Chapter 12 #2
He studied me for a beat, like he was deciding how much to say. “Theoretical physics. Quantum field theory, mostly.”
I didn’t know the full meaning of that, but the way he said it—like it mattered, like it was the part of him that ran deepest—made me want to learn.
He took another sip of tea, cradling the mug loosely in one hand. A crease carved between his brows as he stared into the middle distance—not distracted, just thoughtful—like he was building equations behind his eyes.
“What about your research?” I asked. “What are you working on?”
He looked back at me with the faintest flicker of amusement. “You really want to talk about that?”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d rather not bore you out of the room,” he said, though his smile undercut the warning.
I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hand. “I can keep up.”
He gave a short laugh. “I don’t doubt that.” He reached for his mug again. “But let’s get you through second-term physics before we tackle quantum field theory.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.”
“It’s a public service. I’m preserving your sanity.”
“You’re just stalling.”
He tilted his head, conceding the point.
“Fine. One of my students is modeling quantum entanglement in a chain of spin particles. Very simplified stuff, but elegant when it works. Another’s playing with broken symmetry in particle systems—trying to force equations to misbehave so he can study the fallout. ”
I blinked. “You’re letting undergrads break physics?”
“I supervise closely,” he said with mock solemnity. “No damage to the fabric of space-time. Yet.” He set his mug down on the bright blue-and-yellow checkered tablecloth beside a cobalt vase of silk sunflowers. “And I’m impressed that you followed all that.”
I dipped my head. “Not really. Just the last bit. The rest went clean over my head.”
Cal took my hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Still impressed.”
My tea was finally cool enough to take a long drink. I’d definitely add sugar next time, but, no lie, the way Cal made it was the best I’d ever had. Maybe it was the right way, as he’d insisted. Or maybe it was because he’d made it. Either way.
I toyed with my mug, turning it slowly between my fingers. “Do you think there’s ever a chance I could do research with you?”
Cal froze, conflict clear on his face—the tug between desire and decorum, between what he wanted and what was wise. He caught himself quickly, but not quickly enough.
“As an engineering major?” he said at last, carefully neutral. “No, probably not.” He shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. “That would fall more under my colleagues in applied physics. Dr. Watkins, perhaps, or Dr. Lee.”
I felt an unexpected pang of disappointment. Cal must have seen it because he reached across the table, capturing my hand in his.
“I think,” he began softly, brushing his thumb along my knuckles, “we need to talk about what things might look like when we’re in class tomorrow.”
My pulse kicked up, and I swallowed past the dry lump in my throat. I nodded, my heart already squeezing tight at the edges. “Because of the professional implications.”
He held my gaze, serious and steady. “We need to be absolutely discreet. Not because I’m ashamed—”
“Because you might lose your job,” I finished. The words were like stones in my mouth.
He didn’t look away. “Precisely. A relationship with a student—regardless of the circumstances—is the fastest, most assured way to find oneself unemployed.”
A shiver ran through me despite the warmth of his hand, and I pulled back, wrapping my arms around myself. Guilt coiled in my chest, sharp and insistent. “I feel bad,” I whispered. “Putting your career on the line like this.”
He tilted his head, studying me with a tender smolder. “I know what I’m doing,” he said quietly. He held his hand out again, palm up, waiting. I placed my fingers in his, tentative but wanting. “Your company is well worth the risk.”
I wanted to believe him—needed to—but couldn’t help the doubt that whispered cold in my ear.
“But I do plan to wine and dine you in splendor,” he said, brushing his lips across my knuckles. “And I need to keep my job in order to do that.”
I looked down. “What if I dropped your class?”
His expression darkened, like the idea genuinely pained him. “I can’t have your academic course disrupted because of me.”
“But—”
“Engineering at Page College is housed firmly within the physics department, Gabrielle. There’s no way you could major in engineering and steer clear of my courses.” His voice was firm, but I sensed a pleading note beneath it.
“I could change my major,” I insisted, though even to me, it sounded ridiculous.
He shook his head, a soft impatience edging into his tone.
“It’s a moot point. University policy prohibits relationships with students—full stop.
Whether they are in one’s course or not.
You could major in comparative unicorn studies, and it wouldn’t make the slightest difference.
” Cal caught my gaze, his intensity almost fierce.
“I don’t believe there are formal consequences against students for…
inappropriate relationships. The responsibility falls solely on the instructor, as it should.
” He curled his fingers around mine, grip tight, eyes searching and tumultuous.
“But if there were informal consequences for you? If your academic path is disrupted because of me? I wouldn’t forgive myself. ”
“You think I’d forgive myself if you lost your job because of me?”
Our words collided in the air, clashing and falling between us like stones on the carpet. A pause stretched, taut and uncertain, until he let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Absolute discretion then,” he said quietly.
I nodded, bunching the hem of my sweater in my fist. “Yes. Absolute.”
Cal rose from the table, finishing his tea in a single swallow. He carried his mug to the sink and rinsed it, his movements unhurried and deliberate. He checked his watch, then said reluctantly, “I should head home. I’ve got a few things to finish up for tomorrow.”
Disappointment bloomed sharp beneath my ribs, but I tried to hide it behind a smile as I stood. He held out his hand for my empty mug, and I gave it to him.
“Thanks.”
He nodded and rinsed my cup too, placing both neatly in the dishwasher.
“When will I see you again?” My voice was quiet, almost tentative.
He turned back, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “In class at eight?” he ventured.
I shook my head, determined now beneath the hesitation. “No.” I stepped closer, searching his face with all its careful restraint. “I’ll see Dr. Hawthorne tomorrow at eight,” I corrected gently. “When will I see you?”
Cal’s expression softened. He cupped my face and traced his thumb gently along my cheek. “When do you want to see me again?” he asked with a playful lilt. “I don’t want to monopolize your time.”
“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be leaving now,” I confessed, heat rising beneath the soft stroke of his finger. “But I can’t be selfish.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, slow and warm, curling around my heart.
“Then let’s compromise,” he suggested, his voice low and persuasive.
“We’ll play the week by ear.” He paused, holding my gaze with a tender gravity.
“Especially these first few weeks. I tend to front-load the term—lecture prep, research design, the usual.”
Disappointment pinched at my chest before I could stop it, and my face must have betrayed me.
Cal tilted my chin up, coaxing my eyes back to his. “As I said,” he repeated, smiling again, soft and reassuring, “we’ll take the week as it comes. But—I did promise you a home-cooked meal.”
I blinked as the realization sank in.
He added, “Friday night seems perfect. If you’re free, of course.”
The days between now and then felt endless, but I nodded. “You’d better not cancel on me,” I warned lightly.
He leaned in, resting his forehead gently against mine for a moment that stretched, sweet and suspended. “I wouldn’t dare.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “Might I have your number?”
I dipped my head to hide my smile. His formality was endearing.
I took his phone, entered my number, and promptly texted myself to ensure I had his as well. A moment later, my pocket buzzed.
“Efficient,” he remarked with an approving nod. He moved into the living room, grabbed the black leather jacket he’d draped over the couch, and shrugged it on, the motion fluid and easy. The worn leather sculpted itself to his frame, and something in me fluttered at the sight.
I crossed over to him, trailing my fingers in an appreciative path up his chest. “You look good in black,” I said, unable to keep the note of admiration from my voice. “Makes your eyes look even more…” I searched for the right word, settling on a breathy laugh. “Striking.”
He caught my hand and pulled me closer, kissing me with a lingering sweetness that sent warmth spilling through me. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured against my lips.
I exhaled softly as he pulled away, the absence of his touch leaving a quiet ache behind. He paused at the door, one hand on the knob.
“Don’t forget to call your aunt back,” he reminded gently.
I rolled my eyes and gave him a light shove. “Go,” I said with mock exasperation. “Before I change my mind.”