Chapter 6 Ace
SIX
ACE
Knowing I was close to being late to my eight o’clock meeting with the dean, I rushed toward the coffee shop that was between my apartment and campus, speed walking and glancing at my phone periodically to gauge just how late I was going to be, and whether I had time to stop for coffee.
It was a frigid mid-February morning, I’d stayed up way too late going through conference materials, and I definitely wanted to get coffee to help me have a successful meeting with the dean.
Besides, I wouldn’t have time to get anything after the meeting and before my class at nine, and I would need help getting through that lecture with as much energy as I usually had.
As I rounded the corner, I looked at my phone once again.
I had less than ten minutes to get my order and get to the dean’s office.
If I hurried, I could make it. Without warning, I slammed into something solid and warm, and a fraction of a second later, heat bloomed across my body, seeping into my suit jacket, through my shirt, and onto my skin.
I glanced up to see what—or who—I’d run into, to find Dallas, of all people, staring at me with wide eyes. “Oh my God, I am so sorry.” The words practically tumbled out of his mouth. In his hand was a now empty cup of coffee, the contents of which I was wearing on my suit jacket.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “Oh, shit.” I yanked the jacket off to assess how badly it had gotten on my white button-down. A gust of arctic air hit me as I pulled the jacket off, the cold making me shiver.
“Are you okay? Here, let me take that.” He took my jacket from my hand, our fingers brushing, as I examined my now stained shirt.
His touch warmed me, distracted me for a second before I was able to look down at my shirt.
My suit jacket was soaked, and my shirt had a palm-sized coffee stain directly in the middle.
“I’m okay,” I said finally. I looked at Dallas, who was frowning apologetically and holding my jacket by the collar.
“Here, let me…” He stepped away for a second and tossed his cup in the trash. “I’m sorry. Can I get this dry cleaned for you?”
I shook my head and took a breath. “It’s fine. Not your fault at all. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Our gazes met and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his.
He let out a soft chuckle. “Neither was I. I was… somewhere else entirely.”
I tugged at my scarf to defend myself against the weather. “Then we’re even.”
“Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee? Are you headed somewhere?”
His question snapped me back into the moment. “Oh, God.” I checked my phone. It was exactly eight. “I have a meeting with the dean. I’m going to be late. I’m already late. I’ve got to go.”
“Here,” he said, pulling off his thick cardigan. “At least let me lend you this.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“You don’t want to show up to your meeting looking like that, do you?”
I glanced down. My shirt was untucked, coffee stained and disheveled. “Shit. You’re right.” I nodded. “Okay.”
Dallas smiled softly and held out the cardigan for me to slip my arms into. “Good luck with your meeting,” he murmured.
I nodded and swallowed hard. “Thanks. I’ll get this back to you later, I promise.”
With that, I gave up my hopes of getting coffee and raced to the dean’s office for my meeting.
The meeting, which was mostly a check-in about the conference, went smoothly.
The dean didn’t seem to mind that I’d been a couple of minutes late, and she said she appreciated my ideas and enthusiasm.
When I proposed a class for the summer session about gender roles and identities in the Viking Age, she said she’d definitely consider it.
Optimism washed over me, along with gratitude that I worked at a university with supervisors open-minded enough that I could even propose the class without hesitation.
That was one thing I loved about Port Grandlin—it was a place where everyone could be themselves.
As I left her office, I pulled the cardigan tight around my body, bracing myself for the chill.
I took a slow, steadying breath and when I inhaled, I caught the light scent of cologne.
The fragrance wasn’t strong, but it was masculine—woody, like cedar.
Realizing it must’ve been Dallas’s scent made my stomach flutter.
I shook my head at myself. Don’t develop a crush on the too-serious museum curator. Do not. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten a crush on someone I shouldn’t have. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be the hundredth. I was a serial crusher.
The rest of the day passed quickly, though if I said thoughts of Dallas didn’t creep in constantly, I’d be lying.
I caught myself thinking of him as I lectured, as I told my coworkers about the conference, and when I got a glimpse of my reflection in building windows as I walked home.
I thought of him as I changed into something more comfortable, as I scrubbed the coffee stain out of my shirt, and as I folded the cardigan and placed it on the table to remember to return.
As I settled in for the evening, I pulled up his number in my phone. I stared at it for a long few moments before tapping out a message.
Ace: Thanks again for the sweater. What’s the best way to get it back to you? Do you want me to bring it by the museum?
I didn’t expect a response anytime soon—he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who texted a lot—but I got one in under a minute.
Dallas: You’re welcome. That would be fine.
Well, his texting style was as stuffy as his personality. I decided I’d stop by the museum the next day and let him know.