46. Isaac
Chapter 46
Isaac
J o’s smile played like an IMAX movie in my head over and over and over again until I finally fell asleep last night. A low roar of conversation spills out into the hallway outside the lecture hall where our monthly faculty meeting always takes place.
I glance around when I reach the door, spotting her long—lighter than yesterday—tresses.
“Did you dye your hair?” I whisper, startling her from her thoughts. Setting two paper coffee cups down on the table, I pull out the rolling chair next to her and claim it as my own.
“I did,” she says excitedly. “I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Well all the grays are gone, so—” She elbows all the air out of my lungs.
Dr. Holstadt, the faculty president, steps up to the podium and clears her throat. “We have a jam-packed schedule today, so I’d like to get started.” The room settles. “All those in favor of approving the minutes from last month’s meeting, please say aye.”
A chorus of voices respond in affirmative.
“All opposed.”
Silence.
“Minutes are approved.”
The formality of the faculty government has always amused me, and Jo’s expression tells me she feels the same.
“Someone buy that woman a gavel for Christmas,” she whispers in my ear and I nearly choke on the coffee in my mouth.
“How much does a set of robes cost?”
“Oh my god, we can get her one of those George Washington wigs.”
“Princess Diaries?” I scoff, attempting to keep my voice down.
“Shut up.”
An older man, whom I’ve most definitely never seen before, turns to shoot us an angry glare.
“Think he’s constipated?” I whisper.
“I’ll add Miralax to my Amazon cart.” She coughs out, a little too loud.
Jo grabs her coffee and takes a sip. A small hum of approval vibrates in the back of her throat. She taps her cup with mine where it sits on the table in front of me. A small gesture of thanks.
My attention is dragged back to Dr. Holstadt when she taps on the microphone with the tips of her fingers. “I need the extra talking to cease, please, this is very important.”
Even through her hair, I can see the tips of Jo’s ears redden.
“I bet she’s gonna talk about the coffee maker.” Jo scowls at me, but cracks a smile when Dr. Holstadt begins.
“We have had complaints about the coffee maker in the faculty lounge. It is repeatedly left full, and mold grew over the Thanksgiving holiday.”
“I wanna know who’s using that archaic thing,” I whisper. “Don’t they know Steamy Beans is an option?”
Jo snorts, but her face immediately falls into a frown, and I know exactly why. My hand finds its way to her knee and I wrap my fingers around it gently. The gesture is innocent enough, but overwhelming just the same. I haven’t stepped foot inside my favorite coffee shop since Sam died, and I’m fairly certain Jo hasn’t either.
I wait for her to pull away from my grasp, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches under the desk and places her hand on top of my own. The wild thump of my heart against my sternum could cause an earthquake. I try to turn my hand over, pressing her palm against mine, but she retracts, wrapping both of her hands around the coffee I brought her. Meanwhile, discussion around us has transitioned from the moldy coffee pot to attendance.
“We need to reinstate the campus-wide attendance policy.” A voice cuts through the chatter from a few seats to our right. For the first time since I entered the room, Jo speaks at full volume.
“I, for one, will not be taking attendance every class.” She pauses. “It takes far too much time, and they’re literally adults.” Her comments garner the attention of the room. “If they don’t want to attend my class, that’s on them.” She slumps back in her seat as a few other instructors add their piece to the discussion.
“Wise words from the woman I had to bribe to be here,” I jab at her. Another faculty member from the College of Medicine stands from his seat and begins speaking.
“In 1974?—”
Jesus, take the wheel.
“I’d like to make a motion,” the same faculty member continues, after seemingly blabbing for an hour. The room has become laden with annoyed mutters and side-eyes between colleagues. I glance briefly at Jo, who has both of her hands pressed against her pinkish hued cheeks, stifling laughter. She meets my gaze and loses her last ounce of control, bursting into a fit of the most adorable giggles.
“Make a task force,” I yell into the abyss of the chaotic classroom, prompting nods and verbal agreements. We’ve both completely lost track of the topic of discussion, but enjoy the mayhem just the same.
My phone lights with a ping from Dr. Zin.
Do I need to separate you and Dr. Carello?
I lean my phone screen towards Jo and her laughter bubbles over once more. She glances up to where Dr. Zin is shaking his head.
Please don’t ever separate us.