by Claire Adams
"No pressure, I know it's crazy, but all I'm saying is that we'd have enough time to get to know each other, get out on the West Coast, and fly back before break is over." My mouth belonged to someone else, clearly someone who had not asked out a woman in a very long time. I had skipped the safe drinks suggestion, bypassed shared meals, and went straight for a couple’s vacation. She was going to think I was crazy.
"That's crazy," Clarity said.
"I know you're going to say 'but.' Come on, you know you want to." My chest jittered, unaccustomed to the heady mix of recklessness and excitement. It had been way too long. "Dean Dunkirk, I'm sure you have a few great suggestions for places to go in California."
Clarity's creamy skin went pale as the Dean of Students joined us. She swayed back a bit, so I wrapped an arm around her waist. Suddenly my suggestion didn't seem so insane. She fit against me so perfectly, I knew I needed her there.
Dean Dunkirk smiled, too engrossed in his own advice to notice me pulling Clarity close. "Personally I'd head right to Napa Valley. The wine country there is something to see and there are great, hidden towns to stay in while you explore. My daughter has always wanted to go there. Isn't that right, Clarity?"
"Clarity? Your daughter?" My words weren't coming out right. I dropped my arm from around her waist. "You're Clarity Dunkirk?"
"Beautiful name, isn't it? One of the only things her mother and I agreed on," Dean Dunkirk said.
Beautiful, and I knew the moment she marched up to me that she wouldn't hesitate to challenge me. It was something about her that I felt with certainty and knew I needed.
My mind switched into tactical mode, determined to work around the obstacle and complete my mission. Why Clarity was a top priority mission didn't matter. It felt good to want something again.
And I liked Dean Dunkirk. The Dean of Students was easy to talk to, full of practical but light-hearted advice, and he obviously had a healthy respect for his daughter. I figured a few more friendly conversations and I could work my way up to asking permission to date her.
"Well, thank you both for a wonderful party. I'm sorry to leave so soon, but I have an early class in the morning," I said. I needed to go, get a little distance, and see if I could form a plan that would work.
I marched out the front door, the sense of purpose giving my muscles new vitality. The last few years, I had drifted along at Landsman College and avoided most people. Jackson was a rare exception.
My phone rang and it was the only other person I voluntarily talked to. "Hi, Liz, how's my baby sister?"
"Are you at a party?" she asked.
"Just leaving, and no, it's not what you think. Just a faculty get-together with some of the Honor Council students," I said.
"Then why do you sound so happy?"
"I'm excited for class to start tomorrow," I lied.
Liz chuckled. "I still can't believe my big brother is a college professor."
"This is year three," I said, and felt the old, familiar pang.
"Don't you miss it? You were a great journalist, Ford. I still don't understand how you got let go for doing too good a job," Liz said.
"I'm living proof it's possible to know too much," I joked, but my little sister didn't buy it. I heard her sigh. "We've gone over this a hundred times, Lizzy: no one's going to hire a discredited journalist, alright? I'm happy enough where I am."
I reminded myself of that fact when I unlocked the door to my apartment. I kicked off my shoes and settled down in the office chair next to my dining room table. The new semester's syllabus was laid out along with mountains of supporting texts and articles. I opened my laptop and got back to work.
It didn't matter how much I wanted to be a journalist again. That was over. Now I was a college professor, and the money was good. My paycheck gave me enough to send some to Liz each month. She needed help with medical school and I was determined to keep my head down and my paychecks coming.
As I added notes to my lecture topics, the image of dark-red, wavy hair and forest-green eyes kept appearing. I wasn't working my dream job, but at least now I had the dean's lovely daughter to help me get through the school year. For once, I was looking forward to my first class early in the morning.
#
When it came to students, I only noticed what would help me remember their names. Wendell had round, silver-rimmed glasses. Allison had short, spiky hair. Maurice had a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. My first year at Landsman College, I learned firsthand the dangers of noticing anything more about the students, especially the attractive females. Now I focused on small details that would help me recognize them throughout the semester.
I unpacked my leather messenger bag and organized my introduction lecture notes. She walked in and I knocked an entire folder on the floor. Luckily, the rest of the lecture hall could not see me as I ducked down behind my desk.
Clarity's sure steps faltered when she saw my face. I scowled up at her and swiped together the loose papers. My class roster ended up on top and there she was: Clarity Dunkirk, junior.
My mind skipped back over our introduction and wondered where I went wrong. Had I been so distracted by my instant attraction to her that I didn't hear who she was? No, she had simply neglected to tell me two important facts. Clarity was not only the Dean of Students' daughter, she was one of my students.
I stood up and ignored her completely, which was easy because I couldn't see anything but a red haze. I hated how Landsman College students were washed in privilege. Clarity had probably thought flirting with me and then embarrassing me in class was going to be a hilarious prank. I was just another employee serving up what she wanted.
She sat down in the center of the fourth row and I spent the rest of class pretending she didn't exist. Clarity kept her eyes on her notebook and scribbled diligently. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail by a slim, black ribbon. The bright focus in her emerald eyes separated her from the rest of the groggy and slouching students.
After running through the syllabus, explaining the large writing component of the course, and completing my first lecture, I gathered up my things as quickly as I could. By the time I had unplugged my laptop, most of the students had made a beeline out the door towards the cafeteria for coffee and breakfast. A few stragglers asked questions, and the then echoing lecture hall was quiet.
"Professor Bauer?"
I looked up at the pair of smiling students. "Yes?"
"I'm Mindy, and this is my friend, Tonya. We just wanted to say that we're really looking forward to your course this semester. It's great to have a professor that's willing to teach us outside the classroom," Mindy batted her eyelashes.
"Well, you can't practice proper journalism in a vacuum. I have to help you get out to community events so you can start digging up real leads," I said.
"We're looking forward to it." Mindy giggled and posed in front of me until her friend dragged her to the door.
"Professor Bauer?"
I swore under my breath. It bothered me that Clarity had seen the other students flirting with me. "Yes, Ms. Dunkirk, is it?"
She frowned and shifted from one foot to the other. "I need to apologize for not explaining I was one of your students. I just, I, I enjoyed talking to you like a regular adult," Clarity said. She squeezed her notebook to her chest.
I slammed my leather messenger bag closed and gritted my teeth. "No problem, Ms. Dunkirk. I don't mind being reduced to some silly school girl fantasy just so you can pretend to be mature."
I held my breath and looked up, expecting tears. Instead I was met with a sharp, jewel-hard glint in her eyes. Clarity batted back a few loose tendrils of her dark red hair and straightened her shoulders.
"I'm not a girl and I'm not immature, Professor Bauer. I was simply playing the good hostess for my father and did not want to make you feel ill at ease," she snapped.
My whole body leapt to engage in a good argument. I had a feeling Clarity, whose stance was anything but meek, would make a great sparring pa
rtner. Before I could think better of it, I walked around the desk and stepped close to her.
Clarity tipped her chin up to keep her hard glare on my eyes. She was about 5'7", judging from where her the top of her head reached my chin. She didn't step back, and her slender, athletic body was rigid with defiance.
"Ms. Dunkirk, I understand being the daughter of the Dean of Students could give you a disproportioned sense of entitlement, but in this classroom, there are strict boundaries. I am the professor and you are a student. And, in no possible scenario, am I interested in my students outside of Multimedia Production & Storytelling."
She stepped back, but only to give me a scathing glance from head to toe. "I'm sorry you got the wrong idea about me, Professor Bauer. It must be embarrassing to have a student discover how rusty your journalistic inquiry skills have become."
Clarity marched around me and headed for the door. I admired her sharp tongue even as the insult stung. She was fearless, and for a minute, I remembered her father urging her to break out of her shell. That would be a sight to see. The idea of helping Clarity find her passion was a hot match against the fuse of my already smoldering attraction. I couldn't help myself and called out.
"Clarity." She turned with a dagger-throwing glare. "Next time, don't bury the lead."
Her sudden smile checked my heart and it stumbled off balance as I gathered the rest of my things. I knew I needed to do something right away or that smile was going to stick with me all afternoon.
I grabbed my phone. "Jackson? It's me. Remember that blind date you mentioned? How fast can you and Alice set it up?"
"Yes! I knew you'd come around," Jackson crowed. "I'll text Alice right away."
Before I reached the end of the hallway, my phone buzzed. The message read, "Date set for tomorrow night. Campus art opening."
I took a deep breath and congratulated myself on avoiding another disaster. Clarity pulled at me like a dangerous undertow, but this time I'd keep my head above water.
"Professor Bauer, please look where you are going."
I raised my head and narrowly missed running into my department head, Florence Macken. In her chunky heels, the older woman was almost at eye level and her expression was disdainful. She did not know the details of my first year slip up, but Florence still treated me like a rookie teacher. Her department was a feather in the Landsman College cap, and she had decided almost immediately that I did not fit her School of Journalism mold. No matter what I did, I felt her pale blue eyes watching and hoping I would slip up so she could hire someone more suitable.
"I'm sorry, Professor Macken. I'm on my way to the first meeting of the student newspaper. Would you like to come along and observe? I think you'll find I've come a long way, with your guidance, of course," I said.
Florence frowned. "I forgot you were editing the school paper."
I forced a smile over gritted teeth. "Readership is up 80% since we added the social media aspects. The Signpost is well on its way to being a full-fledged success."
"In my experience bragging covers a lack of confidence, wouldn't you say, Professor Bauer?" Florence stepped around me and continued her heavy-heeled march down the hallway.
She knew I was the most effective editor-in-chief The Signpost had had in the last decade and it bothered her considerably. Nothing could have cheered me up faster. I strode into the smaller classroom and greeted my newspaper staff.
Clarity looked up, her notebook at the ready, and I sighed. It was going to be a long year.
#
"Your assignment is two-fold," I told The Signpost staff as we stood outside the art department gallery. "Number one, I expect you to find a human interest story. Something that will get our readers interested in visiting the art gallery. And, number two, you will need to write a full and vivid description of one piece of art. You cannot depend on photographs to show the reader, and, more importantly, you want to inspire the readers to come see for themselves. Got it?"
The small group of students nodded and Clarity was the first one through the doors. I followed more slowly, hoping it would be a while before I found my blind date. I ambled into the maze of well-lit white walls and watched my students fan out.
Clarity was already embroiled in a conversation with a very pleased first-year art student. The young man's glasses practically steamed up every time she smiled at him. I couldn't blame the poor kid; she was vision. A long, bright scarf wrapped tight around her tiny waist saved the black dress from being boring. Not that the plunging V-neck or exposed curves could be called boring.
I checked myself by biting my tongue. Clarity was a student and strictly off-limits.
Instead of watching her circulate on bright-red heels, I forced myself to look for my blind date. Jackson had informed me his wife's work colleague, Tara, would meet me there and I was supposed to recognize her by a black flower pin.
Anticipation is exciting, I reminded myself. It would be fun circulating through the busy gallery looking for a mystery woman. And the black flower pin was intriguing. I imagined it pinned to the sharp V-neck of a curve-hugging, red dress. I was always a sucker for black patent leather shoes, and I was hopeful as I scanned the crowd.
A voice in the back of my head noted I had reversed the colors of Clarity's outfit, but I dismissed it. Yes, she was twenty-one-years-old and it wasn't a sin to notice how attractive she was, but I wasn't about to let myself slip. Flying under the radar at Landsman College meant both my professional and personal images had to be mature, settled, and appropriate. No more drinking at bars until close to get local gossip, no more skipping haircuts or showers in order to fact check, and no more flirting with attractive, insider women who might want to share their insights with me.
"Nice to see you again, Professor Bauer. I hope you enjoyed the little party we threw the other night," Dean Dunkirk slapped me on the shoulder. "I believe you had my daughter in class today."
The dean's choice of words kicked my mind right into the gutter. I turned and felt my insides churn with volcanic heat. Clarity stood next to her father. My eyes dropped to her red high heels then climbed up the clinging black dress to the bright scarf cinched around her tight waist before I got myself under control.
"Thanks so much for the hospitality, Dean Dunkirk. I love your Craftsman house. It must be really nice to be that close to campus," I said, tearing my eyes off his daughter.
"We like it, don't we, darling?" the dean asked Clarity. "Helps me keep an eye on her."
"What about all that rhetoric about me breaking out and finding my passion? Now you want to keep a close eye on me?" Clarity gave her father a challenging glance.
"Right, you're right. I'll leave you to the close, watchful eyes of your professors," Dean Dunkirk grinned at me.
I straightened my shoulders and kept my focus on him. Clarity's father seemed to have missed my glances and he turned me towards his other companion. "Professor Bauer, I'd like you to meet one of Landsman College's biggest supporters, Michael Tailor."
Michael Tailor gave my hand a hard shake. "Dunkirk tells me you worked for Wired Communications. Wesley Barton is an old friend of mine."
The name was a shot of poison and I was glad to tug my hand free of Michael Tailor's handshake. The tall business man had the dark-blond hair and denim-blue eyes of an All-American legacy. I knew just by looking at him that he had old money—too much of it—and he wielded it over others like a whip. The fact that he knew Barton was no surprise as they were cut from the same, ultra-rich cloth.
Wesley Barton was the reason I was trapped like a lab rat in maze of academia. He'd fired me personally, with a guarantee that I would never again work for a credible news source again.
"You worked for Wired Communications?" Clarity asked.
Michael Tailor offered her an arm, pleased by the dark glance I gave him. "My dear, if you're interested in pursuing journalism, you should let me introduce you."
She glanced over the shoulder of his expensive suit and caught my
stormy look. The question was bright in her and she mouthed, "Talk later?"
I shook my head and gave my excuses to the dean. "I'm sorry, but I'm supposed to be meeting a friend. Actually, a friend of a friend."
Dean Dunkirk laughed. "A blind date, you poor soul. And here I thought a handsome man like yourself would be inundated with offers."
"Never from the right women," I confided in the older man and he chuckled.
"Sorry to interrupt," Clarity reappeared and I felt her presence like an electrical storm. "Professor Bauer, there's a woman looking for you. She said to mention that she's wearing a black flower pin?"
"His blind date," her father explained.
"Oh," Clarity's eyes jolted to mine. "I thought maybe you were married or something."
"No, I tend to tell people defining details like that right away. It saves a lot of awkwardness," I said.
She shrugged and shot me a provocative smile. "Some people can handle awkwardness better than others. Good luck with your blind date."
I watched Clarity walk away with her father and felt my attraction to her like burning magma in my bones. For twenty-two, Clarity was self-assured, sharply intelligent, and far more mature than I wanted to give her credit for.
Nine years was an impossible stretch, even if Clarity acted much older than her age. I reminded myself it was right to be meeting a woman only one year younger than me.
Jackson had told me Tara was career-driven and rising fast through the ranks of his wife's law firm. He didn't say anything about her being nearly six feet tall with shocking red-dyed hair cut close to her head in tight curls.
My blind date was indeed in a red dress that matched her hair and the black flower pin stood out in sharp relief. After those details, she departed drastically from the fantasy I had tried to focus on. Tara was rail thin with sharp angles instead of curves. Instead of a sultry walk on black high heels, she smacked her way across the gallery floor in black, leather, flip-flop sandals.
"You must be Ford; so nice to meet you. My name is Tara, but I think that Alice's husband already told you that. She told me that you are a professor but that I shouldn't expect a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches," she chattered with a wide smile.