47. Chapter 47
Chapter forty-seven
A few days later, Seattle: Frankie
T he cuff links sat heavily in Frankie’s jacket pocket as she marched through campus toward the law building. Having a few grand worth of accessories clanging together in a small envelope at her side made her antsy, paranoid even. She’d never been mugged, but Murphy’s Law dictated that today would be the day, what with her carrying around an entire month’s rent in pawnable goods. Footsteps a couple feet behind had her throwing guarded glances over her shoulder. She released a sigh, doubting the middle-aged guy in tweed and the chipper young woman bounding around him like an excitable chihuahua were planning to jump her.
Climbing a few steps beside wooden arbors covered in dormant lilac vines, she reached the law school courtyard and entered through the glass doors. Students meandered around, talking quietly in groups. The ensuing murmurs hovered around her, creating a sense of safety. More witnesses inside than out on the open sidewalks.
She’d spent the last few weeks with her family, making up for time she’d lost being married to her schoolwork during fall quarter. She’d also chipped in quite a bit at her family’s business. Since Jonathan and Lucy were on their honeymoon in Belize, it had been all hands on deck at Off the Beaten Adventures. Frankie was glad for the distraction. And in no time, her attention was redirected away from the misguided dalliances with a certain professor of law.
Misguided dalliances? Oh god, she’d spent too much time with that man.
The initial sting of Benjamin leaving cut deep, but she wasn’t deluded enough to think a few rounds of sex would have kept him bound to her side—despite how toe-curling their interactions had been. The distance helped, as did the flow of activity she took on in support of the newlyweds’ absence.
But now, with every step leading her closer and closer to his office door, her heart pounded more ferociously in her chest. The twenty-minute walk to the building had given her ample time to fantasize about how things might go down. Would he pretend nothing happened, reverting to his original cold Professor Prick persona? Would he address the elephant in the room and offer an apology? Would he leap over his desk, slam the door shut behind her, and crush his lips to hers? Her mutinous lady parts tingled in want.
“Quiet you,” she murmured downward, ignoring querying glances from a couple students in the hushed office hallway.
The scenario she hoped for most (logically speaking) was that his office would be empty. In theory, it was the most likely, because after creeping on the online registration platform, she’d managed to learn that the family law class was beginning at that very moment. And since he was allergic to being late . . .
Her heart and vagina hoped things would play out differently. When had her libido become such a traitor?
Case in point: Clint had invited her out last week for New Year’s Eve. It seemed like a great plan. The best way to get over a guy was to . . . well, you know. However, the moment he leaned in for a kiss, she turned her cheek, shuddering at the indescribable cringe she felt deep to her core. Images of Benjamin, with his impossibly blue eyes and mussed black hair, hovering over her invaded her mind.
Goddammit, Francesca. You’re ruining me.
Right, who ruined who?
Anyway, Clint called her out on it—in the most respectful and concern-filled way possible of course—then took her home immediately after. She’d apologized to him, mentally cursing Benjamin in the process, then watched Sheriff Howards’ truck drive away. As his taillights disappeared around the corner, she knew that would be the last time he’d come sniffing around her. Not that she could blame him; a dude can only be politely turned down so many times before he moves on to other interests.
Room 310 loomed before her, unassuming yet potentially holding something powerful behind it. But even if he was in there, it more than likely wouldn’t end happily. But maybe she’d get closure and finally shed the mental chastity belt she’d been wearing since the morning he’d left.
She approached, staring at the black placard with white lettering that read Prof. Clark. A few deep breaths and she raised her hand to knock but noticed a little mail slot. Pushing aside her fleeting bravery, she pulled the sealed envelope from her pocket and shoved it through the slot. She breathed a sigh of relief and started down the hallway then froze as the door pushed open.
Busted.
As she turned, Frankie quickly realized that she hadn’t run all the scenarios through her head prior to coming, because she hadn’t expected the woman on the other side.
“Excuse me, miss.” The woman smiled warmly behind oversized glasses that crept down her long, thin nose. Kinky strays of dark blonde hair escaped every angle of her ponytail. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and held the envelope out to Frankie. “I don’t think this is meant for me.”
Puzzled, Frankie stepped closer, peeking at the room number again. “Three ten. Isn’t this Professor Benjamin Clark’s room?”
“Yes.” She turned and tapped the nameplate of the door with her knuckle then settled both hands on her hips. “Er, well, yes, it was.”
“Was?”
“Yes.”
“But now it’s yours?”
“Yes.” She beamed proudly and offered no more than that.
“Did he switch offices?”
“No, at least I don’t believe so.”
Good grief, woman. Were they playing twenty questions and Frankie hadn’t been looped into the game?
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Okay,” Frankie dragged out the word, ready to be done with this particular exchange. “I guess I’ll just wait outside the family law class and catch him there.”
“Oh, you won’t find him there.”
“Why not?”
“Because I teach that class. Professor Dalton.” She gestured to herself. “Just transferred in.”
“You mean you teach the class that started”—Frankie glanced at her watch—“seven minutes ago?”
Professor Dalton’s eyes flew wide with panic. “Balls, I knew I was forgetting something.”
Before Frankie could get any more information, the cryptic conversationalist scurried past with an armload of papers and a mason jar of iced coffee.
So, there was a new family law professor in town. What did that mean for Benjamin? Did he still work there? Had he quit? Been fired? And what the hell was she supposed to do with the cuff links now?
Frankie wrestled around with the idea of calling him. That’s what an adult would do, right? Dial his number, and say, “Hey there, former sexual partner. You left your fancy schmancy cuff links in my hotel room just before you bolted. Do you want them back, or have you become less pompous and only buy shirts with buttons now?” Yeah, that would be smooth.
The devil on her shoulder provided a whole host of alternative ideas: pawn them and pay for textbooks, donate them to charity, bury them in the park for some metal detector enthusiast to make the find of a lifetime.
Her conscience won out. What if they were important to him? Perhaps his deceased mother had given them to him or they were an heirloom or something.
Before she could overthink, she pulled out her phone.
Frankie:
Hi Benjamin, I have your cuff links. If you send me your address, I can mail them to you. Thanks.
Perfect. Cool, matter-of-fact, and zero invitation to connect face-to-face. To reward her bravery, she decided to stop by The Java Judge in the law school lobby. Surely, she deserved a congratulatory treat.
She jumped when her phone buzzed almost immediately.
Benjamin Clark:
I don’t want them.
Frankie:
Are you serious?
Benjamin Clark:
When am I not?
Fair point.
Frankie:
Ok.
She advanced in line, attempting to focus on the pastry case and earthy scent of roasted coffee beans. Why did it seem so weird that he didn’t want them back? Why wouldn’t he need them? Surely, he had other occasions where wearing cuff links made sense. Frankie couldn’t exactly think of an example since she’d never owned a pair. Correction: She’d never owned a pair until now. So what should she do with them? It felt awkward keeping them. It wasn’t like she wanted a keepsake to remember her time with Benjamin. She’d much rather forget it ever happened and move the hell on with her life. He was the past and needed to stay firmly planted there. Her phone buzzed again.
Benjamin Clark:
How are you?
A weight settled on her chest, and warmth rose to consume her cheeks. Red flashing lights with the word “danger” illuminated down that path. She pulled up his contact, thumb hovering over the screen.
“What’ll it be?”
Frankie looked up and into the warm brown eyes of the barista. “Can I please have an almond croissant and a mocha?”
The aproned woman nodded, punching the order into the register.
Frankie took the opportunity to press a few buttons on her phone too.
Contact blocked.