“How romantic. Yes, Cindy, I am hinting.” Evans patted her nearest hand.
“She baked frozen lasagna. She’s into freezing what she refers to as her own TV dinners. The noodles were crunchy, the sauce skimpy, and there was no meat.” He directed his attention to Cindy. “During dinner, she showed me a part of her body that I’m sure she didn’t show you.”
Cindy’s eyes grew enormous.
“She has tattoos on her biceps, which were quite ripped for a woman.”
“Your date was a total dud”—Evans slapped his knee—“and you’re embellishing for our benefit.”
“What kind of tattoos?” Cindy nudged Evans. “If I remember right, she put on a leather jacket before she left the party that night.”
“On her right arm was a rose, and tattooed on her left arm was her ex-husband’s name in the middle of a heart.”
“What’s her ex-husband’s name?” Evans asked.
Benton peered at the ceiling. “Chuck.”
“Heebie-jeebies.” Evans scratched the side of his neck.
“What’d she serve for dessert?” Katherine asked.
“Sponge cake, the freezer kind—and it wasn’t entirely thawed—with fresh strawberries, but I’m getting to that. There I was sitting on her deck, overlooking the pines and listening to nature, when I hear a Harley motorcycle rev up her gravel driveway.”
“No!” Evans said. “I entirely misread you tonight. I thought you’d had the most mind-numbing evening, but it’s the opposite—you’re in the midst of post-traumatic stress.”
“She brings out three dishes of strawberry shortcake. Did you catch that? Three. And informs me that her ex-husband and she are still very close. Her father passed away a few years ago, and her ex-husband’s taken it upon himself to interview her dates.”
Cindy leaned forward. “Has Charles remarried?”
“No.”
“I hope he didn’t follow you here.” Evans peered toward the front windows.
“Of course not.” Benton continued, “Out the patio door walks this 250-pound-plus dude, black leather coat, chains, boots, and he sits down at this little round table with us and proceeds to drill me.”
“Go on,” Carl said.
“He threw questions at me: Why did my fiancée and I split? Have I ever been into drugs? Have I ever been convicted of homicide? Nothing about my education.”
He’d been engaged. Perhaps that’s where his bitterness stemmed from.
“How’s Samantha during this time?” Cindy asked.
“Smiling. I think she gets a kick out of his jealous behavior. He was still there when I left.”
“Did you want to ask her out again?” Evans asked.
Benton’s brows furrowed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You should start journaling,” Cindy said. “It would be healing.”
“Healing?” Evans repeated.
“Yes, that’s how my therapist used to refer to it, years ago.”
“Benton is quite healed. Now he only needs counseling due to his blind dates. Who’s next? I’ve forgotten.”
“Miss Palouse.”
“Oh, the woman you’ve been waiting months to meet.” Evans eyes narrowed “Now, she’s canceled on you once before if I remember correctly.”
“Unexpected company dropped in from out of town.”
“Yes, well, next Friday will be a recap that none of us will want to miss.” Evans nodded toward Carl and Katherine.
“Katherine, I thought I’d take you home tonight,” Benton said, with no warning. “Supposedly, I live a few blocks from you.”
Wasn’t he against taking her home? Was it a treaty or a dare?
“Benton, you know . . . I wanted to drive Katherine home.” Carl nodded toward her like they’d discussed this earlier over a game of pool.
“Thank you both, but Cindy is taking me.” Katherine gripped her hands tightly in her lap.
“I’m sorry.” Cindy waved a hand. “Evans and I need to work on lesson plans, again.”
Cindy had stayed so late last week.
“After golf tomorrow morning, we’re going to The Breakfast Club,” Evans said, looking at Benton.
“I’ll just meet you there again. I didn’t find clubs this week,” Benton said. “I went to Goodwill twice. And I’ve decided it’s a sign: I don’t ever need to play again.”
“You can rent clubs at the clubhouse,” Evans said.
“No, I find golf to be a very frustrating way to spend good money.”
Carl chuckled. “The only reason Evans wants you to come is so he has someone to beat.”
“I’m well aware of the reason I’m invited.”
“Katherine, do you have plans tomorrow?” Evans asked. “The breakfast invitation extends to you ladies as well.”
“Joe and I are playing tennis in the morning.”
“Not the Joe Hillis?” Evans asked.
“Yes, we play every Saturday. I go from the courts to the library.”
“Isn’t he your old flame?” Evans asked.
He only pretended not to remember. Five years ago in his class, she’d written her infamous Joe List. All the reasons she’d never fall in love with Joe Hillis again. After writing it, she’d slid it in her backpack, and somehow, God forbid, it had ended up inside the typed essay she’d handed in to Evans. He’d read it and promptly lost it. For weeks, she’d fretted it would turn up in the Argonaut, the U of I student paper.
“Joe and I are good friends now.”
“Well, Katherine, that’s nice to hear, but between you and me, friendship rarely works between old flames,” Evans said. “Take my first ex-wife, for example, one always likes one more than the other.”
“Then Joe and I are the exceptions.”
“That’s a very nice quality, Katherine,” Carl said.
“It hasn’t happened very often in your case, has it, Carl?” Benton picked his mug up from the side table.
Was he trying to warn her about Carl? Why else would Benton offer to take her? He didn’t take students home.
“Benton, be nice,” Evans said. “How about whoever wins golf tomorrow gets to take Katherine home next Friday?”
“Sounds fair to me,” Carl said.
“Evans!” Cindy giggled. “I’m sure Katherine won’t agree to being a golf trophy.”
It was almost one thirty in the morning. The whole conversation was a bit ridiculous, really, but entertaining. Katherine stretched and yawned.
“It’s time to go, Katherine. Get your things.”
Wow. . . Benton was indeed taking her home tonight.
Chapter Nine
Katherine slipped her shoes on at the door and waved her goodbyes. Cindy, Evans and Carl were still seated in the front room. She slid past Benton as he held open the door. The air was brisk. When she reached the aggregate driveway, she waited for his stride to fall in line with hers.
“Why the dramatic change?” she asked.
“Carl doesn’t need to be taking you home this late at night.” He swiveled his keys around one finger before clutching them in his hand.
“You don’t trust him, do you?” The house and street were blanketed in dark shadows.
“Not entirely. I wouldn’t want my granddaughter going home with him.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had grandchildren.”
“I don’t. I was thinking of your grandmother.” He paused near her door and unlocked her side first before he walked around to his.
How long had it been since she’d been on a one-mile date with a guy? Put the thought away. He’s your professor. “Why are you driving me home tonight? I mean, you were so opposed to it last week.”
“It was Carl or me. Now, Miss King, I think we should play the silent game for the rest of the way home.”
Good thing she didn’t like the man at all. Not one bit. “Thank you for being neighborly.” She sat stiffly, her hands in her lap.
He turned on the radio to “Unchained Melody,” one of the m
ost romantic songs of all time. Thankfully, he spun the dial to another station.
“Why would Evans try and set me up with Carl?” She shook her head. “Let me reword that. If Carl is indeed a snake-oil womanizer, why would my dear Professor Evans, of all people, try and set me up with him?”
“Evans thinks solely on an academic level.” Leaning toward the dash, Benton adjusted the dial to another station. “You Are So Beaut—” He spun the dial. “Carl usually likes women with low IQs. Evans hoped you’d be a breath of fresh air.”
“Oh, I see . . . and you don’t think I’ve been.”
“You were smart enough to decline him.” He shrugged. “From now on, not another word.”
“Okay, but . . . I don’t understand. Last week you referred to Carl as a decent human being.”
“He is.” Benton tuned the station to KMOK out of Lewiston, and “To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before . . .” He turned off the radio. “But Carl’s not a Christian. Now, please be quiet.”
“That is very important to me.” How did Benton know she was a Christian? It probably wasn’t something he’d figured out on his own. Maybe Cindy had told him.
“What religion are you?” she whispered. A number of possibilities came to mind.
“I’m also a Christian.”
“Oh.” She held up a pointer finger. “Are all the women you’ve been blind dating Christians, or is it—”
“Dating is about marriage. I do not want to be yoked with an unbeliever. So, yes, to answer your question, quite a few prospects have been eliminated for want of a better word, with the Are you a Christian question.”
“Eliminated?” She tried to think of a softer synonym, but only eradicate and exterminate came to mind.
“Most people date with the intention of marriage, and I’d prefer to date someone who shares my beliefs.”
“I agree.” She nodded. “Uh, I have one more question.”
“Miss King, self-control is not one of your gifts.”
“I beg to differ.” Now that they were alone, he sounded like he knew his Bible. “If there are any cars on the road, should I duck down in the seat?” He’d been so worried last week.
“Yes, but be quiet about it. Now shh!” In front of Evans’s mailbox, he did a U-turn and headed south.
The man was serious.
“If you had duct tape, it would be easier.” She peered out her side window at the dark shadows of East City Park.
He laughed—a solid, hearty laugh like he genuinely couldn’t contain it.
Despite the hour, she found herself almost smiling in Quinn Benton’s company.
He took a right on Sixth Street.
“Grandma’s exact address is—”
He held up his hand. “I’m almost certain I know where it is.”
“Did you look us up in the phone directory?” Maybe he was the one she needed to worry about, not Carl.
“No, but Cindy said it was a few blocks off the Troy highway.”
“Well, you’ve obviously never taken a class from Cindy. She’s great with facts, but not with observations.”
“That’s insightful of you, but I’m pretty sure I can get us there based on what I remember her saying. Now be quiet and let me drive.”
“Okay, Mr. Benton.” She bit her tongue.
On Sixth Street, they headed west. In the other lane off in the distance, the headlights of one car headed east. Katherine leaned forward in the seat. The seatbelt restricted her. She undid her seat belt and leaned forward chest to knees until the headlights passed. She sat back up in the seat and rebuckled.
He chuckled. “I find this amusing enough that I’m almost tempted to drive to WinCo.”
Driving to WinCo Foods meant driving west across town to the Palouse Empire Mall. Miles away, with a lot of stoplights. “I thought you liked being employed by the U of I. I suppose you could still get a job there as a janitor.”
“Shh!” he said, reminding her of the quiet game. He took a left on Lynn, a right on Mabelle, and then a quick left on Logan. He knew his little side streets almost as well as he knew his pocket-sized towns.
Slowing the vehicle to a stop, two blocks too early, he pulled up in front of a white bungalow, shifted into park, and grinned across the console at her. She shook her head. He had no idea where she lived.
He eased the sedan slowly forward to the next house, shifted into park, looked at her, and waited. She rolled her eyes. For some reason, he was leaning toward the west side of the street, which was correct, but he was one block and four houses shy.
He turned sharply into a driveway across the street and turned off the engine. It was an older ranch-style home with nice landscaping.
She suppressed a smile and batted her lashes. This could go on all night.
He reached toward her and pretended to shake her by the neck, without touching her, of course. She almost laughed out loud. In the dimly lit cab, their eyes met. The knot in her chest cinched tight. He’s your professor and entirely off limits.
Benton pulled out of the driveway and headed north, the wrong direction. He pulled up alongside a single-level brick home and pointed toward the well-lit front door. Palm up, hand held shoulder high, he waited for her response.
Brows raised, and trying to appear apologetic, she shook her head. In a strange way without words, they were getting along.
They crossed Lewis Street and headed up a small hill to a white farmhouse that sat back in the trees. He put his right blinker on as he simultaneously took a right into the long gravel driveway. She touched the shoulder of his navy-blue jacket and shook her head.
His arm reached around the back of her headrest, as he shifted into reverse. They were going to grow old together in his Volvo.
House by house, Benton drove north. Pausing at Sixth Street, his headlights shone on a small sign across the two-lane road: Logan Street. He glanced at her.
Katherine shook her head. He turned around in the next driveway and headed back toward the Troy highway. The streets were deserted. Most likely all their neighbors were asleep—as they should be—in the quiet university town. One by one, he pulled up alongside the houses on the west side of the street. Home by home, she shook her head. He quietly became more dramatic, shaking his hands in the air, grimacing.
She covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. They were having fun. Too much fun.
Her future began to unfold before her, making her feel uneasy. If he knew where she lived, then he might stop by and see Grandma. The heart tug sounded mutual. If he ever did see Grandma, she’d invite him in for coffee. And someday, heaven forbid, Katherine would come home, and Quinn Benton and Grandma would be playing Scrabble at their kitchen table. The next house, whichever one it was, she was going to pretend it was hers and get out.
He crossed over Lewis Street onto Logan. At the end of the next two blocks, Grandma’s white picket fence came into view. There were only two houses left on the west side of Logan, Grandma’s and then her neighbor’s across Hunter Street between her and the Troy highway.
He pulled up beneath the large weeping cherry tree in front of Grandma’s house. Katherine looked out the passenger window. The street lamps outlined the white picket fence and the yellow bungalow home. Shoulders heavy, Katherine shook her head.
Lines creased his forehead as he shifted back into drive.
“Do you give up?” She broke the silence.
“Yes, I’ve nearly depleted the neighborhood, unless, of course, it’s that home.” He pointed across Logan to the Wootens’ home. They weren’t Grandma’s favorite neighbors, and their front door was very visible from the street. The neighbors Grandma had the best rapport with were the Hamiltons right next door, whose home they’d already passed. If he backed up and dropped her off at their front door, he’d be able to see her walk up. The best route was the gravel easement that ran along the west side of Grandma’s detached garage. She’d have him drop her off back there, and she’d pretend to walk to the Hamiltons’ back door.
“Take a right here on Hunter.”
“Huh?”
“You take a right here on Hunter Street, and then there’s a gravel easement past this garage.” She narrated while he drove. “Right here before the maple tree, you take a right.”
“I never would have known this street was here.”
“It’s not really a street; it’s an easement. We use the back door, not the front.”
“It’s exactly one block off the Troy highway. Cindy was wrong.”
“I tried to tell you that.”
“That’s why you were so quiet.” He drove up alongside the Hamiltons’ back gate and shifted into park.
“Good night, Miss King.” He turned and rested a hand along the top of her bucket seat.
“Good night.” She glanced toward the dark bungalow. A laurel hedge blocked most of the view into their backyard, and unlike Grandma’s house, they hadn’t left the light on.
She gripped the door handle. “Thank you, Mr. Benton.”
“Thank you for keeping the title in tack.”
At the Hamiltons’ back gate, she glanced over her shoulder and waved. Benton sat motionless behind the wheel. She lifted the latch and then entered the dark confines of their shadowy yard. His car still had not moved. The Hamiltons only had Fritz, an eleven-year-old Scottish terrier, which Grandma claimed was deaf. No Great Dane or Rottweiler to worry about. She took the brick walkway halfway to the neighbors’ back door before hiding behind their apple tree. Benton’s car slowly rolled up the long easement. The glowing red tail-lights eventually disappeared.
She smiled at her brilliance.
Ж
Fences and detached garages lined the long, gravel, pothole-ridden alley. By the time Quinn cleared the narrow easement, Katherine was undoubtedly inside brushing her teeth. He pulled into his driveway, parked, and, curiosity getting the best of him, dialed Evans’s number.
“What is it, Benton?” Evans’s voice came on the line.
“May I speak with Cindy, please?”
“She has a cell phone.” There was a heavy sigh as Evans handed her the phone.
“Yes, Quinn.”
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 6
