plot, forced to hear him relate the scenes to moments in his life … as if what he’d been through held any candle to someone as amazing as Aarin.
She gave up listening toward the end, sliding down in her seat, and all but sprinted from the theater to the car once the credits rolled. On the ride home, packed tight against him, he made one attempt to drape his arm around her. She shrugged it off. She exited Dalton’s car, once back at the dorms, and didn’t look back. She was halfway down the hallway when Karen called from behind.
“Wait … Lydia …”
Lydia halted, her frustration pulsing on the surface.
Karen skidded to a stop at her side. “I … I’m sorry. You had a bad night?”
Lydia exhaled. She couldn’t hate Karen and, frankly, was surprised she wasn’t going home with Dalton. Just the same, she couldn’t act happy either and found her reply too sharp. “I had plans tonight, you know. Aarin and I were supposed to work on curriculum.”
Karen’s gaze changed. “Aarin? You mean, Mr. Kai?”
Lydia realized, too late, her faux pas. “Mr. Kai,” she corrected. “He … he and I … we were supposed to continue into second … semester work … and …” She sounded too scattered.
Something Karen noticed. “You’d rather do that than go on a date?”
Lydia raised her chin. “He wouldn’t have bored me stiff. We can talk about almost anything and see eye-to-eye whereas the only thing Scott sees is himself.”
She whirled and made to surge forward, but Karen, once more, brought her to a halt. Snagging her sleeve, she turned her around, her expression far too knowing, and the longer they stood there, the hotter Lydia’s face grew.
“I’m tired,” she said. She yanked free and left Karen standing in place.
Seated on her bed fifteen minutes later, her pajamas on, legs folded crosswise, she stared at her cell wondering if she dared send Aarin a message. She finally opened a text window. The date stunk, she said. I’d rather have spent time with you. Her fingers shaking, she dared herself to hit send, her stomach immediately balling into a knot.
His answer was a half hour coming. We have tomorrow, he replied.
He’d almost not seen Lydia’s text. His hand better than usual, he’d opted to mow the yard, and the exercise had done him a world of good, reminding him, in a strange way, of his hockey days … the sweat, the flex and pull of his muscles, the satisfaction of a completed job. He’d realized seated on the patio afterward that the work had helped him not think about her.
And he’d done a lot of that lately. He could, at any moment, recall her voice, the soft look in her eyes, the delicate curve of her cheek. A brief image of her with some nameless college student had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He’d buried it beneath the spray of a long hot shower.
The blinking light on his phone captured his eye when he turned in. The date stunk. I’d rather have spent time with you. A mixture of elation and misgiving had washed over him, forming a damp sweat on his brow. Being honest with himself, he liked that she’d missed him because that’s what her admission amounted to. At the same time, it’d been easier if she’d hadn’t. He wouldn’t have had to fight with his conscience again.
We have tomorrow, he’d said, and set his phone aside. We. When had the two of them become more than a professor and his student? When had they become “we”? Because thinking of her made him reconsider himself, who he was as a son, a teacher, a man. She made him better, mentally and physically, and despite the red flags waving in his head, he wasn’t ready to trade that in to be just Professor Kai again. That felt awfully empty, like a shell of who he’d been.
He drifted asleep and dreamed about her, but was unable to remember the essence of it the next day. She texted midafternoon, saying when she’d arrive, and he replied with a simple okay. He tried to keep his anticipation to a minimum, but between struggling into his suit, failing to properly knot his tie, and a last minute search for matching
socks, he was way tenser than he wanted to be.
The doorbell rang with his arm in one coat sleeve, his hair in disarray, and a parade of clothing strewn from one end of the house to the other. “Coming,” he called. He kicked his things into the spare room, shutting the door. Then, shifting his shoulders to settle his coat, he strode to the foyer, inhaled, and answered it.
At the sight of her, his heartbeat stopped. “You … look beautiful.”
“You like it?” She made a quick twirl. The filmy blue fabric clung to every curve, a scoop neckline just low enough to tease the eyes, the smooth drape of it over her hip displaying her narrow waist and the length of her legs.
“Like it? I love it.”
She came to a halt facing him. She’d pinned her hair up, showing the length of her neck, and dusted her shoulders with some sort of sparkly powder. “Here,” she said. “Let me in, and I’ll fix your tie.”
He reversed at her gentle tap, and she pushed inward, elbowing the door shut behind her.
“Chin up …” Taking hold of his tie, she unwound the mess he’d made and correctly fastened it, tightening it to his neck. The fabric gripped in her palm, she smoothed his collar.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked.
She smiled. “I’m a fount of secrets. Just think what else you might learn hanging around me.” Her gaze changed, and she reached for his hand. “It’s hurting you?”
The press and tug of her fingers was its own special bliss. She knew exactly how to ease the pain. “It was. I think I did too much yesterday, but to be honest, I hate feeling trapped by it.”
“You’re not trapped,” she replied, “and if you don’t feel like driving tonight, then I will. In fact, I insist. I am your personal chauffer.”
His smile returned. “The loveliest one I’ve ever had.”
Quiet crept between them, tranquility that brought them closer. Her hand on his chest, his fingers laid lightly on her shoulder, neither one made any attempt to move. And his thoughts spun again, that as easy and relaxed as things between them were, he shouldn’t feel anything at all. He shouldn’t want her here, shouldn’t hate thinking about when she’d leave.
“I guess … we should go.”
Her gentle voice broke into his reverie and he blinked, awakening himself. “We should. I wouldn’t want to be late for my own award.”
Lydia stepped in reverse, her heels clicking on the tile. “I hope you’ve prepared your speech. ‘I’d like to thank the Academy …’” She motioned one hand outward in a model-like way.
He chuckled and dug his keys from his pocket. Reopening the front door, he escorted her outside and onto the walk … entranced by the sway of her hips, the rhythmic swing of her arms, the twist of a single curl escaped from the rest to curve around her neck.
There was only one person he needed to thank tonight, a beautiful woman who’d crawled into his heart.
The tires hummed on the road, a tune on the radio playing softly overtop. The remains of the sunset flashing in her eyes, Lydia concentrated on finding a good pace in the highway traffic, not relaxing until she saw the green distance sign. It’d take a couple hours to get there.
She lowered her hands to the bottom of the wheel and flicked Aarin a glance. “What’s that look for?” she asked.
She’d had some explaining to do to her roommate, Marianne, in order to leave dressed like this. She’d settled for a half-truth, saying she was going to dinner, and let her wonder with who and why. She’d not seen Karen at all and had actually been relieved. The last thing she needed was another run-in with her so soon. She was already suspicious enough.
Clearing her thoughts, unwilling to let them ruin her evening, Lydia eyed the teasing smile on Aarin’s lips. Dressed up, he made her heart patter hard. He looked so mature, so cultured. Though his crooked tie and unkempt hair had given him boyish charm.
“I was thinking of a story from my childhood,” he said. “Me and a friend, kid named Billy, got it into our heads to spy on his sister. She was five years older than us, fifteen, and …” He coughed into his curled hand. “Curvy.”
Lydia met his amused gaze with one of her own.
“We snuck into the girl’s bathroom at the high school and hid in a stall. Unfortunately, we ended up standing there for well over an hour and it was … revealing.”
Lydia allowed herself a muffled laugh. “Did she show up?”
He nodded. “Eventually, and it was everything I’d hoped.” He shrugged. “We were young and stupid. In reality, I saw little very little, and Billy … well, it was his sister, so he was kind of grossed out. But it didn’t end well. We’d thought no one had seen us, only, apparently one of her friends had. She’d told everyone we were in there and that’s why the long delay. Eventually, she shoved the stall open and dragged us out by our necks.”
His laugh mingled with hers.
“I haven’t thought of that in years. Maybe it’s like tonight … more of me reliving my youth.”
His expression sobered then, and she read in it what he wanted to say. Stretching one arm out, she laid her fingers in his palm. He curled his own around them.
“Let’s just be Lydia and Aarin tonight,” she said. “No need to bring up that I’m in your class.” That was what had been bothering him, but he hadn’t wanted to be the one to say it. “I insist,” she pressed. “Make one mention of the college or English lit class and I’m walking right out of there.”
He compressed her fingers, but didn’t release them. “Not one word,” he replied.
But words weren’t necessary. They hadn’t said anything standing in his foyer, yet she’d known what he struggled with and she wished to relieve it. Why did other people’s opinions have to have any bearing on the two of them? They hadn’t noticed his award, and none of them would have made sure he got there. For that matter, no one at the college appeared to give him as little as the time of day. She didn’t believe he wanted to be coddled necessarily, but he needed a little more time and attention than anyone realized.
Eventually, he relinquished her hand, but she carried the weight of his grip with her as she drove. An hour and a half later, she pulled up beneath the porte cochere of the hotel where the ceremony was being held. A uniformed valet helped them both from the truck, and Aarin tossed the young man a tip. Then extending his arm to her, he tucked her to his side and led her in the entrance.
It swarmed with people, temporarily discombobulating them. A series of signs, straight ahead, showed the way upstairs, and they fell into the crowd, surging through a set of double doors into a lavishly decorated ballroom. Tables had been set at intervals in front of the stage. Behind them and to the side was an area for dancing. A handful of people swayed to an instrumental band playing an easy listening tune.
Aarin paused and scanned the space, then his gaze lit on someone far ahead and he led her forward. She fastened a friendly smile on her face.
A burly man in his mid to late thirties stood to his feet and offered Aarin his hand. They exchanged an awkward backslap, the man then straightened and looked at her. “Wow. The old man has good taste.”
Lydia smiled and accepted the compliment.
“This is Lydia,” Aarin said. He glanced at her. “I told you about Henri.”
“All good things,” she replied, recalling what he’d said about the ex-hockey player.
Henri made a braying guffaw. “Right. All good things. He can tell some stories on me, but, mind you, it’s mutual.” A spark in his eyes flickered. He turned and pulled out a chair. “Please, have a seat. We’re here to honor our famed humanitarian, but I can already see the guest of honor wears a lovely blue dress.”
She obeyed with a smile, and Aarin descended at her side. But not for long. Other friends arrived and soon she was swimming in names and faces, most of which, within minutes, she’d entirely lost. But it was good to see him so happy and relaxed. That had been the reason for coming, after all. Yes, he needed to receive the award, but he needed
to feel human again, to remember the man he was before he let his hand injury change him.
That’s what it all came down to. He’d never felt normal being the smartest kid in school. He’d fit in, however, playing hockey. No one had judged him there for his age or his brain, and losing that had taken a toll on him. She simply wanted him to see he could get his confidence back.
He was a wonderful teacher, and the students loved him. But he was a generous, thoughtful man, and also extremely kind. He ought to know it.
The knife slipped in his grip, and Aarin winced at the discomfort in his hand, clumsily recapturing it for a second attempt at slicing his steak.
Lydia leaned into his ear, her voice dropping low. “I can do that if you need me to …” She flashed him a smile.
Tactful. It was like her to offer, and to be thoughtful about it. Though he constantly worked on tasks requiring two hands, his inability to complete them without a mishap often made him feel childish.
“I can do it,” he replied.
Henri broke into the moment. “Where did you two meet?”
Lydia, without pause, supplied the answer. “I walked straight out of a fairytale.”
This brought a ripple of laughter around the table and a lot of looks his way. He wanted to beam. Frankly, she was amazing. She took what they dished out and served it back to them, never seeming bothered by any of it. He figured that might not be strictly true, but whatever discomfort she felt was well-concealed.
He cut another slice and stabbed it with his fork.
It had occurred to him, too, that she liked things focused on him and not on herself. Coming to this ceremony, offering to do something as simple as cut his meat was less about treating him with kid gloves than it was in taking the spotlight from her.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. She went to rise and the male portion of the table stood. She paused. “I am going to the ladies’ room. Be nice to each other.”
Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) Page 5