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

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  In between the bucket seats, he watched the road ahead for a few minutes, and then he leaned toward her. “I apologize for the situation,” he whispered. “Despite my repacking, the chairs wouldn’t fit in the trunk.”

  “Thank you for trying.” Maybe it was the softness in her voice, but his shoulders turned slightly toward her. As he regarded her in the moonlit cab, his chest slowly expanded.

  “I miss the Palouse when I’m away . . .” Evans cleared his throat. “Particularly this stretch of the drive. The rolling hills of the Palouse, and how the countryside changes abruptly from pastoral to urban, as you descend into the university town of Pullman.”

  Katherine stared out the passenger window as the scene Evans described unfolded. He’d cleverly reminded them both of Miss Palouse.

  Had Benton been about to kiss her? For self-preservation, she couldn’t let him, not when he had three more blind dates on the horizon. Not when he had questions about Miss Palouse. Not when he was her professor, lest she forget.

  She sighed. It was best just to bury herself in the books and never, ever again think about her professor—Quinn Benton.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sunday evening, the phone rang in the living room. Katherine thought about letting it go to the recorder, but before she could say anything, Grandma answered it.

  “Oh, hello, Quinn.” Grandma sounded pleased to hear his voice.

  Katherine chewed quietly and leaned slightly toward the living room. There were several long pauses, which meant Benton was doing his share of the talking. She got up and filled the left side of the sink with hot, sudsy water. Pulling the phone cord behind her, Grandma moved deeper into the living room.

  “My girlfriend Sharon visited this afternoon. She brought a mile-high strawberry pie. I still have a couple of pieces in the fridge left for Katherine and me to enjoy tonight. Might even be three; I haven’t counted.”

  Katherine crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. Sure enough, Saran Wrap tented a tall quarter section of pie, seated on a clear plastic plate. Yum.

  “Quinn’s coming over for mile-high strawberry pie,” Grandma announced, strolling into the kitchen. “He said he needed to talk to you about something.”

  Katherine’s stomach plummeted like she’d just descended ten floors in an old elevator. Was he going to address Friday night, and how well they’d gotten along? Too well. To keep her mind busy, she started a fresh pot of decaf coffee. While it brewed, she poured half-and-half into a white ceramic creamer. Did he finally realize there was a tidal wave of chemistry between them? She sprayed the window above the sink with Windex and dried it with a paper towel while Grandma carefully divided the remaining quarter of a pie into three pieces. She should never have gone to Colfax with them. She should have stayed home and studied at the library.

  Benton knocked on the back door. Katherine proceeded to pour three cups of coffee while Grandma greeted him.

  “You walked.” Grandma set the loaded dessert plates on the table.

  “Yes, it’s a perfect evening.” Wearing khaki-colored trousers and a Princeton-orange polo, Benton pulled his usual chair out from the table and sat down.

  “You should wear that polo when you meet Nurse Princeton,” Katherine said.

  “If you could live anywhere you wanted, Ethel, would you live near the ocean or the mountains?” Quinn asked, ignoring Katherine’s excellent observation.

  It sounded like a dating question. Katherine suppressed a chuckle.

  “I’d live eight miles from Moscow Mountain,” Grandma said.

  Quinn nodded. “I think you’re saying that you’re happy where you live right now.”

  Grandma nodded.

  Moscow Mountain wasn’t a mountain; compared to Mount Hood, it was more of a molehill. But if Moscow residents wanted to make mountains out of molehills—

  “What about you, Katherine?”

  “Huh?” Her eyes locked on his. Be smart, be intelligent, be yourself. “Neither, I’d live here in Moscow. I love this little town, even though it’s a good eight hours inland.”

  “The Portland-Vancouver area is beautiful.” His brows gathered. “Why would you prefer to live here?”

  Another mini-date at Grandma’s.

  “I love the Palouse. Like you, Benton, I love the little pocket-sized towns. Being able to see for miles and miles. Even though the change of seasons isn’t always as apparent as back home, you learn to watch for it in the rolling hills.”

  Grandma sat up a bit in her chair, suppressing a smile.

  “Ethel said you like it here.” He nodded. “I grew up in Kellogg. My folks are still there.”

  Hmm . . . Kellogg was a beautiful little resort town south of Coeur d’Alene. “How did a small-town fellow like you end up at Duke?”

  Grandma kicked her beneath the table. “I think that this month’s picture on the calendar is so pretty.”

  Katherine looked over her shoulder to the Latah County Credit Union calendar thumb tacked to the wall. The July picture was of a grain silo in a rolling field of deep green wheat. What Grandma wanted her to focus on was her wording pretty picture.

  “We have family in North Carolina—my mother’s youngest brother. I worked part-time at my uncle’s hardware store in exchange for room and board. Otherwise, I’d be paying off student loans for the next twenty years.”

  “Grandma, Duke is a prestigious Ivy League school, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Duke. Wa-luke. Idaho has ivy.” Grandma waved a hand.

  “Katherine, I’m sorry to correct you, but you’re wrong. Duke is not an Ivy League school. Actually both Stanford and Duke aren’t Ivy schools. The Ivy League is a football division, and Duke is part of the Atlantic Coast Conference.”

  Quinn could be quite impressive when he wanted to. “Why does it feel like a date?” she voiced out loud.

  “If I were ever to write a list of all the reasons I would never fall for your granddaughter”—Quinn looked at Grandma—“the first line would be . . .” Katherine frowned at him. “That Katherine King is not old-fashioned enough for me.”

  Wide-eyed, Grandma giggled.

  “That’s sure from left field, Benton.”

  Had Evans shared her Joe List with him? Exposed the ramblings of her twenty-something heart? “I haven’t written a Quinn List, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

  “Why not?” His dark brows gathered.

  “There’s been no reason to.” She laughed. Did he want her to? Her mind wanted to return to last night and their moonlit car ride home, but her pincushion heart told her not to.

  “After pie, Quinn, why don’t you take Katherine for a walk? She hasn’t had her walk today.”

  “You make me sound like a dog, Grandma.”

  “We could walk to Bucer’s for a cup of decaf.” His chest inflated slightly.

  He was finally going to make her apologize to Carl, or was there more to it? Something was different about him tonight, and it wasn’t just his polo.

  “I suppose we’ll be coffee-d out.” He glanced out the window, which spanned the length of the table. “It is an exceptionally nice evening for a walk, though.”

  Grandma stirred sugar into her coffee and smiled.

  “It is.” Katherine chewed on her lower lip. She and Benton had never gone on a walk before. Taking a walk used to be Joe’s secret term for making out.

  Why did Benton want to go for a walk? Harp and string music began to play in Grandma’s boxy kitchen. For a full measure, she couldn’t look at him. She glanced at the salt-and-pepper shakers, the stove, and over her shoulder toward the living room. When she’d been sick, she’d watched Doctor Zhivago. She needed to put the VHS tape away before Grandma found it.

  “You’ll need to change into walking shoes.” He obviously didn’t think her flip-flops suitable for a long walk. “The pie and coffee were great, Ethel. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You invited yourself.”

  Katherine jogged up the narro
w stairwell for her shoes. Get a grip. He only wants to go for a walk to reprimand me for Carl. Not to make out. The phone rang as she reached the landing. She sat down on the bed and pulled on her Adidas tennis shoes. The main level door creaked open. “Phone, Katherine,” Grandma called.

  Sighing, she picked up the phone from the top of her waterfall dresser. “Hello.” There was the click as Grandma set the receiver down.

  “Katherine, it’s Cindy.” Her voice was unusually monotone. “Is now a good time to talk?”

  “Hi, Cindy. Um . . . Benton’s here. We’re just getting ready to go for a walk.”

  “Is he in the same room?”

  “No, I’m upstairs. Why?” Katherine gripped the phone cord in one hand.

  “Well . . . I was at Dennis’s place this afternoon. Quinn didn’t get to talk much at The Breakfast Club this morning. He doesn’t talk in front of Carl. He sometimes confides in me, but lately, he’s confided more in Dennis. I don’t know why, but Dennis’s advice is really off this time.”

  “Regarding?” Katherine brushed her hair in front of her dresser mirror.

  “Quinn is torn between you and Miss Palouse. I don’t know if that surprises you.”

  Katherine stared wide-eyed in the mirror.

  “And . . .” Cindy continued, “Dennis’s advice is that Quinn should kiss you before he meets Claire.”

  “What?” Katherine held the brush midair. “Is Evans crazy? That’s horrible advice.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. Dennis thinks that because it’s summer school and you’re only a few weeks away from graduating, the board would be able to overlook it if it were ever brought to their attention.”

  She hoped Benton knew better than to take advice from a professor who’d married one of his students.

  “Dennis seems to think that if Quinn kisses you, he’ll be able to understand his feelings for you more. Men are different than women in that respect. For the most part, I think we know how we feel, don’t you?”

  “It’s kind of you to warn me, Cindy.” Katherine’s laugh sounded hollow, shaky even to her own ears.

  “If you care to call me later, I’ll be home.”

  “Thanks. I may take you up on that.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Though the evening temperature was perfect for strolling through the tranquil, lamp-lit neighborhood, Katherine sensed a feeling of doom. From their car rides, she knew Benton was fairly gifted at small talk, but he hadn’t said a word since the side gate bounced closed behind them, several blocks back. The reason for their stroll was purely business, not pleasure. Benton had a job to take care of—kissing Katherine King.

  Evans should be shot.

  After they’d strolled down a small knoll on Lewis Street, Katherine glanced over her shoulder to discover Benton was no longer beside her. He’d stopped under the canopy of a large maple tree, twenty feet back.

  “Why’d you stop?” She strolled back toward him. As she said it, she knew. Their walk was simply an excuse to get her out of the house. Grandma didn’t need to witness the scene about to unfold.

  In the dappled streetlight, he almost smiled. “You’re intelligent, Katherine. You know why we’re here.”

  He was so matter of fact about it. Maybe that’s why Sylvia broke off their engagement. Maybe the man had been blessed with Zhivago eyes, but not a lick of romance. Mildly disappointed, she stopped in front of him and stared up at him.

  “I was hoping you’d take the initiative, call Carl, and finally apologize, but you haven’t.”

  What? “I’m not going to call Carl. He’s relentless. You heard him. You witnessed it. After last night, how can you even ask this of me?”

  “Evans thinks a lot of you, and as Christians, Katherine, we’re to show humility.”

  There was the slammer.

  She peered down at a jagged three-foot crack that scored the concrete between them. Cindy had been so wrong. The only motivation for the walk was so she’d apologize to Carl.

  “When Evans told Carl about you, it was all praises. Intelligent, beautiful, witty . . . and that’s what Carl thought he saw in our Friday get-togethers.”

  Every word stung.

  “I have nothing against Carl. I really don’t.” She inhaled deeply. “Except he’s pushy and smug, and should really be in sales.” Turning her back to Benton, she waited for an embarrassing wave of emotion to pass. “You even said he was pushy, and now I’m supposed to apologize for holding my ground.”

  “I hear some King pride, and you’re mumbling.”

  Any other decent human being would have set his hands on her shoulders and told her that everything was going to be okay, but not Benton. Even Joe would have shown more compassion.

  “I said that I have nothing against him. I’m, I’m . . .” Turning to face him, she lost her thought in his dark eyes. They were dull, unreadable. Not like Friday night at the antique store. Across the table, they’d glimmered with light.

  “I think it best that you call Carl and tell him that you’re afraid. That you had a bad relationship, and you’ve buried yourself in your studies ever since. And you’re sorry that you took it out on him.”

  He oversimplified it. “I’m not going to bare my soul to Carl. He’s a womanizer, and he’s probably with Marci . . .” Her voice trailed off. Up close, Benton’s eyes were thickly lashed. Had he been the one to move closer? Maybe this was the greatest of ploys to kiss her? She suppressed a smile.

  Benton shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Even though Carl’s liked six women, no, seven, in the last year, I believe his feelings were sincere, and even though he already has another sweetheart, you need to apologize for the sake of the group.”

  “Who appointed you . . . Evans?” If she inhaled deeply, their chests might touch.

  “I live the closest. It was two against one.”

  Without having to be on tiptoe, she could easily wrap her arms around his neck. What was she thinking? Stop thinking.

  “The goal of our meeting is for me to extract an apology for Carl.” Stepping away from her, he pulled his phone from the side pocket of his trousers and handed it to her.

  “He’ll only take it as encouragement.”

  “Katherine, don’t be difficult. Just call him and tell him you’re sorry.”

  Difficult was one of those annoying words, definitely not a courting, wanting-to-kiss-you word.

  “Press five and hold it down. I have him on speed dial.” Leaning toward her, Quinn pressed down on the five.

  “He’ll ask me out again.” She flipped the phone closed.

  “I don’t think so. Not after your response to him at The Breakfast Club.” He walked several steps away, like a life preserver thrown off course.

  “Stand here, Benton. I mean Mr. Benton.” She pointed to the crack in the concrete beside her. “You’re my witness.”

  He shook his head and looked up at the maple tree’s loaded branches.

  He was sincerely not here to woo her.

  “If you don’t stand here, I won’t call him. Believe it or not, I don’t handle pain well. Inflicting it or receiving it.”

  “You’re very good at inflicting it. That’s why we’re here.” Except for crossing his arms, he didn’t move an inch.

  “I didn’t mean to inflict. It wasn’t purposeful. I avoid pain. I go out of my way to purposefully avoid pain.” There, she’d bared her soul to him.

  “We all do.”

  “Not Carl.” She sighed.

  Rocking back and forth, Benton chuckled and peered heavenward. His eyes had that deep, hallowed glaze. Was he praying?

  “Now stand here and be my witness.” She pointed to the crack in the cement. “I want you where you can’t see me turn eleven shades of red.”

  At the crest of Lewis Street hill, beneath an enormous maple tree, in front of a white farmhouse that looked out of place among bungalows, she pressed five and held the phone to her ear. Stepping closer to Benton, she leaned her shoulder ag
ainst his and listened to Carl’s phone ring. She faced north while Benton faced south; if he turned, he’d only be able to see her profile.

  “The only reason I’m doing this is for Evans. I like Evans. I like our Friday night get-togethers,” she whispered as Carl’s phone rang.

  “Because you find my pain entertaining.”

  “Is that how Fridays feel for you?” She studied his profile.

  “Often.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “Hello, Benton.” Carl’s voice came on the line.

  “Hi, Carl.” She cleared her throat. “It’s Katherine King. I’m using Benton’s phone.”

  “Oh, hello.” Carl’s voice held genuine surprise.

  “Hi, I’m calling to apologize.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was insensitive the day you called me from The Breakfast Club. My grandmother overheard my side of our conversation, and she scolded me, and as you’re probably aware, so has Benton.” Benton took a step backward, but she detained him by gripping the shoulder of his polo, a handful of quality woven cotton.

  “I’m sorry I was so rude.” She swallowed some pride.

  Benton exhaled and stepped closer, returning to his place.

  Turning slightly toward Benton, their gaze met. “Whenever a guy shows an interest in me, it’s always bad timing. It’s not you. It’s me. I avoid heartache. After Joe, I . . . I have a fear of intimacy. I was so crushed, so unprepared for the pain, that now when any guy attempts to get close or expresses an interest, I simply avoid him.” She swallowed a cloud of cotton balls.

  “Why do you think that is?” Carl asked while Quinn shook his head.

  She closed her eyes, digging deep.

  “I’m determined to finish my master’s.” She tipped her head slightly back and peered at the canopy of shadows overhead. Night had set. “My father met my mother during summer school. They married, and she never finished her degree in education. My best friend, Rikki, met her Mr. Right in the middle of grad school and followed him to the moon. She would have made a fabulous psychologist, and now she’ll probably never complete her degree.”