by Claire Adams
"Speaking of inspiring the art students, I've been trying to convince Carl to pose for your sculpting class," Lexi said.
Carl shook his head and continued to eat. "Not my thing. Just like dating's not Clarity's thing."
I could have kissed him. "Thank you, Carl. I'm happy to consider my journalist internship, and I think that's about all I can handle at the moment."
"You're too shy for your own good," Lexi said.
"Clarity's not shy, she's discerning," Ford said.
Everyone glanced his way again, but this time he kept his eyes steady on me.
My father chuckled, "Takes one to know one, eh?"
Alice nudged Ford. "He's definitely discerning too. In fact, I think that's why he's not dating either."
"Really? That's interesting," Lexi said.
I considered throwing a roll at her head but instead made one last, desperate attempt to change the subject. "I hope everyone saves a little room for dessert. My father's made an amazing pecan pie."
"My favorite," Ford said, and his smile returned as the conversation moved on.
Chapter Ten
Ford
I shoved my food around my plate, annoyed with myself. I had made such a spectacle out of Clarity's internship letter. Then I had tried to compliment her on her writing. I had completely forgotten she asked me to keep it a secret.
I stabbed a piece of turkey and dragged it through the thick, creamy gravy. At least everyone's responses had been enthusiastic and encouraging. Maybe she'd forgive me.
"I'd like to take credit for the whole meal," Clarity's father leaned over to me, "but really all I managed on my own was the gravy."
I smiled. "What about the pecan pie?"
"She did it. I arranged the nuts on top and put it in the oven," he whispered.
Clarity caught us whispering. "That's not true. You handled the turkey."
"Judging by the size, I'd say that's a lot," I joked.
Clarity smiled at me and my appetite came back. I wolfed down two helpings of everything and thirds of the candied yams. When I looked up from scraping my plate clean, her emerald eyes locked onto my face.
The pleasant swelling I felt was from more than the food, but then my stomach dropped like a lead ball. I needed to tell her about Libby. I couldn't go on waiting for the other shoe to drop, not with Clarity always in front of me.
I tried to help her with the coffee, but she declined. I got up and made it as far as the kitchen door before she reappeared with dessert. Then everyone adjourned to the living room, and I couldn't get up and follow Clarity without everyone seeing me cross the room.
"Look, snow!" Lexi cried.
Everyone heaved themselves out of their comfortable seats and found places by the frosted windows. Clarity hung back and disappeared into the kitchen again, and I saw my chance. I stepped back and spun on my heel to follow her, but when I got into the kitchen, she was gone.
"I hope it's enough to make a snowman tomorrow," Lexi said.
I heard Clarity reply, "Always the optimist," and realized she had come full circle through the kitchen and back out to the foyer. I got the distinct impression she was trying to avoid me.
I marched up behind Clarity and her friends, but Lexi's speculative look stopped me short. I could lie and say it was about class, but I had a feeling that wouldn't fool anyone.
"We better head out before it gets too deep," Polly said.
"Oh, that's too bad," Patrick said. He clasped her hands. "I was hoping we could play Pictionary."
Polly laughed and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful Thanksgiving feast, Patrick. Clarity, you did an amazing job. Please, please think about writing something for my art students."
"It's a great idea," Patrick said, "I'll keep on her about it."
Damien shook hands with everyone then kissed Clarity's cheek. "Charming. Thank you."
I hung back and scowled as the handsome sculptor winked at Clarity, then curled an arm around Polly. They waved and headed out into the snow. Lexi and Carl were not far behind them. She squealed as she danced around Carl until he picked her up and twirled her.
"Coming, Ford?" Jackson asked me.
"Nah, I'm going to help clean up a little. It's the least I can do."
Alice raised an eyebrow at me. "You're planning to walk home in all this snow?"
I laughed. "It's only an inch. I think I'll make it."
"Well, the least you can do is call Jackson when you get home so he doesn't have to worry," she said. Alice kissed me on the cheek and thanked the Dunkirks.
While Patrick and Clarity waved, I slipped back into the kitchen and filled the sink with soapy water. I dumped the silverware in as Clarity came into the kitchen.
"You really don't have to do that," she said.
"Let the poor man," her father said. "We're not about to kick out a guest for trying to help."
Clarity reluctantly joined me at the double sink and started scrubbing the salad dishes.
"It's the least I can do for announcing to everyone about your short story," I said.
She sighed. "It's fine. You made my dad happy, that's for sure."
Patrick chuckled. "That's right. Now all you need to do for me is convince her to let me read it." He ducked back into the dining room to gather the rest of the plates.
"I'm really sorry, Clarity. I screwed up everything I was trying to say." I took a deep breath. "I really need to talk to you."
"Polly left her reading glasses. I'll have to take them to her tomorrow," Patrick announced from the doorway.
I wanted to come clean to Clarity about Libby, but all I got the chance to do was wash dishes. Clarity worked beside me, polite but quiet.
"So how did those candied yams stack up?" Patrick asked. He put the last of the dishes on the counter next to me. "I suppose nothing can be as good as the food in your memories."
"Better," I said. "Thank you."
A rosy hue touched the top of Clarity's cheeks. "No problem."
"Oh, darn, I bet there are more empty glasses in the living room," Patrick left again.
I nudged Clarity. "It was really sweet of you to make those especially for me."
"I didn't, I mean, I did, but I was trying to …" Clarity puffed out a flustered breath and tried again. "You're welcome."
I looked at her from the corner of my eye and had to smile. "You're blushing," I whispered.
Clarity's cheeks burned brighter, but she nudged me back. We pressed back and forth in a playful skirmish, and my heart soared. Whatever strict lines she had drawn for herself shifted whenever we were together. The thought of freeing her from all her restrictions, seeing her shake off her inhibitions, was all-consuming.
I wanted Clarity, all of her.
"Careful, you're dripping soap on your shoes," Clarity whispered with one more flirtatious nudge.
I flicked the soap off my hands and leaned on the counter so I could study her pretty face. Her wide, emerald eyes flickered with nerves, but she didn't step back or look away. The look between us crackled with electricity.
"I really am sorry for outing your writing. You came to me in strictest confidence."
She smiled. "It's alright, you were nice enough to give me feedback."
"So you didn't mind coming up to my office to, ah, discuss your short story?" I asked then held my breath.
"Not at all," Clarity said. Her voice was like velvet. "Especially since you were so nice to walk me home under the maple trees."
"I hope you'll let me read your writing again sometime," I said. I reached out to brush the soft hair from her neck and froze.
Her father strode back in to the kitchen. "I'm so glad you convinced Clarity to start writing again. She used to write fairy tales and mysteries and all kinds of stories when she was a little girl, and I loved every single one of them," he said with a proud smile.
Clarity straightened up and stepped away. She kept her back to her father and scrubbed at the next stack of plates. "That was ba
ck when I was a little kid, Dad. I'm twenty-two now, an adult."
Her eyes flickered to mine, and the heat went straight to my core. I tore my gaze away from her and cleared my throat. "I'm sure it's hard for you to see, Patrick, but your daughter is a very mature woman."
Patrick chuckled. "A fact that worries me every day. I wish she could go back to being that carefree child making up stories for fun. She stopped writing after her mother left, and it was such a shame."
A plate slipped from Clarity's hand and disappeared back into the soapy sink. She plunged her hand into get it, and I reached in to give her hand a hidden squeeze.
Patrick puttered around the kitchen without noticing his daughter's sudden quiet. I spoke up to fill the void. "There's still a lot on that behemoth of a turkey. Any chance of leftovers for a starving, single professor?" I asked.
Clarity gave me a grateful glance and pulled her hands from the soapy water. She grabbed a dish towel and dried them. "I'll pack up leftovers for you. We have more of everything, including your candied yams."
"Excellent," Patrick said. "I'll go find a bag; I have a bunch leftover from the Landsman College food drive."
He disappeared down the hallway to his office. I dried my hands and caught Clarity as she flitted back and forth, scooping up leftovers. "You know I wasn't just being nice, right?"
"What?" she blinked up at me.
"About your writing. It shows real talent. Wait, what did you think I meant?" I asked. I was suddenly aware of her silken skin underneath my fingers and the taut flex of her slender arm. Before I could think better of it, I pulled her closer.
Clarity didn't resist, she looked at my lips and wetted her own. “Nothing. I just can't quite believe that you liked my writing that much."
"I really did." My voice was rough, scuffed by my rising attraction to her. "Have you done any more?"
"Any more ki—, writing?" Clarity stammered.
I chuckled. "Yes, writing. You've been so focused in class, so rigid. Maybe I can help loosen you up, as a writer. Help you believe in your writing a little more."
We broke apart but neither of us went far. I leaned on the counter by the sink, and Clarity drifted over to stand near me. "I don't know if I'll have the time anymore. Remember that bombshell you dropped about my internship?"
"How was I supposed to know? Man, I really walked right in and stuck my foot in my mouth, didn't I?"
Clarity laughed. "Is that why you had such a funny look on your face when you found out I was accepted?"
"What? No." I turned back to finish the dishes, but there was only one small saucer left. "Congratulations on that, by the way."
"You don't think I should do it," Clarity leaned over the sink to look me in the eye. The neckline of her shirt hung open, and I carefully kept my gaze on the soap suds. "Why not? What's wrong with working for Wire Communications? You did it."
"I just think you're too young to get dragged into such a dirty, corporate world. It's more about politics and money than it is about journalistic integrity at Wire Communications," I said.
"Too young?" Clarity's eyes flashed and she leaned closer. "You didn't think I was too young for other things."
I smiled at her fierce retort. "We're done with the dishes. Time to say goodnight?"
Her rose petal lips quirked in an effort to hide her smile. "How about I walk you out?"
I loved when her uncertainty disappeared, and I promised myself to rile her up in the future. It was hard to shake the thought and follow her into the dining room.
There, Clarity snuffed out the candles but glowed herself in the dim light. I stepped closer to her and reached to extinguish a far candle just so our bodies could brush.
"So is this why you were so nice about my short story?" Clarity asked.
An avalanche of snow couldn't have been more effective in freezing my fantasies. "Oh, my god, please tell me you don't think that could be true. It's not." I took her by the shoulders and spun her to face me. "I see more in your writing than puff pieces and articles. I don't want you to be restricted. You should be free to write whatever you desire."
"I wish I was free in my desires," Clarity muttered, and the words were like hot magma melting the ground between us.
She swayed closer, and I couldn't find the strength to step back.
"Ford," Clarity's father called from the hallway. We jumped apart, startled, and he called again. "Go ahead and leave the rest of the dishes. Come join me in my office."
"Don't worry," Clarity said, "you're not in trouble."
I scoffed at her. "As if you've ever been in trouble with the dean before."
I found Patrick leaning on his desk. As I walked in the door of his office, he pulled out two cigars and offered me one. "Care to join me? I find it helps with digestion."
"Is that the Landsman College logo? I had no idea the gift shop sold those," I said.
Patrick grinned. "No, these were specially made. A gift from one of our largest donors, Michael Tailor. I think you met him at the donors’ dinner." He held out the cigar again.
I shook my head. "No, thanks. I was never very good at it."
"Suit yourself. Do you mind if I do?"
I shook my head ‘no’ and took the seat he offered me. The dean's home office was simple but elegant, with a large, hand-carved desk and luxurious, leather chair. Patrick took the hard-backed chair next to me and lit his cigar.
"You know, I'm impressed with you. I think it's great how you can see past the narrow confines of your classroom," he said between puffs.
"I'm afraid other people think I'm not suited to academia for that very reason," I said.
Patrick shook his head. "I suppose it helps that you are closer in age to your students, but I think it's great how you get involved in their personal lives. Especially Clarity."
My eyes flared wide. "Especially Clarity?" I asked with my heart hammering. Had her father picked up on my feelings of attraction for his daughter? The thought horrified me, and I could barely keep it from my expression.
"Yes, by encouraging her creative writing. I am so happy that she took it up again. You have no idea how many hours she spent writing stories as a child."
I leaned back and relaxed my shoulders. "Well, that would explain why she's very good at it."
"It nearly broke my heart when she stopped." Patrick puffed on his cigar. The smoke drifted upwards in three wobbling rings. "Clarity is still so affected by her mother leaving. She's driven by the idea that she has to be the complete opposite of her mother to be a good person."
"Hmm," I said and wiped my palms on my knees.
"Oh, she wasn't how she sounds, not exactly. Clarity's mother and I were a bad match from the beginning, and I knew it. When she left I wasn't all that heartbroken, but it killed me to see what it did to Clarity." Patrick slapped my shoulder. "Take a little advice from an old man: it's not your heart you should follow when you fall in love, but your gut."
"My gut?" I asked.
Patrick returned my skeptical smile with a vigorous head nod. "I knew in my gut that Clarity's mother and I were never going to be able to make a serious go of things, but my heart wanted it to be true. I hesitated to make plans with her even from the start because I knew I couldn't rely on her, I knew she'd be gone sooner than later, but I tried anyway. Go with your gut."
I shrugged, uncomfortable. "My hunches have never really been that good," I said.
"Now, see, I can tell when someone is lying," Patrick sat forward and studied my face. "In fact, I think you might have already gotten a hunch about someone, but you're holding back."
There was a loud clatter from the kitchen, and Clarity's faint voice called, "I'm alright. Everything's fine."
Her father stood up. "I better go help dry the dishes. Help yourself to a glass of scotch. It'll warm you up before you head out in the snow."
I stood up as he headed out the door. It felt awkward to be alone in his office, but a moment later, I heard laughter in the kitchen. P
atrick was a genuinely kind and generous person, and his daughter... I needed a drink to think about Clarity.
On the far wall of the office was a built-in cabinet and shelves. I took a lowball glass from the shelf and turned the scotch bottle to admire the vintage before I poured a drink.
"Thanks a million, Michael Tailor?" I looked at the small, handwritten tag two more times before I put back my glass and backed away from the cabinet.
I paced back and forth and read the tag a few more times. Why was Michael Tailor giving the dean custom cigars and expensive scotch?
The short stretch between the cabinet and the opposite wall was not enough area to help me think. I expanded my pacing and took a lap around behind Patrick's desk. On the second lap, I felt the hardening cement in my stomach that meant I had a hunch.
A manila folder was open on the dean's desk, I didn't even have to touch the spread out pages to see what they were. Test scores from Michael Tailor Junior. Terrible test scores.
"Ouch, that's not going to get you into Landsman," I muttered.
Junior's application essay lay closer to the dean's computer. I stepped forward to read the ridiculously bad opening lines and accidentally bumped the desk.
The computer screen glowed to life and showed two documents. The one behind was a template from Landsman College entitled Acceptance Letter. The other was a new version of the application essay, or rather, a loose interpretation of what the young man must have meant.
Clarity's father was rewriting the essay and preparing to send Junior an acceptance letter.
The implications froze me to the spot, and that's where Clarity found me. She bounced into the door frame and laughed. "I hope you're not looking at those terrible pictures of me. He insists on keeping them on his desk even though they're almost a decade old."
Words couldn't escape around the wedge in my throat. Clarity took a step in the door and locked her eyes on my face. I cleared my throat, but no words came out.
"What's the matter? What is it?" Clarity rushed across the office.
