Chapter 17
Callum
“This is a solid proposal.” I finished a few notes in the margin.
“Flesh out these sections of your lit review”—I gestured to the highlighted passages—“and tighten the design description. Then we can move forward. Let’s see…
today’s Thursday.” I paused, considering. “Have the revisions to me by Monday.”
“Yes, Dr. Hawthorne,” said Jackson, one of my senior research students, as he gathered his papers.
“Thanks!” He rushed out of my office. I might have said he moved with urgency, but Jackson was a classic overachieving perfectionist—always moving like he was late for the train. Urgency was his normal speed.
A soft tap sounded at the door.
“Dr. Hawthorne?”
Her voice lit up the room more than any fluorescent bulb could hope to manage. Gabrielle stood there, her presence an unexpected gift. I reined in the impulse to greet her with too much familiarity and instead offered a composed smile and returned formality with formality.
“Come in, Miss Clark.”
She held her notebook tight to her chest, fidgeting with the spiral binding. I wondered if the color in her face owed as much to me as to the chill outside.
“How can I help?” I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral.
She took a seat in front of my desk and flipped open her notebook, eyes bright and intent.
“I have a few questions about complex circuits,” she said, then hurried on, as if eager to justify herself. “When it’s just a circuit in series or in parallel, I have no problem with the calculations. But when both setups are involved, I’m lost.”
I leaned back, allowing myself an indulgent moment to admire the wayward strands of hair curling to frame her face. It was dangerous having her here like this—alone and entirely within reach—but danger had never felt so exhilarating.
“I can build the circuits in the lab, and I get the overarching concepts, but the math is eluding me.” She paused, looking up at me. “Can you walk me through it?”
I couldn’t resist the opportunity—her words were a bit too tempting. “Perhaps a bit more focus in calculus, Miss Clark?”
She blushed, and I could have sworn the color alone could warm the room. I tapped my pen against the desk, allowing her a moment to recover before shifting seamlessly back into professional mode. “Show me where you’re getting stuck.”
Her pencil flew across the paper, gestures animated and passionate. Each page was filled with diagrams, numbers, and lines of equations tangled like a maze. I leaned closer as she explained her process, acutely aware of how near we were.
“So here, on this one,” she said, “I added the voltage in series…but I’m not sure that’s right.”
I nodded slowly, feeling that familiar pull—wanting to teach her, and wanting something far less academic.
“You’re overcomplicating it,” I said gently.
“You’re treating the configuration as a single system, but you need to break it down.
Analyze the series elements first, then reduce to solve the parallel components.
” I picked up a pencil and marked the misstep, correcting the sequence, graphite skating smoothly over the paper.
Understanding dawned in her eyes as I walked her through it, step by careful step. Her focus was absolute—both endearing and maddening in its intensity.
“Does that make sense?” I asked.
She absorbed it like sunlight.
“Yes,” she said at last. “As usual, I made things more complicated than they need to be.”
I chuckled softly, leaning in and lowering my voice to a near whisper, ensuring our conversation was insulated from any wandering ears in the corridor.
“You know you have access to me whenever you want it,” I murmured.
“No need to wait for office hours if you’re having trouble.
” I hesitated, my words deliberate. “Though I’m always pleased to see you, whatever the reason. ”
She seemed to weigh my words, her expression thoughtful and teasing all at once. “I’m just trying to maintain separation of church and state.”
“Which is which?”
“Well,” she started, playing with her hair, “state governs laws and action. Church governs the heart and soul. So I suppose this”—she motioned around the room—“is state.”
“And church?”
She glanced up at me through her lashes. “Tomorrow evening?”
I nodded slowly. “I look forward to…worship.”
The temptation was maddening—her presence a gravitational force pulling me toward her even as we both strained against propriety and expectation. I leaned back, widening the space between us, though the distance did nothing to diminish the magnetism.
“How are your other courses this term, Miss Clark?” I asked, unnecessarily louder to ensure we were heard.
She smiled. “Going well, thanks. In fact, I have a paper due for psychology tomorrow. I’d better get going if I don’t want to be up all night.” She stood, gathering her things with a fluid grace that completely stole my focus.
“Best of luck with that.” I straightened a few errant papers on my desk. “For what it’s worth,” I continued, unable to disguise the warmth in my tone, “I’m very glad you stopped by.”
“So am I.”