“Kellogg, Idaho.” Evans peered at her over the top of his glasses.
Kellogg, a small ski resort town, was a good hundred miles from Moscow.
“As your adviser, I think it best to remind you that faculty-student romances are very frowned upon.”
Of course, he was only kidding her. “I have no intentions of ever seeing the man outside of class.” Were he and Professor Benton friends? Their offices were only two doors apart in the same dimly lit hallway.
“Good. How’s your thesis coming along?”
“You know, last-minute footnotes, endnotes.”
He grinned. “Now, the reason I asked you to stay after class is, I’m hosting a small get-together at my home tonight. Cindy Fancy will be there.”
“Oh, bummer.” She glanced toward the half-open door and the expansive granite hallway beyond. “I have a get-together at my grandma’s tonight.”
“We won’t be meeting until eleven.”
“You’re kidding. Why so late?”
“We meet to discuss one sorry chap’s love life. He blind dates every Friday night and gives a recap at my place afterward. It’s late, but very entertaining.”
Hmm . . . The girls planned to meet at Grandma’s at seven and only watch the first half of Doctor Zhivago. With popcorn and a little social time, they’d definitely be done by nine thirty, ten o’clock at the latest.
“Being it’s so late, it does work for me.”
“Splendid.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Tonight is blind date number three… or four. I’ll have Cindy pick you up.” Evans lifted his briefcase and started for the door.
“Tell her thanks.” What an honor. Cindy co-taught Lewis and Clark with Evans and was one of her favorite professors. Tonight had fun written all over it.
Ж
“Grandma!” Katherine closed the back door with a thud. The kitchen table was set for two. Brown and white Currier and Ives plates hosted egg salad sandwiches and raw baby carrots. In the center of the table stood a slim glass vase with two fresh-cut yellow tulips.
Looking as innocent as ever, Grandma ambled into the kitchen. For the second day in a row, she wore her lime-green T-shirt with puff-painted pansies. No one wore puff-painted clothing anymore, not even Sharon, Grandma’s girlfriend who’d painted it.
“I can’t believe you went to see him.” Shoulders squared, Katherine faced her.
“I had to. You forgot the rolls.” Grandma glanced to the top of the fridge. “Tea water’s ready. It’s been simmering on the stove.”
Katherine washed her hands and, with a huff, sat down in her usual chair. “Grandma, you can’t give any of my professors cinnamon rolls ever again. It’s very unprofessional. Please promise me you’ll never visit one of my professors on my behalf again.”
“So he told you. What did he say? Did he tell you after class? Or did you go to his office?” As she poured boiling water into mugs, Grandma hummed. “We’ll have tea with our sandwiches.” She giggled like they were about to share exciting news.
Katherine inhaled slowly, deeply, and, feeling her eyes water a bit, exhaled. Lord, I love her. On the day I was born, You gave her to me as a gift. She’s always been a gift. Help me to not be offensive. She loves me. She did what she thought was best. Help her actions to not be a detriment to my future, amen.
“What hat did you wear, Grandma?” Katherine looked toward the back room. A wooden mug rack on the narrow wall hosted three happy gardener hats.
“The one with the strawberries.”
Grandma was never to wear the strawberry hat outside of the yard! And she knew it. Katherine inhaled and closed her eyes. The picture of Grandma on campus was no longer fuzzy—it was crystal clear. Please, Lord, let Professor B. have a sense of humor.
She doubted the possibility.
“I thought I was going to just leave the cinnamon rolls with a sticky note on the box, but his secretary said he was in his office.”
“Mrs. Dougal is the history department secretary; she’s not Professor B.’s personal secretary.”
“You didn’t tell me he was young and looks like a movie star.”
For the last twenty-four hours, Grandma had kept her little secret to herself. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like, Grandma—he gave me a B.”
“He looked just like the actor in Lawrence of Arabia.”
Katherine swallowed. “Do you mean Omar Sharif?”
“Yes, all day I’ve been trying to remember his name.” A wide smile stretched across Grandma’s softly wrinkled face. “You know how sometimes you just hit it off with a person?”
Oh no. What was she saying? “As long as I’m living here, Grandma, you’re not allowed to hit it off with Professor B. He was my enemy first.”
“I wish I had my little handheld recorder.” Grandma nudged her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “I’d play back what you just said to Pastor Ken.”
Katherine took a sip of tea and tried to focus on the positive side of the situation. I’m alive. I’m still breathing.
“I also wish I’d had my handheld recorder when I was in Professor B.’s office yesterday.” Grandma’s eyes warmed. “He said you’re brilliant.”
“In what context?” Katherine resisted the urge to melt a little.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure he didn’t just come out and say Katherine King is brilliant.”
Grandma pursed her thin lips. “He agreed with me; he said, ‘Your granddaughter is brilliant.’”
“And . . . ? There had to be a but in there, or an although.”
Grandma’s sparse brows grew closer. “Right before I left, he said something about your closing statement being weak—whatever that has to do with being brilliant. He said it, Katherine. I wouldn’t lie to you. Professor B. said you are brilliant.” Grandma smiled like she’d won a blue ribbon at the fair for her baked goods; which had never happened, nor in this lifetime ever would.
A little animosity melted. Grandma wouldn’t lie to her. The man had actually said the B word about her in front of her grandmother. All hope was not lost. Out of the dark abyss of gloom, she could still pull a solid A out yet.
“You know how God sometimes gives you a heart tug for a person?” Grandma’s voice took on an airy quality.
Katherine shrugged. On occasion, she’d experienced it—more with the five-year-olds in her Sunday school class than with adults. Grandma couldn’t possibly be saying . . .
“I don’t understand it, but meeting the man tugged at my heart. Maybe your B… was God’s way of bringing the two of us together.”
Please, Lord, have it merely be a passing tug. Katherine glanced to the top of the fridge. If only she’d delivered the rolls herself, none of this ever would have happened.
Chapter Five
Despite the $25.00 parking ticket in her purse, Friday evening Ethel found herself giggling. Her granddaughter was out from behind her books and actually socializing. She’d invited three of her friends over for a little movie get-together. Katherine popped popcorn and poured glasses of lemonade for the young women—a shorter girl named Angel, a tall brunette named Brenda, and a talkative redhead. Ethel had already forgotten her name.
Orchestra music played on the TV, and the word “Overture” was spelled across the screen. “The introduction’s long, girls,” Katherine said. “I didn’t want to fast forward; it gives us a little time to talk.” Walking about the room, she turned off the overhead light, and the floor lamp above the recliner.
“What history class are you girls in together?” Ethel asked.
“Civil War,” Angel, the short brunette, said.
“The American Civil War,” added the hoity-toity redhead. Out of Katherine’s friends, she already liked Angel the most.
“The movie’s four hours long,” Katherine said. “If you’re game, we’ll watch the second half next week, or the week after, depending on our studies.”
Four hours! Gone with the Wind was a long Civil War
movie, but she didn’t remember it starting with orchestra music. Since they hadn’t invited her to join their little party, she’d finish up her Bible study reading for the week. Ethel yawned and strolled into her sewing room. Why Sharon had to pick Galatians for the summer focus was beyond her. Ethel was a fan of Psalms. There was a psalm for every circumstance.
A chapter later, Ethel stretched. She’d take a break from Galatians to get some lemonade. She puttered through the living room on her way to the kitchen.
“He’s so gorgeous.” Angel sounded awestruck.
Captivated by the tension in the room, Ethel paused near the curio cabinet where she stored her collection of salt-and-pepper shakers. On-screen was the same actor fellow who’d been in Lawrence of Arabia. Her memory served her well—the actor bore a striking resemblance to the girls’ Civil War professor, Professor Benton.
Had they noticed?
Katherine sat on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. She glanced over at Ethel.
“Is everything okay, Grandma?”
“Yes, what war is the movie about?” Ethel asked. The stark buildings didn’t remind her of the Old South, and the men’s tall hats and long wool coats looked more Russian than Confederate.
“It’s about the Bolsheviks and the Democratic Party of Russia during the country’s revolution. The movie is so controversial, Grandma, that for almost thirty years Russia didn’t allow it to be aired.”
“Oh. I thought you girls were studying the American Civil War.” Whenever Katherine tried to detour her away from something, she added a lot of mumbo jumbo. It happened occasionally when they were clothes shopping together or discussing Katherine’s marital status.
“We’re studying both, Mrs. King,” Angel said, adding a sigh.
The movie looked better than the ones Katherine usually brought home, and unfortunately, all the seating was taken. Ethel waited in the back of the room, near the phone, hoping they’d invite her to pull up one of the dining chairs and sit down. But no one did. It was best to just be quiet, as it was obviously an important part; the girls were riveted to the screen.
The man who looked like Quinn Benton walked through a low-ceilinged room that shook from the force of a train passing overhead. Harp music and maybe a ukulele played softly to one of her favorite songs, “Somewhere My Love.” The movie’s cinematography made it feel more like a love story, and very mesmerizing.
On-screen, a young woman, with hair the same pale blonde color as Katherine’s, quite passionately kissed the arm of an older man, perhaps her father, while the actor, Quinn Benton’s look-alike, watched with tears in his eyes.
And so did Ethel.
Ж
Cindy Fancy’s white Camry pulled up in front of Grandma’s house at eleven o’clock sharp. Katherine was under the impression that Professor Evans’s get-together started at eleven, but not everyone was as zealous about being on time as she was.
“Lock it behind me, Grandma, and don’t stay up late worrying.”
“It’s already late. What’s Cindy’s last name again? And where are you going?”
“Cindy Fancy. We’re going to Professor Evans’s home. Get a good night’s sleep. I love you.” Katherine kissed her forehead as Grandma paused beside the door.
“Zip up your coat; it’s supposed to drop to the low fifties tonight.”
Moscow’s winters could linger well into late spring. On her way out the door, she zipped up her Adidas jacket. Cindy’s car felt toasty warm. Under a light coat, Cindy wore a black dinner dress with high heels. Her red hair was bobbed at the ear and teased at the crown for height. Katherine guessed her to be in her early fifties. Her dangly silver earrings glittered in the light from the overhead street lamps.
“I feel underdressed.” Beneath her jacket, Katherine wore a cranberry-red T-shirt and jeans, and her long hair was loose about her shoulders.
“I just finished hosting a cooking party. I still have an hour’s worth of clean up, but it will have to wait until morning. You’re dressed perfect. The guys dress casual.”
“Guys?” Katherine’s stomach lurched.
“Yes. There will be two other men besides Evans at his home. It’s our largest get-together yet. Usually, it’s just the three of us.”
“Who’s the third?”
“A professor friend of Evans. So you live with your grandmother. How does that work out with your social life?”
“What social life?”
Cindy giggled.
“I don’t have time for one. What about you? Are you married?” Katherine asked as Cindy drove east on Sixth Street.
“Divorced. It was an unfortunate case of putting my husband through vet school, and then discovering he was unfaithful. I’ve been single for the last twelve years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We didn’t have children. Praise God.”
Whenever anyone said Praise God, Katherine felt it was an opening. “Are you a Christian?”
“I read Daily Guideposts every Saturday and Sunday morning. What about you?”
“My grandmother and I attend the Nazarene church here in town. You’ll have to go with us sometime.”
Cindy smiled.
For the next couple of blocks, well-cared-for historic homes graced perfectly manicured lawns. She turned into the driveway of a brick Tudor-style and parked next to a black convertible. “Evans is a clean-car fanatic. He always parks his car in the garage. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s home or not. Good, he’s left the front light on this time.” Cindy adjusted her rearview mirror and dabbed lipstick on her lower lip.
“I usually host cooking parties on Friday nights. I hate being stuck at home alone. That’s why being a Demarle cooking rep works perfectly for me.”
“How in the world do you ever find the time?”
“I look forward to it all week.” Cindy swung open her door.
A privet hedge bordered the curved walkway. A front light flickered, and a curtain moved in the window to the left of the arched solid oak door. Evans opened it. Wearing gray sweatpants and an untucked sage-green polo, he appeared casual for company. In the crook of one arm, he toted a Chihuahua. In between barks, the perky-eared dog licked his cheek.
“Shh! Goliath,” he crooned. “Come in. You both look lovely.”
A crystal chandelier lit the front entry. Near the door, an ivy plant wrapped itself around the legs of a dusty antique side table. They followed Evans down a narrow, dimly lit hallway into a bright kitchen with cherry cabinetry, chrome appliances, and a dark-haired man. He appeared staged, as he leaned back against the granite counter. His olive coloring echoed Mediterranean, possibly Greek. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and was flagrantly good looking.
“Katherine King, meet Carl Angelos.” Evans waved his hand. Mr. Flagrantly Good Looking rounded the side of the expansive granite island to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Katherine.”
“You too.” Her cheeks warmed. Was it a setup?
“Carl’s a history professor at Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston,” Cindy said. “He and Evans play golf on Saturdays.”
Katherine nodded. Carl was the sorry chap.
“Carl played for the U of I golf team years ago,” Evans said. “What was your handicap?”
“My putting.” He grinned at Katherine.
Hmm . . . a local boy. Why did Evans invite her tonight? As her adviser, he knew the heavy load she was taking. He couldn’t possibly be matchmaking.
“It’s ten minutes past eleven.” Cindy glanced at the clock on the microwave above the stove. “And he’s not here. Does that mean the date went well?”
“He called to say he’s running late, and, like always, he didn’t provide any clues,” Evans said. “Katherine, would you prefer tea or hot cocoa? Carl, I don’t need to tell you to make yourself at home.”
Katherine shook the powdery contents of a packet of cocoa into a pottery mug from the tray on the island. Evans wouldn’t set her up. As her adviser,
he knew her summer load wasn’t leisurely.
“There’s instant hot water at the sink,” Carl said.
The Chihuahua’s ears perked up as the front door clicked open and then closed. “Looks like everyone’s here.” A deep male voice echoed down the hallway.
The voice sounded familiar. It almost sounded like—
“We’re in the kitchen.” Rocking back and forth in his corduroy slippers, Evans glanced at Katherine.
A dark-haired figure entered the room and set his keys on top of the island.
Heaven forbid—Katherine glanced toward the patio door and every other plausible exit in the room—Professor Benton is the “sorry chap.”
Chapter Six
With her back to the room, Katherine filled the pottery mug with instant hot water. Why had Evans invited her tonight? Was it on account of Mr. Flagrantly Good Looking? Did Quinn Benton know she’d be here? How upset would he be?
“Are you here for the weekend, Carl?” Quinn asked.
“Evans and I are playing golf tomorrow at the U of I course, and then we’re heading to The Breakfast Club. Are you game?”
“Only for breakfast. I donated my clubs to Goodwill last year after we played. Don’t you remember? I dropped them off on our way to eat.”
“How could anyone forget?” Carl chuckled.
Maybe Quinn hadn’t recognized her—her back was to him and her hair was down. She usually wore it in a ponytail to class. Katherine forced herself to turn from the sink. Slowly, she forced herself to lift her gaze from the granite island to Benton’s wide-eyed, frozen expression. His lungs were the first feature to thaw as his chest expanded.
Evans hadn’t informed him either.
“Hello, Professor Benton.” She dropped her gaze, and her hand trembled for half a stir as she mixed the cocoa with a spoon.
“Katherine . . . Katherine King.”
Flat. His reaction to her was as flat as a liter of root beer that had been left on the counter uncapped for a week. Not that she blamed him.
“The vote was unanimous for Benton to donate his clubs.” Evans chuckled. “None of us wanted to golf with him again. Not after he grenaded on seventeen.”
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 3
