Chapter Twenty-three
Elizabeth
“The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?”
Measure for Measure
“It’s completely different,” Evan said, gaping as we entered the brightly lit atrium, just outside my favorite reading nook—an ornately appointed room that looked straight out of a British estate.
“When were you here last?”
He blew out a breath. “Obviously years.”
We’d made the full tour, and I figured he’d take off now. “I’m gonna stay here to work on the pages Kate’s sending me.”
To my surprise, he followed me in and took a seat across from me. I worried he’d grow bored, whisper to me, nag me to leave, or just get up and go himself. But he surprised me by reaching into his backpack and unearthing a fat tome, which he proceeded to open to about a third of the way through.
I mouthed, “What are you reading?”
He placed a finger over the page, then tilted the cover toward me, proving his obsession with fantasy romance. I had a million questions, but I needed to focus on my editing.
As I went to grab the attachment Kate had just sent, I saw she’d written: Don’t get your hopes up, but I’ve set up a call with the provost to talk about funding a new position.
I pressed my lips together to hold in a squeal, glancing quickly at Evan, sitting there unaware of the monumental change he’d instigated in my life.
I didn’t need a hero to swoop in and play savior, but I’d spent so much time in my head, drafting emails, practicing to Chelsea, and then never confronting Kate, and Evan reminded me that sometimes, you just have to ask.
At least now I’d have an answer one way or the other. If she said no, a door would close, but I could make plans based in reality.
For now, I cracked open my laptop and spent the next hour marking up chapter four of Textual Awakenings: The deferred sexuality of Tristram Shandy, a riveting study on the metaphorical nature of sex as writing, writing as sex.
Reading about rhetoric as foreplay and narrative as seduction made me weirdly horny.
I peeked over at Evan, studying his expressions as he read. There was something so enchanting about working with quiet company, even though we weren’t talking. And a guy intensely reading a book messed with my libido in a bad way.
God, he was easy to look at with that textured blond hair, those long eyelashes, and that pretty mouth. If he’d chosen a career as a model or a boy band singer, I’d have bought the magazines and pinned his picture to my wall. Hell, I wasn’t above doing that with the photo from the station website.
Those dark frames didn’t help. I knew he didn’t need them, but he seemed to think nerdy meant invisible.
He had no idea how those glasses morphed his hotness to a whole new level.
My inner cavewoman desperately yearned to lift them off and fling them across the room as I straddled him and dragged my fingers through his too kempt hair.
A whisper caught my attention, and I scanned the room, suddenly aware that I wasn’t the only one ogling the sexy professor.
Maybe the students had seen him on the evening news the night before.
His phallic display had probably gone viral on social media.
If I was going to keep hanging out with him, I’d have to get used to the gawkers rubbernecking his beauty.
I shot a dirty look at nobody in particular, just annoyed that I was always going to be reminded he was out of my league.
Yet here he was, with me.
He adjusted his glasses, then peered at me over the top of his book, one eyebrow arched in a question. If he was aware of the extra attention, he was a master at pretending. Under the table, his shoe bumped mine. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he bumped me again.
“Stop it,” I whispered, then bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh.
He returned to his book, but a little smirk played on his mouth as his foot snagged mine, hooking me behind the ankle. I was halfway tempted to shoot a smug glance at the onlookers to say, See? He’s mine. But he wasn’t. He was just flirting.
Just.
As if this small show of affection wasn’t a seismic shift. A funny feeling settled in my belly at the hope we’d inched out of the mine field to safer ground.
As he flipped another page, eyes darting from sentence to sentence, I fell a little in love with him. There were adventure lovers like Chelsea. And food lovers like Bas. Dog lovers and cat lovers and yada yada yada. But a book lover?
I sighed.
That was a man after my own heart.
I forced myself to get back to work, and after about an hour, I typed my final comment on the chapter and stretched. “You ready to head back?” I whispered.
He placed a finger in the book, closing it only slightly. “Already?”
“Yeah, I’m finished for now.”
He shoved his book into his backpack and stood, circling his finger toward the door, and we took our conversation into the stairwell.
“What were you working on?”
“It’s a scholarly study on Tristram Shandy.”
“Tristram what-y?”
I laughed. “It’s a novel from the eighteenth century, written by Laurence Sterne.”
“Interesting?” He sounded skeptical.
“To me, it is.” I lowered my voice as we exited the stairwell since students congregated around the long tables, reading or studying.
We burst out of the library onto one of those picturesque fall mornings with clear blue skies for miles, and my head fell back as I soaked in the crisp chill of early autumn, breathed in the smell of fallen leaves.
Here, outside the library, I was a ghost haunting my past life, watching the young, fresh students enjoying the world I once knew.
I opened my eyes to find Evan smiling a stupid grin to match mine, and it hit me that we were making new core memories.
My life wasn’t in the past. We still had so much future left.
Evan hitched his backpack up. “What are you doing for the rest of the day now that you’re a free woman.”
“Unemployed, you mean.” It was almost noon, and I was going to need to nail down some income. “I might clock some hours at this inn just out of town. The owner doesn’t pay well, but she’ll let me copy edit while she sneaks away for a while. It’s like getting paid time and a half.”
“Sounds cozy.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. If Ursula couldn’t use me, I’d need to tuck my tail between my legs and beg back some bartending shifts. “What are you up to until you have to be at the studio?”
“Actually, I’m gonna head over and check out my new digs.” He bounced a little as he pulled out his phone, scrolling pictures on some website. “Check this out.”
The photos showed nothing but disconnected rooms. “It’s hard to visualize.”
“You want to come see it?”
“Now?” We still had to walk all the way back the way we’d come.
He bit his lower lip. “I’m dying to show it to someone.”
Despite what I’d said about needing to work, I wanted more than anything to blow off my responsibilities for a little while and have a little adventure. Core memories. “How could I say no?”