Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1)

by Alex Greenville

  There was another the next day. I guess I’ll have to type it here and maybe you’ll call me. Professor Kai’s been fired.

  Lydia dropped her phone like it scalded and scrambled to her feet. Fired? Her face heated. Over her? Had to be. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t, having done that until she had nothing left. Just the same, it took her fifteen minutes to pick up her phone again.

  Not like you think, Karen continued. They’ve canceled all his classes. Something about the college saving funds.

  Saving funds? The college let him go to cut costs? That’s what it sounded like, but what did that mean? And where would he work now?

  She gazed back down at her phone.

  There was one more dated last night. Professor Kai called me, asked for your home address, but I said I didn’t have it. He asked if you were okay, and I told him as far as I knew you were fine. It’d be great to have that confirmed.

  Lydia tapped on reply, but considered her response. Aarin would know how she was when he read her letter today, although what she’d said, in light of his job loss, didn’t totally fit. Yet, despite that, she still believed it’d be best for them to have time apart. It could be he was only concerned because she’d vanished like she had.

  Got your texts. I’m fine, she said. Lydia hit send and lowered the phone.

  It lit up seconds later. No you’re not, Karen replied. You love him, and he loves you. He told me so.

  Dropping the envelopes on the kitchen counter, Aarin turned aside and snagged a bottled water from the fridge. Opening it presented a problem though, his arthritic hand particularly uncooperative. He stuck the bottle beneath his arm and used his other hand instead, draining half of the bottle before glancing at the mail again.

  The top envelope caught his eye, and he set the water down, lifting the flap with his thumb. The sender of the penned letter was an interesting one. Arnaud LaChoix. They’d met briefly back in his hockey days, very briefly, more a third party introduction and single shake of hands.

  Mr. Kai, the letter read. I hope this finds you well and that you’ll take this offer into consideration. I’ve read you’re teaching English literature now, so this could be too little to tempt you, but I head a Junior Hockey League outside of Atlanta that needs a coach.

  A coach? Aarin pulled out a stool, his knees folding.

  I know of your injury, but, in my thinking, that doesn’t affect your mind. You were an acclaimed player and the exact type of man our young boys should model themselves after.

  Aarin bit his lip, his mood wavering. If Mr. LaChoix knew the truth, he wouldn’t have said that. He’d had no spine where Lydia was concerned and barely enough to quit his job.

  My phone number is below, Arnaud continued. I hope to hear from you. Perhaps, the salary won’t be what you’re used to, but I think the fulfillment will because you’ll remember what it was like to be in these boys’ shoes. That’s something that can’t be taught.

  Aarin read through the letter again, releasing it to the countertop. If not for what happened with Lydia, he wouldn’t hesitate to call. It was exactly what he was looking for, something he was capable of that didn’t remind him of what he’d lost.

  He shuffled through the rest of the mail, prepared to set them aside, but his heartbeat stopped at the girlish loops and whorls on the last piece.

  Tracing his name, written in Lydia’s hand, he debated on opening the envelope, leaving the kitchen with it for a seat on the couch. Yet, even then, he held off for what felt like a year.

  What did she have to say? It was nice, but …

  That didn’t sound like her. It’d been more than nice, and she knew that.

  I’ll never forget you. A true statement. He’d never forget her either.

  Exhaling long, his reluctance extended the moment, then at last, he broke the seal and tugged the single page out. Her voice came rushing in, as real and fresh as it’d ever been.

  Dear Aarin, I love you, but that makes this note especially hard. Because, you will know by now, I’ve gone home. I can’t let myself continue to risk all you’ve worked so hard for, simply to be with me. The students at the college adore you, and you’re happy there. Staying would only cause trouble we neither one want. Leaving, on the other hand, saves us both. I will never … NEVER … forget you, nor can anything change how I feel. But I’m asking, when you read this, that you not contact or try to find me. At the very least, we need time to figure out how to be ourselves again. Maybe six months from now, life will smile on us once more. If so, I look forward to it. With love, Lydia.

  Aarin searched the letter for a return address, not finding one, but the city stamp on the envelope glowed bright, and each thump of his pulse seemed to clear his head, the pieces of his future falling into place.

  He left the couch and headed down the hall, retrieving his cell phone from the dresser. He returned to the kitchen, once more, scanning Arnaud’s note. Lydia’s beneath his palm, he dialed the number written on the bottom. It rang twice, then an accented voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. LaChoix,” Aarin said, “I got your offer, and I’m interested.”

  Love, Lydia discovered, changed your perspective on everything. Loving Aarin … how she approached her schoolwork, her new job at the produce market, even, how she spoke to her grandmother took on more meaning. She saw her actions as if watching from outside, heard her words long after they’d been spoken. She dedicated herself to being the best student, getting the highest grades, working longer hours.

  Finals neared, and her enforced solitude helped her focus. Aarin’s face never left her thoughts, but she didn’t search for him, or call or text. He made no attempt to find her either, or she assumed he didn’t, and she wondered, realizing it, if he thought about her.

  Did he remember her fondly? Or had what they’d had, vanished completely? Those questions only reopened the horrible ache she’d worked so hard to heal, so eventually, she quit asking in favor of reclaiming some measure of peace.

  Her grandmother seemed to figure out what had happened, yet never spoke of it. She texted with Karen a few times, but they only talked about minor things and college, not at all. Her days became an endless cycle of preprogrammed actions designed to keep her from thinking of him.

  She avoided friendships and most social gatherings. She couldn’t say she was unhappy, but the place in her heart that he’d claimed sat … vacant.

  One afternoon, a knock at the door raised her gaze from her schoolwork, and her grandmother called across the house. “Lydia, dear? Can you get that?”

  Lydia dropped her pencil, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and made her way to the door. The knock repeated, so she unfastened the lock, turning the tarnished knob and tugging the door inward. A shaft of afternoon sunlight blinded her. She shaded her eyes with one palm.

  The face that crept into view brought a ragged gasp from her throat. “Aarin.”

  Backpedaling, she ran into the legs of a rectangular entry table. The lamp sitting atop, quivered, the crystal pendants on the shade tinkling. Held there, she blinked up at him, her heart in her throat.

  He looked so handsome … broad shoulders, thick arms, fabulous hips. He’d cut his hair shorter. One hand in the pocket of a brown leather coat, his forehead wrinkled. “I waited like you asked.”

  For a second, she had no idea what he meant, then the words of her letter returned to her.

  “Six months, you said,” he continued, “then ‘if life will smile on us once more, I look forward to it.’”

  He quoted her words. How many times had he reread her letter before he’d memorized them?

  “How … how did you … find me?” Straightening, she stepped toward him, considering what to do next. Squeezing out the door, she pulled it closed behind her. But he was close, so very close, his cologne tickling her nose, those wonderful lips that she remembered only inches away.

  He offered a weak smile. “I found you months ago, asked someone at the colleg
e for your address, but didn’t want to bother you because you asked me not to.”

  Her heart skipped. “You came far?” she asked. She sounded rattled in her ears, but the idea he’d travelled to see her …

  He shook his head. “I live here, in fact, a few blocks away.”

  She couldn’t feel her fingers then. He’d been a few blocks away all this time? She’d probably driven past his place, maybe been near him at the supermarket.

  “I coach Junior League hockey,” he said. “I got the invitation the same day I received your letter.”

  “The same day?” That was uncanny. Too much to be mere coincidence, but more like … fate.

  The sun spiked in her eyes again. She tilted her gaze, trying to avoid it, but only succeeded in drowning in his gaze. Nothing had changed. The way he’d looked at her then, he looked at her now. What she’d thought of him when she’d left, if anything, had grown. They were wiser, but she still trembled in his presence, still longed for his embrace. Her heart pulsed his name.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in, his palm on her chin, his fingers caressing her cheek. “You know, the day you left I was prepared to quit.”

  She started. “Wh-why?”

  “For you.” His gaze deepened. “I was going to give it all up so we could be together. The college let me go first.” He slid his hand to the back of her head. “I appreciate what you did, but my life will never be the same without you in it. I’ve dreamed of this moment, hoped and prayed it would come. There will never be another woman for me.”

  “Aarin …”

  He hushed her with the barest hiss. “No, six months hasn’t deadened how I feel at all. If anything, I’m sure of it now.”

  He dipped his head toward hers, and she shut her eyes, lost in the moment, the gentle press of his lips, the strength of his grasp. Folded against him, his chest firm beneath her hands, he sucked her bottom lip, as he used to do, his tongue a sensuous lure.

  Dampness pearling in her lashes, she gave a soft sob, and he ceased, with gentle motions kissing away her tears. “Lydia,” he muttered. “My sweet Lydia, I love you. Nothing will ever come between us again.”

  She curled up against him, his shirt wadded in her hands, her heart in her throat. Nothing. He was worth every labored breath that’d brought him here. “I love you, too” she replied.

  Three months later

  Lydia pulled into the driveway and shifted into park, her gaze on the car beside Aarin’s truck, and from somewhere in the back of her mind, a faint memory sparked.

  Joy bubbled upward, and a squeal emerged. She leaped out, barely taking the time to remove the keys from the ignition, before dashing up the walk and through the door. She skipped into the combined kitchen-dining area and skidded to a halt. The girl talking to Aarin spun in place, and the happiness that’d catapulted her inside came bursting out, all over again.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” Lydia embraced her college friend, Karen, backing up afterward to put her at arm’s length.

  “I promised I would. Besides, otherwise, I’d miss this awkward, she-really-lives-with-my-old-English-lit-professor moment.”

  Aarin chuckled, and Lydia’s gaze shifted. Strangely, it’d been her grandmother’s insistence that’d convinced them to move in together.

  Not two more miserable people, she’d said. I’m old, but perfectly capable of staying alone. I proved that when you left for college.

  She had, and she’d gone on to remind them, they’d only be a few blocks away. But the effort to pack her things had taken way longer than she’d thought it would, and she still, sometimes, couldn’t find what she was looking for.

  “I object to being called ‘old’,” Aarin said, his voice bringing her back to reality.

  Karen flashed him a smile. “Did she ever tell you what the girls at school used to say?” At their spurt of laughter, confusion rose on her face. Her brow furrowed. “What? Am I missing something?”

  Lydia freed herself and walked up in front of him. “Inside joke. I told him … sort of.”

  He bent down and kissed her cheek. His voice low, he whispered in her ear. “More like showed me.”

  Her face heated. Willing any color away, she glanced back toward her friend. “How do you feel about hockey?” she asked. “Aarin can find you a date.”

  “My own hockey star?”

  Lydia nodded atop a new stream of Aarin’s laughter.

  “Looks like you did pretty well,” Karen said, confused once more.

  She had, and he was the best one of them all. Lydia gripped him tighter. “Of course,” she said, “whichever one you choose, he’ll be about sixteen.”

  Karen laughed and rolled her eyes. “I see how it is. You might date someone older, but I’m definitely not dating someone younger.”

  THE END

  If you enjoyed this story, look for book 2.

  Audrey stretched, her spine giving a crack, and though he heard her grunt, knew Audrey had made the sound, in his head, it was Beth. Her eyes met his, her forehead furrowing. Audrey, that was Audrey, he said. Beth was gone. Audrey took care of his children. Yet, he couldn’t quite convince himself and look away.

  -----

  With his beloved wife’s death, Bennett Adam’s successful life fell apart. His son clings to him all the time, and his infant daughter won’t stop crying. His days and nights have become an endless cycle of grief and worry. When the family pediatrician suggests he hire a wet nurse, he’s opposed to the idea. Farm his daughter off on another woman? People don’t still do that.

  Audrey Ferguson’s husband walked out on her and their son, forcing them to move in with her parents. She’s determined to make it temporary. Her son is mostly weaned. She’ll get a job, save up, and buy her own place. A chance encounter with Bennett at the library changes her orderly plans. Here’s a man, hurting, and a baby that needs what she can give.

  Spending so much time with such a handsome older man creates its own set of problems though. They’re attracted to each other. In her eyes, he’s everything her ex is not – faithful to his children and loving to his wife. Yet, despite their growing passion, their troubled pasts stand between them. Memories that might be powerful enough to tear their fragile new beginning apart.

  Book 2 of 3 in the SPRING-SUMMER ROMANCE series by Alex Greenville. Stand alone. HEA.

  Alex Greenville is a pen name for a line of contemporary romance novels. For more information on Alex’s books, visit www.AGRomance.com.