Chapter 2
Gabrielle
“How was the first day of classes?” Aunt Suzy’s sugary, sing-song voice carried through the phone’s speaker.
“It was good,” I answered, balancing my phone and travel coffee cup in one hand as I unlocked my apartment door with the other.
“Remind me what you’re taking this semester.”
I kicked the door shut behind me. “Today I had physics, calculus, and psych.” I flipped on the light and dropped my backpack and purse on the couch. “Tomorrow I’ve got French.”
“Sounds heavy.”
I tugged off my hat and jacket and draped them over a nearby chair, then walked into the kitchen, where I set my now-cold coffee in the microwave to reheat.
“It’s not so bad,” I said, switching the phone to my left ear as I rummaged through the fridge for nothing in particular.
“I’m used to heavy. Though I think my physics professor is going to be a hard-ass. ”
“After putting up with my brother at the end of his life, that’s nothing you can’t handle, sweetheart.” She paused, and I could almost hear her biting her lip. “You know, Gabrielle, it’s okay if you want to take things a little slower.”
I sighed. This was a conversation we’d had many times, ever since Dad died. “I know, but I want to get my degree and be done with it. Slowing down would just—”
“Would just give you more time to breathe,” she interrupted, her usual cheer dampened but not extinguished. “To enjoy college. To figure out what you really want.”
The microwave dinged. I took my coffee out and gave it a swirl, watching the steam rise and bead along the rim. “I’m twenty-five—not eighteen like everyone else here. I don’t need to soul-search and find myself. I’ve actually lived a bit of life. And I know what I want.”
There was another pause, longer and heavier. “Okay,” she said finally, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Just remember I’m here for you, no matter what.”
“I know. Thanks, Aunt Suzy.”
“So…any cute guys?”
I rolled my eyes but smiled. “In this tiny town? That’s rich.”
My brain, of course, chose that moment to conjure up Dr. Hawthorne.
Not that he was cute—he was way too intense for that.
But there was something about him. Maybe it was the sharp angles of his face, those calculating gray eyes that cut straight through you, or the near-perfect sweep of his short dark hair.
He was tall with a swimmer’s build, and his suit clearly wasn’t off the rack.
He wore it like it was cut just for him.
It probably was. And then there was his accent.
Swoon. Like every other girl, I was weak for a British accent. He made physics sound like Shakespeare.
I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. He was my professor, and that was reason enough to keep my head down. I had more than enough to focus on without adding an unethical crush into the mix.
“So?” Aunt Suzy persisted, her expectation practically humming through the phone.
“So I’m not looking for a guy right now.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t window shop.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I knew she was just trying to lighten the mood. “Look, I’ve got to do some reading and a problem set before today’s physics lecture escapes my head. Thanks for checking on me.”
“Anytime, sweetie. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I ended the call and set the phone on the counter, staring at it for a moment like it might chide me further.
I took a sip of coffee—hot enough to burn my tongue—and settled onto the couch with my physics textbook and Dr. Hawthorne’s lecture notes.
AP Physics was eight years in the rearview, and I’d slept, lived, and cried a proverbial river since then.
I had a lot of rust to knock off, and I wasn’t about to take any chances.
If Wednesday’s class was anything like today’s, I’d need every advantage to keep up.
I skimmed the pages, but the diagrams and equations wouldn’t stick.
My mind kept slipping back to the lecture hall, to Dr. Hawthorne’s precise, measured voice.
He spoke with absolute confidence, and he commanded the classroom without even trying.
When I’d thanked him after class, his eyes on mine—reserved, cautious, but not unkind—had unsettled me more than I’d care to admit.
He didn’t look or move like the other professors at Page, with their sweater vests and easy familiarity.
He was sharper, formal, almost refined—as if he belonged somewhere else entirely.
Younger too—definitely not fresh out of grad school, but not gray and grizzled at the edges like most of the faculty. Late thirties, maybe?
Stop it, Gabrielle. You’re acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.
I groaned and rubbed my temples. This was the last thing I needed. He was my professor. Any interest beyond that was a distraction—and worse, a liability. I had goals. Real ones. There was no room for silly infatuations.
Not to mention, I was an engineering major. I still had three and a half more years of classes, most of them connected to the physics department—his department.
I glanced at the textbook again and read the same paragraph three times.
I still couldn’t tell you what it said. Circuits were supposed to be easy—the teething ring of second-semester physics.
My dad and I had built plenty of circuited projects in the garage over the years.
But tonight, none of it made sense. My brain was a tangled mess of resistors and capacitors, overloading and short-circuiting.
Enough. I shut the book harder than necessary and dropped it onto the coffee table. A hot shower—that would help clear my head. And maybe even knock some sense back into me.