7. Sofia
7
SOFIA
M y skin is still tingling even as Professor Knight stands. Why has he been staring at me?
The paperwork looks good. Legit. Legal jargon that I’ve seen before in the NDAs for clients. Rules for being on set of a bigger picture. Safety releases. Everything they can put down to keep their investment safe.
It makes sense, but I still feel compelled to read it all. I don’t want to miss something and get anyone in trouble. The boon of being in charge.
Knight barely reviews it. He must have seen it all before. He appears to know someone from the production to get us on set. Does that mean he has hands-on experience? What job did he do?
He’s not hiding how intently he’s staring at me, and it keeps me from lifting my gaze for a peek.
It makes my skin warmer, but I force myself to dig through every line of these contracts instead of engaging with him. Still, he sticks around.
When his phone pings, my gaze flicks up to catch the gold in his curls, courtesy of the low sun streaming through the window beside us. You know, great lighting for the cameras.
The small smile on his face makes him look younger. My age. I’m not fooled by whatever play he’s making. I know his type.
He can’t stand that I’m not falling all over him just like the others. Too many of them. He doesn’t need me to add to the competition. Yet, here he is, bugging me.
I’m knee-deep in the paragraphs of legalese by the time his attention returns to me. His gaze sparks a small flame along my flesh.
After a while, he seems to startle out of his reverie, draining the last of his coffee and standing. I finally give him my full attention. The subtle, flirty goodbye isn’t lost on me, but the loud, giggling call of his name as he’s exiting the café snags my attention one more time.
Ugh, that obnoxious girl from Film Club has her hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop. Poor guy.
Leann stared hard at him all through the meeting, leaned the closest when talking to him, kept finding a reason to touch him. And that offensive giggle, which is echoing through the glass entrance door right now…
I roll my eyes. I know her kind. Snotty and boastful. Oversharing and making herself look good. Used to her pretty, pert ass getting her through things instead of her brains.
Just all around dislikeable.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but Professor Knight seems to disentangle himself and get away fast. I am not looking forward to dealing with her all year.
Leann enters and orders at the counter before taking a seat nearby. I finally get through the last of the contracts as her squealing giggle fills the café. She’s got someone on her video chat, being very loud and public about their compliments to each other.
Glad you found someone to be obnoxious with you, Leann. Gladder it’s not me.
I pack up my stuff and head out. The late dinner crowd will be filling the place anyway. Better to not be in their way.
Taking the southern path through campus, I make the trek to my dad’s. It’s easier than driving and trying to find a spot for my last class of the day. By the time I make it, I’m a little bit sweaty, and they’re already prepping for dinner.
I grin at my son as he pops a cherry tomato in his mouth. “Are you sneaking bites, Mister?”
His bubbling laugh is the sweetest sound. I plant a kiss on his head and then one on Dad’s cheek on my way to the sink to wash my hands and wipe the sweat from my face. “So, boys, what’s on the menu for dinner?”
“Aren’t you going to set up a camera and help us?” Dad sets a few orange slices in front of Noah to distract him.
“Only if you’re okay with that.” I do it at home and in public, but I don’t like invading my dad’s house with it unless he gives me the okay.
“Of course, honey. It’s your thesis project, after all.” He throws me a smile. Always so supportive.
“Thanks, Dad.” I make quick work of it and hover behind Noah as we cut tomatoes and cucumbers and onions for a small salad to go with the chicken Dad is breading. Noah gets his hands on everything but the chicken, even snagging a taste of the breadcrumbs before the raw meat goes into it.
“One of these days…” I squeeze his shoulders and jiggle him about playfully. “You are going to get a mouthful of something you don’t like.”
“Nah,” he says between giggles. “No, I won’t.”
I laugh with him, continuously surprised by how much joy this little man brings me on a daily basis. “Ready to grate some cheese?”
He nods eagerly. One of his favorite tasks. My son loves cheese. Even stinky blue cheese. At four. His obsession with food astounds me.
Noah holds the top, and I brace my hand over his to steady it while we both hold the cheese for grating. He makes long, smooth moves. We’ve done this more than once now, but I still get nervous with the sharp edges. Once we’re down to an inch of cheese, I relinquish the task as he stuffs a big pinch of cheese into his mouth.
I let him grab one more before I swing the plate over to Dad and gather Noah up in my grip to snuggle him into me.
“ Mom .” Giggles ensue. “ Mom. ”
“Hmm? Is my little goblin trying to talk his way free of his love Momster?” I pretend to nibble on his neck and shoulder, snuffling like I’m going to eat him for dinner. “Mmm. Little goblin smells good. And I’m sooo hungry. No wait for dinner. Eat goblin.”
I swing him around into the living room, plop him on the couch, and blow raspberries across his tummy until Dad joins us. Now that the germy bit is done, I let my son loose to catch his breath and go to clean up the dishes while they select a meal-time movie.
To no one's surprise, Noah’s chosen Ratatouille . Again.
Dad comes back into the kitchen with me once Noah’s absorbed in the film.
“How’s your day been, honey?” He nods to the camera still recording us. “How’s the project coming along?”
“Well, it’s only been a few days, but I think it’s going well. I’m going out this Friday for it. Are you okay with Noah for a few hours? I made sure it would be after your research hours.” Even though he has the most flexible schedule ever, he prefers a routine, and I don’t like messing that up.
His arm comes around my shoulders as he hugs me to him. “Not a problem. We'll probably be watching this movie again with some of those veggie sushi rolls from the market.”
I shake my head. “He must have gotten his adventurous eating from his father because I ate nothing but chicken nuggets and applesauce when I was four. I remember it clearly.”
They’re still my favorites when I’m feeling down.
Noah is so much like me that anything that doesn’t jive with my childhood, I blame it on his father. It’s an easy out.
“Mine was mashed potatoes and gravy. Maybe your mom. She grew up with more food variance than we did.” I bite my lip and wait for him to launch into his usual lecture about the morality of food safety laws among the differing governing bodies, but he doesn’t.
“Maybe. Oh, I was filming at the cafe on campus today, and my new Film Club faculty sponsor dropped by. He got us onto the set of the new Dickie Hernandez film.” I make bug eyes at him since I know he has no flipping clue who I’m talking about.
He takes my hint easily. “Sounds like a big deal. Who’s your sponsor?”
“Professor Orion Knight.” I roll my eyes at the name. He looks just like an Orion Knight. It’s sickening.
Dad makes a face and doesn’t meet my gaze for a full minute.
“What? What’s that face for?” It reads as disapproval. Because I have some kind of context you don’t . I hate that face.
I sigh when he shakes his head.
“I really can’t say.”
“You tell me everything, Dad. I mean, you overshare to the point of TMI to the millionth degree. Are you telling me you can’t ethically tell me something you know about my faculty sponsor?”
The dread that I’d been right about the guy sinks in a little.
“Sorry, honey.”
I nod and let him drag me back to the couch with Noah.
Dinner spreads across the coffee table, and I have to give them quick kisses goodbye to get to my last class on time.
My stomach twists on itself as my half-formed thoughts flood back in. How bad does it have to be for my dad not to tell me?