Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  “I’ll call Evans and tell him no more matchmaking.”

  After closing his phone, Quinn grabbed a bucket and picked up the weeds that Harold had uprooted. The bending down part was tough on the elderly man’s knees.

  “That was one of the professors. Evans invited a master’s student last night and is trying to matchmake her with Carl. Carl’s a professor at Lewis-Clark State College in Clarkston.”

  “Save some news to talk about over coffee.” Harold pointed the hoe to a weed Quinn had missed.

  After a leisurely cup of coffee with Harold, Quinn grabbed his umbrella and walked the quiet, residential, tree-lined streets toward Main Street. The Breakfast Club was located on the southwest side of the historic downtown strip, in the same brick building that had once been the Nobby Inn Restaurant. He met the guys at ten o’clock in a booth near the back. Their faces were ruddy-colored from golfing for two hours in the stormy weather. He sat down on the same side as Carl, across from Evans.

  “How’d you guys do?”

  “Carl won.” Evans shrugged and held the menu high enough to cover his face.

  “Of course, he won.” He used to be in the top five on the U of I golf team. “How’d you do, Evans?”

  Carl chuckled. “He grenaded on sixteen. Threw a club.”

  “It slipped out of my hand. It’s tough to keep your grip in the rain. I need to get a golf glove. Goliath chewed up my nice leather one.”

  “After tossing the club twice, he had to wrap his hankie around the shaft.”

  “I didn’t toss it; it slipped.”

  Quinn smiled. He was glad he hadn’t gone. He definitely would have tossed a club or two.

  “Carl’s going to ask Katherine out,” Evans said from behind the menu.

  Quinn nodded, turned the nearest mug coffee side up, and set his elbow on the closed menu. He wanted the farmer’s omelet.

  “So you don’t get along?” Carl crossed his arms on the tabletop.

  “No, but there is hope for her. According to Ethel, her grandmother, Katherine admitted she wasn’t diplomatic when she visited my office.”

  “Has she admitted the same to you yet?” Evans closed his menu.

  “No. I doubt she will.” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. “I approved it with Strauss, and on Monday, I’m going to give the class the option of turning in their essays for a second review. I’ll explain the situation—that I had food poisoning, and my thinking may have been a bit skewed when I graded their exams.”

  “Giving Katherine King a B is proof that you were out of your mind,” Evans said.

  “B is above average. Everyone appears to have forgotten that.”

  “Katherine is not merely above average,” Evans said. “I’d like to read the essay.”

  “I would, too.” Carl grinned.

  “Following her breakup with Joe, the two-time Big Sky tennis champion I was telling you about,” Evans addressed Carl, “there was a period when she wasn’t quite herself. I gave her an A-minus on an essay. I’ve had her in four classes over the years, and that’s the lowest grade I’ve ever given her on any assignment. Her writing shows exceptional discernment. She’s sagacious.”

  “What’s sagacious mean again?” Carl’s brows gathered.

  “Perspicacious.” Evans’s eyes twinkled.

  The waitress took their orders, poured three coffees, and left creamer.

  The day Quinn had graded the essays, he’d been dizzy, dehydrated, and on the couch. Never again would he be so determined when he was so under the weather. He hoped Katherine King’s paper wasn’t an A. She needed a little jewel taken out of her King pride.

  Ж

  Ethel set her white Sunday purse in her lap and watched Pastor Ken walk from the podium to sit in the front pew. During the last song of the service, she planned her course of action. Pastor Ken usually exited through the doors on the west side of the sanctuary. From there, he’d make his way down the hallway to the foyer, where he’d shake hands with congregants on their way out. Therein lay Ethel’s plan: to detain him in the hallway.

  After the second stanza of “How Great Thou Art,” she rose and scooted past her older sister Gladys’s wide girth and Katherine’s narrow girth into the main aisle. Burt, one of the elderly ushers, pushed an exit door open for her. He probably assumed she was having an elderly moment and heading for the restrooms. Instead, she headed for the west hallway. Sharon, one of her girlfriends, was out of her Sunday school class early and waved at her.

  Sharon was wearing a dress from her summer wardrobe—light blue polyester with large hibiscus flowers. Either the dress needed a vacation or Sharon needed a tan.

  “Ethel, have you heard?” Sharon bellowed. “The senior potluck is—”

  “Not now, Sharon, I’m on a mission.”

  Their church was heavy into missions. Missions were of eternal importance. Ethel turned the corner, and hallelujah, she was the first in line for Pastor Ken. Sliding her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose, Ethel peered up at their senior pastor. “I’m so glad I nabbed you before the crowd.”

  “Hello, Ethel.” He glanced past her down the hallway.

  For now, at least, the coast was clear. She had to get straight to the point. “Do you know a verse that deals with arguing? It’s not for me, but for someone very dear to me.”

  He smiled. “There are several verses regarding the subject. Off the top of my head, I can only come up with one. It’s in Philippians chapter two. Do everything without finding fault or arguing. I used to have the whole verse memorized, but then I hit sixty, and whoosh.” He swished a hand above his thinning gray hair.

  “Wait until you hit seventy,” Ethel said. “My advice is to buy sticky notes to write little reminders on, and start doing crossword puzzles while you’re young. They’re wonderful calisthenics for the brain.” Ethel rummaged through her purse, found her cigarillo tin, and, keeping the label of her deceased husband’s favorite cigar somewhat hidden from her pastor’s gaze, wrote Philippians two on the top sticky note.

  Pastor Ken probably knew the exact verse, but wanted her to read the whole chapter to find the nugget, which was wise on his part.

  “Is everything okay, Ethel?”

  “Yes and no. Katherine’s been arguing with a professor about her grade.”

  Pastor Ken’s thick salt-and-pepper brows rose an inch. “I see this quite a bit, Ethel, in our little university town. A student’s grade becomes their identity, and a low score can often feel like a personal affront. Try and remind her that she is a daughter of the King, and her identity and value lie in Him.”

  “Oh . . .” Ethel patted at her heart. “I wish I had my little handheld recorder.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, pride runs deep in the King family. From the minute they’re born and hear their surname, they think they have something to be proud about.”

  “Do you have e-mail yet?” he asked.

  A few congregants began to gather at the end of the hall, but Ethel had been the first in line.

  “No, but I have a telephone, and I’m in the church directory.” She smiled. “While I have you here, how’s our church’s single group?”

  A dimple appeared in his right cheek. “Most folks are in their twenties, but there are some adults in their thirties and early forties.”

  He thought she was asking for herself. How embarrassing.

  The sanctuary side doors flew open. Folks appeared to be reenacting the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. The stampede had begun.

  Ж

  On Monday, Katherine grabbed her backpack and kissed Grandma on the cheek. It was when she reached the back door that things felt out of routine. A yellow sticky note was attached at eye level to the door’s upper glass. In her slanted cursive, Grandma had written: Do everything without finding fault or arguing. Then you will be pure and without blame. Philippians 2:14.

  “What’s this?” Katherine glanced over her shoulder at Grandma, seated at the kitchen table.

  “It’s a litt
le note to you from God.” Grandma peered over the top of her glasses at her.

  “Oh.” Katherine nodded. “His handwriting’s very similar to yours.”

  “You might want to think about it while you’re walking to school.”

  “Oh, okay.” Katherine detached the note and pulled the door closed behind her. No one except Grandma referred to it as a walk to school. Most everyone else referred to it as campus, college, or class, but never school. She made it sound so primary.

  After she walked the straight stretch on Sweet Avenue, she reread Grandma’s note. Do everything without finding fault or arguing. Her cousin Jim had warned her that the time would come when Grandma would post her little verses and claim they were from God. She’d now lived with Grandma for two years, and this was her first official “Sticky Note from God.” Maybe she wasn’t doing so badly.

  Perhaps, Grandma and God were right; she’d argued and found fault in Quinn Benton.

  Ж

  Professor Benton paced the front of the room before addressing their Civil War class. “I would like the opportunity to review your exams, and re-evaluate, if I may.” He inhaled and cleared his throat. “For those of you who have your essays with you, you may hand them in now. If you don’t have them, you may hand them in no later than Wednesday. I’ll review them with the promise that I will not lower anyone’s grade.”

  What? Katherine’s elbow slipped off the desk. Did she miss something? Was he going to review everybody’s essays? The decibels in the room dropped to a zero. Several students flipped open their notebooks or unzipped their backpacks.

  “You can do that?” Angel LeFave was the first to speak.

  “Yes.” Professor Benton nodded. “I spoke to our department chair on Friday about it. She said due to the extenuating circumstances, I could.” Benton cleared his throat. “I had a horrible case of food poisoning the weekend I graded your exams.”

  Katherine flipped to the back of her binder, where she’d hidden the light blue booklet.

  “To avoid slander, I won’t tell you what Chinese restaurant here in town is responsible for my near emergency room admittance. My blind date was also violently sick during the same forty-eight-hour period. We agreed it was the fried rice, or possibly the shrimp appetizers. With that aside, I tried to work through my illness by grading all the exams. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have.”

  Chuckles of disbelief surfaced about the room. Carcasses that had littered the battlefield a week ago now sat bright-eyed and upright in the saddle. Quinn Benton had at least temporarily won back all his countrymen, except, that is, for one.

  Katherine didn’t completely trust him.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday night, Katherine studied at the library for a few hours and reached home before nine thirty. She set her book bag on the couch in the living room.

  “How was your Scrabble party?” she asked Grandma.

  “Betty and Sharon won,” Grandma said from the recliner. “Their little potty breaks are continuing. I think they have a mini-dictionary tucked in their socks or girdles. Out of the blue tonight, Sharon came up with onyx. I went to high school with Sharon, and she is not bright.”

  “Maybe she’s been studying.”

  “Yes, in our bathroom. Cindy called a few minutes ago and said she’d pick you up at nine forty-ish.”

  Katherine glanced at the clock. Benton’s date must have ended early; not a good sign. She had five minutes to brush her teeth and hair, change into her jade-green V-neck sweater, and calm her nerves. As she hurried about the house with her toothbrush, she pondered Benton’s evening. His blind date had been with a gal from Troy, a small logging community east of Moscow. The town was even smaller than Colfax. Benton was dating small-town girls.

  “There are lights out front,” Grandma said, loudly.

  “Remember I’ll be home late. I’ll lock the front door behind me.” Katherine kissed her softly wrinkled cheek. She jogged down the front steps and paused at the gate while she unlatched it. A pink carpet of petals from the weeping cherry tree covered the walkway.

  “When I called earlier, your grandmother had party guests,” Cindy said as Katherine clicked the seat belt buckle into place. Cindy’s silver teardrop earrings glimmered in the moonlight. She wore a purple velour jogging suit, which rippled with her midsection rolls.

  “She often has a foursome of ladies on Friday nights for Scrabble. I usually head to the library when they’re here. They’re surprisingly loud.”

  “Sounds like fun. Evans doesn’t think Miss Troy went well. Quinn was short with him when he called.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Carl’s sports car sat in the front parking space. Quinn’s Volvo was parallel parked along the street. Katherine walked ahead of Cindy to the door and waited for her to catch up before ringing the bell. Her stomach fluttered. Another awkward evening lay before her. She could be studying. Why was she here? Because it’s fun. She giggled to herself.

  Evans swung open the door with Goliath tucked in the crook of his arm. “The party has arrived,” he announced.

  “Has anyone told you yet that Evans has a double doctorate? English history and psychology,” Cindy asked.

  Katherine nodded. “Ambitious.”

  “Isn’t he impressive?”

  “Do I hear flattering adjectives? You, women, must be talking about me.” Evans passed Goliath to Cindy and placed his arms around both of their shoulders.

  “We were.” Cindy’s eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him.

  Were they becoming a couple?

  In the dimly lit living room, everyone sat in the same seating arrangement as last Friday. Evans and Cindy on the couch, Carl and Katherine on the loveseat, and Quinn in the burgundy wingback chair. Evans poured tea and passed around a plate of madeleines. Katherine took one of the small scallop-shaped cakes. The heavenly hint of vanilla greeted her as she took a bite.

  “These are delicious, Evans,” Katherine said.

  “Old family recipe.” He grinned. “Let’s start with your evening, Katherine. Since we last saw you, have there been any updates on your love life?”

  “No, of course not.” As her adviser, he knew her heavy load.

  “Uh-huh.” Evans cleared his throat. “Well then, I guess we’re all dying to hear about Miss Troy.”

  “I am most definitely.” Cindy rose from the couch and proceeded into the kitchen.

  “You were included in the ‘we,’ darling,” Evans said.

  Benton cleared his throat. In the kitchen, a flash of movements caught Katherine’s eye. In a corner of the island, where hopefully, only she could see, Cindy waved a cake box back and forth. An empty cake box.

  Katherine suppressed a smile and returned her attention to the conversation at hand. “Remember, everyone, Quinn is longwinded on Friday nights.” Evans refilled his teacup as Cindy returned to her spot beside him.

  For the occasion of meeting Miss Troy, Benton had worn a U of I gold colored polo and khaki-colored Dockers pants. If he put on a baseball cap, he’d look like a golfer; but that’s right, he’d donated his clubs to Goodwill.

  “I arrived in Troy right on time, and then it took ten minutes longer than I expected to find her place.” He smirked. “She’d given me directions over the phone, but I hadn’t written down every twist and turn. I know everyone’s been there, but—”

  “I love Troy,” Cindy interrupted. “A girlfriend and I went to a harvest festival there once. It was like reliving the early 1900s.”

  “Don’t get us off track, love, we’re trying to find out what Benton loves about Troy,” Evans said.

  “You’re right, Evans, it’s like watching an interactive movie.” Carl nabbed a madeleine. Hopefully, tonight wasn’t the season finale. Despite Carl and Benton’s presence, the professors’ group recaps had quickly become the highlight of Katherine’s week.

  “Like I told you, Benton’s blind dates are very entertaining,” Evans said.

  “I haven’t sa
id a thing.” Benton held his tea saucer in both hands. “Her place is on a flag lot. A little manufactured home with a woodstove and a large dog kennel. If she didn’t have a grove of pine trees in her front yard, she’d have a view of town. I remember sitting in the front room thinking: Here’s a woman in her early thirties who’s well established and probably getting set in her ways, and we have little in common, except she did say she was a Christian.” Quinn glanced in Katherine’s direction for some reason. “There were no books anywhere, just a TV guide.”

  “Oh, the evening was a dud”—Evans nodded—“an absolute letdown.”

  “You have to remember, Quinn, that when I met her, it was at a Pampered Chef party, and I wasn’t able to learn a lot about her,” Cindy said. “You’d just told us about your date with the Genesee woman—blind date number three—and how you didn’t find her the least bit attractive. I thought you might find this woman attractive. She enjoys cooking, and has only been married once.”

  “It’s not your fault, Cindy.” He eyed her over the top of his teacup. “I’ll call her Samantha.”

  Evans leaned toward Cindy. “I still find it odd that Benton gives the women fictitious names now that Katherine and Carl are in on our get-togethers.”

  Katherine’s cheeks warmed. The lighting was low; maybe no one could tell.

  “Why is that, Quinn?” Cindy asked.

  “Now that my audience is larger, the odds of someone meeting Samantha have increased.”

  “If he were ever to talk bad about me,” Katherine said, “he has my permission to change my name also.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here tonight, Katherine,” Evans said. “You’ve already brightened the boring evening that we’re about to relive.”

  “I second that.” Carl grinned.

  Katherine suppressed a giggle.

  “It gets a bit better.” Benton cleared his throat. “Samantha made dinner.”