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

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  At the end of class, Professor Benton returned their most recent essays, the one that Katherine had stayed up until two in the morning to finish, the day she’d had food poisoning. Did she dare peek at the grade, in case he was watching? It wasn’t a gift; it was something she’d earned. Feeling hesitant, she flipped to the last page of the essay that she’d typed on Grandma’s old Brother typewriter. Beneath her conclusion, he’d written: A solid A. If you’re unhappy with this grade, my office hours are 8:30 to 9:30 and 12:30 to 1:30.

  A solid A. Why would she want to go to his office to complain? She didn’t usually complain about A grades. Did he want her to visit and complain? Did he miss her? She smiled. He’d given her an A.

  Wow! She’d managed to pull off an A the night she’d been sick.

  “Miss King.” Benton voiced her name out loud.

  Was he singling her out? Would anyone notice? Think it odd? Caught up in the throng of students milling to the door, she glanced ever so discreetly his direction.

  “If anyone would like to discuss their grade, my office hours this afternoon are twelve thirty to one thirty.” For a moment, he caught her eye.

  He wanted her to stop by. What would she say? Hi, I stopped by to thank you for my A. Oh, and by the way, did you grade it before or after we kissed? She needed someone to talk to. It couldn’t be Evans or Cindy, Grandma or Angel . . .

  All through Cindy and Evans’s Lewis and Clark lecture, Katherine contemplated and was tempted by the idea of visiting Benton’s office and complaining about something. She could complain about his new wooden chair. Maybe it needed a cushion. Or she could complain about the dull cover of the light blue essay booklets they were required to write in. Or the fact that he’d written her grade in blue ink instead of black, which could be deemed far more professional. Once the one hour lecture was over, she couldn’t bring herself to be anything else but happy with her A.

  Instead of heading up the stairs to the third floor and Benton’s office, she showed some restraint by taking the stairwell down. Why did Benton want to see her? He knew they weren’t supposed to see each other. For at least three weeks, they were off limits to one another.

  Ж

  The last paragraph of Ethel’s summer Bible study read: Bring your favorite Galatians verse next week, and we’ll discuss it. Oh, no. Sandra should have mentioned that at the beginning of the study so that Ethel could have been on the lookout for it. In the first chapter, she remembered that a verse had made her think about Katherine.

  Ethel scanned the first page of Galatians. Hallelujah, there it was: Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ. – Galatians 1:10.

  Wow! It was a great verse for Katherine. While Ethel wrote it on a sticky note to put in the front of her Bible, the phone rang. That was odd, Katherine was at school. Hmm . . . the call might actually be for me. She hurried toward the living room.

  “Ethel.” The female voice was unusually deep on the other end of the line.

  “Joyce . . . is that you?” She and Joyce Wooten, her neighbor across the street, hadn’t been on speaking terms for almost a year; not since Joyce had waved her green ribbon for her baked goods under Ethel’s nose at the Latah County Fair.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Oh, Joyce, how I’ve missed you!” Ethel patted a hand against her chest. “Now that I hear your voice, I realize that you sincerely are one of my closest and dearest of friends. I’m sorry that I’ve held your green ribbon against you.”

  “I’m sorry for flaunting it. I’ve missed you, too.” Joyce cleared her gravelly throat. “The reason I’m calling is . . . you know the pair of binoculars that I keep by my phone?”

  “Of course, I do; I gave them to you after Edwin passed away. I wanted you to help me keep an eye on my grandkids.” Ethel’s eyes widened. Had Joyce seen something?

  “That’s right, I remember now. Well, there’s been activity again on your front porch.”

  “What kind of activity?” Ethel suppressed a giggle.

  “Katherine, your little studier finally has a boyfriend.”

  “What do you mean?” Ethel bit the insides of her cheeks.

  “Well, I was on the phone with my girlfriend, MaryAnn Morrison—her husband’s the president of the college, you know.”

  “Our college—the U of I?” Ethel pulled a chair away from the table to sit down.

  “Yes. The Wootens and the Morrisons go way back.”

  “Oh, I remember now that you’ve reminded me.” Ethel nodded. “What did you see exactly, Joyce?”

  “Well . . . I was on the phone when I first caught a glimpse of the two. You know my long range vision is not what it used to be. So I grabbed the binoculars and, it was your Katherine and a very attractive man with dark hair. Let me tell you, Ethel, it was not a peck on the cheek, first date type of kiss.” Joyce giggled. “I believe I told MaryAnn at least twice that the two are still kissing.”

  “Did anything else happen? I mean did they appear to argue or . . .”

  “My call ended abruptly. MaryAnn had finally informed me that she was on a walk. When I focused on the scene again, Katherine’s fellow swung himself over your front gate, is that the right way to say that?”

  “I can picture it,” Ethel said.

  “And I’m almost positive he ripped the cuff of his pants.”

  “Let me know, Joyce, if you see any more shenanigans on my front porch.” Ethel giggled. Quinn and Katherine might not even notice if she strolled past. “Maybe I’ll visit next time.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Ж

  Grandma made bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for lunch. The perfect pick-me-up. Katherine sighed and took a bite. Couldn’t see each other for three full weeks? What a load of hooey. This was the reason she didn’t like dating: the mind games. Before Benton, she’d been so focused on her studies and getting good grades, and now her mind often wandered to thoughts of him.

  Was Evans trying to use reverse psychology?

  “Is something wrong?” Grandma asked.

  “No, just college stuff.”

  Wide-eyed, Grandma stuck a piece of bacon in her mouth. “Has Quinn graded your Oh, Brother paper yet?”

  “Yes. He gave me an A. I mean, I earned it and everything.” Not that she didn’t feel good about it, but she’d been sick at the time, and her perceptions of good may have been slightly abnormal given the circumstances, not that she’d ever admit it to Benton.

  He should never have kissed her. Everything was working out fine until then. Now, what about Miss Palouse? He’d been looking forward to meeting her for months. Katherine sighed and looked out the window. The kiss had been amazing.

  Don’t think about the kiss!

  “Is everything okay, honey?” Grandma patted her hand.

  “Yes.” Katherine nodded. “It’s absolutely fine. Just fine.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Three weeks! Not seeing the King girls was a double whammy of loneliness. Quinn wasn’t only cut off from Katherine; he was cut off from Ethel. He should never have kissed Katherine. He paced the worn, tan-colored carpet of his living room. He made sure the front curtains on his window were closed before he tipped his head back and petitioned God.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed her. You told me to wait, but I listened to Evans.” He sighed. “Because I liked Evans’ advice more. How can I even look Morrison in the eye now? I kissed one of my students. One of the gravest sins a professor can make. Forgive me.”

  He waited on the Lord, waited for peace; but instead, he was tortured by the memory of Katherine’s engaging gaze, her arms wrapped around his neck, and the sweet affirmation that she liked him.

  Hopefully, their kiss hadn’t stirred her memories of Joe.

  Cell phone in hand, he speed-dialed Evans.

  “It’s Benton. I need a favor. You’ve mentioned on occasion the infamous Joe List
, and I was wondering if you’d tell me what you remember?”

  “I still have the important artifact somewhere in my possession.” Evans chuckled. “After I grade Katherine’s next exam, I plan to tuck it inside, and then return it to her. I thought it would bring things full circle.”

  “Am I a fool for asking?”

  “No, but I think she’s more significant to you than you’re willing to admit.”

  Significant. Hmm . . . an odd choice of words.

  “The infamous Joe List. Now, where did I put it?” There was the click of briefcase latches and then the rustle of papers. “I’ll daresay that it’s not a piece she’d want just anyone viewing. When she came to my office years ago, she was concerned that the Argonaut might have gotten ahold of it. Ahhh, here it is.” Evans cleared his throat.

  “Why I will never fall for Joe Hillis again. I still can’t believe she wrote this during my lecture. She’s always been one of those bright-eyed, attentive students. The anti-Joe qualities appear to be listed in order of importance, as her first item is: Not a Christian. Do you want me to read it now? I could make you a copy and give it to you tomorrow.”

  “Go ahead and read.” Quinn sat down on the edge of the overstuffed sofa cushion.

  “Her next anti-Joe sentiment is: Not brilliant enough.” Evans chuckled. “Followed by Too cocky, too cute. Limited vocabulary. Hmmph . . . Which I might add is also one of your pet peeves. Are you still there, Benton?”

  Quinn found his voice. “Yes.”

  “It’s fascinating learning the mindset of a woman you’re presently interested in—isn’t it? Even if it was written several years ago. Katherine’s next item is: Won’t go to church with me. Carries a tennis racket everywhere he goes. And prepare yourself, Benton . . . Doesn’t understand the term “punctuality.” She set punctuality in quotes. And her last item on the list, which I find rather sweet, as they must have a close relationship, is: Not like Dad.”

  “Yes.” Quinn nodded. “Just taking it all in.”

  “Katherine’s next paragraph explains how she needs someone like her father. Concerned. Caring. Focused. Brilliant. Nurturing. Good listener. Supportive of my dreams, not only his own. Call Dad tonight. She underlined the last phrase twice.”

  “She still mentions Joe quite a bit, Evans.” Quinn stared at a watermark on the coffee table.

  “Yes, and after your date this Friday, she may feel inspired to write a Why I will never fall for Quinn Benton List, which would prove a fascinating read. I wonder if she views that you risked your employment for the kiss as a pro or a con?”

  It was just like Evans to kid about matters of extreme importance.

  “Do you want me to fax a copy to you?”

  “Yes, I’ll turn my fax machine on.” At his desk, Quinn pushed the power button on the shoe box-sized machine. “Fax it as soon as I hang up. Thanks.”

  “Why is it so important to you, Benton?”

  “Just do it, Evans.”

  The fax came through displaying Katherine’s small, yet impeccable cursive. Even though it was several years old, the artifact felt like a piece of her soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Tuesday morning . . .

  Above the drip of the coffee maker, Quinn was surprised to hear his cell phone. Who would be calling at seven thirty in the morning?

  “Quinn, can you stop by this morning on your way to work?” Ethel asked. “It won’t take long.”

  “Sure.” Why did she want him to stop by? He hoped it didn’t involve plumbing or power tools, as his class started at nine thirty.

  “Maybe you can drive Katherine to school this morning since you’ll already be here?”

  “Ethel . . .” He pulled an insulated cup down from the cupboard. “I don’t think that will be well received by our peers.”

  “I thought it might be neighborly. Nowadays, a neighbor can’t even be neighborly. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  A professor seen driving a student to class would be as well received as a professor seen kissing a student. With a heavy heart, he entered the front room, sat on the edge of the couch and bowed his head. “Gracious heavenly Father”—he sighed—“the damage has been done. Help me to handle this situation in the right way. If it means speaking with President Morrison about it, and possibly losing my job, then so be it. Help me, Lord, to handle it in a way that is pleasing to You. Give me wisdom. If I have to avoid her for the rest of the semester, I will.”

  He parked his car in front of the Kings’ detached garage. Ethel must have been watching for him, for as soon as he closed his door, she hurried down the narrow walkway toward him. She carried what looked like old cigar boxes, one in each hand.

  “One’s for you.” Over the top of the gate, she handed him the Lady Wayne cigar boxes. “I made them myself.”

  Made what herself? Had she rolled cigars?

  He glanced at a yellow sticky note on top of one: To my favorite neighbor. Love, Ethel.

  “There’s one cinnamon roll in each. They’re as big as the box.” Her eyes sparkled. “Don’t tell Katherine, but I used a cheater recipe. Rhodes dough.” Ethel giggled. “She thinks I made them from scratch.” Ethel zipped her lips with two fingers.

  “I won’t tell. Where’d you find the cigar boxes?” They weren’t the typical transport for food.

  “Edwin left me a lifetime supply of them in the garage. I finally found a good use for them.” She smiled. “Katherine says I’m brownnosing the president of the U of I. And I told her, I’m just sending him a sweet reminder of our visit.”

  “What do you mean, Ethel?” Had he missed something?

  “I was hoping you’d deliver one to President Morrison for me.” She nodded toward the box in his right hand. “His office is just around the corner from yours. It’s worth paying him a visit just to see his view.”

  God’s answer had come quicker than he’d expected.

  He’d taught two years at North Carolina State University as an adjunct professor before applying for the U of I opening. Landing a US history professor position so close to home had been a huge answer to prayer. Why hadn’t he reminded himself of this thirty-some hours ago?

  “Is something wrong, Quinn?” Ethel leaned her head to one side, studying him.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “You know how sometimes you get an answer to prayer, and it’s not the answer you were looking for?”

  “That’s when I know to keep praying.”

  “I think you also have a bit of King stubbornness, Ethel.”

  “It’s called Pettigrew pride.” She smiled. “Sometimes, I think, we’re all too quick to jump to our own conclusions. Keep praying. Make sure you heard God correctly.”

  He was afraid he’d heard Him loud and clear. “You have a great day, Ethel.” He opened the passenger-side door and nestled the boxes on the seat.

  “You, too. I’ll be praying for you.”

  As he drove west, the beautifully manicured grounds and the ancient elm trees, which lined the Hello Walk in front of the Admin Building, came into view. “I love my job with this university,” he told God. On the southeast side of campus, he parked in his assigned space and turned off the engine. “I love this school, this town, my colleagues, my home, Ethel King . . .” He sighed deeply. “Lord, Father God, You know what’s recently transpired. I lost sight of my position here. I should have waited until Katherine graduated.

  “Is delivering the roll a sign from You? Do You want me to tell Morrison?” Quinn closed his eyes and waited for words of counsel, but none came. What did the Holy Spirit’s silence mean? He picked up President Morrison’s cigar box. On top, the yellow sticky note read: God bless you, President Morrison. From: Ethel King.

  As he strode the sunlit walkways toward the Admin, Quinn practiced his apology speech. “Hello, President Morrison. Here’s a cinnamon roll from Ethel King, and by the way, I kissed her granddaughter on Sunday. Yes, she is a graduate student here at the U of I. Yes, I’ll have been with the univer
sity a year as of next month. Thank you; while it lasted, it was the best job I’ll ever have.”

  He placed his briefcase and the cigar box on top of his desk and slowly walked the wide granite corridor toward his superior’s office. He thought of David, a man after God’s own heart. Though he’d written beautiful psalms and had been abundantly blessed by God, he had also stumbled on account of a beautiful woman. “Lord, help me to mend my ways. Forgive my errors. Help me to walk a straight path. Help me to live up to the integrity of this position.”

  He waited in a padded chair outside President Morrison’s office. After a couple of minutes, he heard his right dress shoe tapping against the granite floor. He grounded his heel. Katherine’s first visit to his office, she’d done her crazy finger tapping. The memory felt bittersweet.

  Lord, if You don’t want me to speak with him, don’t let there be an opening.

  Bending forward at the waist, the trim middle-aged secretary held down the speaker button. “Mike, Professor Benton has a nine-thirty class.”

  How did she know? Quinn glanced in her direction.

  “You keep looking at your watch, and I have a class schedule.” She smiled.

  Another minute ticked by. If he waited five more minutes, he could leave Ethel’s cigar box with Mike’s secretary and be free. Free as a jailbird.

  “Send him in,” Mike’s deep voice announced over the speaker on her desk.

  Near the expansive picture windows, President Morrison stood with his profile to the room. Tall and broad-shouldered, Mike’s gaze took in the northern view of campus—historic brick buildings, acres of lawns, mature elm trees, and in the distance, the rolling hills of the Palouse.

  “Good morning, Quinn.” Mike turned from his six-figure view to regard him.

  “Good morning, Mike. Ethel King called me this morning and wanted me to deliver this to you.” He set the cigar box down on top of the cherry wood desk. “There’s a large cinnamon roll inside. She also made one for me.”