Aiken

Coming out of the registrar’s office, I pulled my cap low on my forehead, needing a few minutes to digest what I’d learned. My brain felt like one of those pinball machines—a million thoughts zigzagging through my mess of a head.

My mom hadn’t finished school. She’d also been dismissed for disturbing the peace more than once, until finally they refused to reinstate her as a student.

All it took were a few flashes of my farm-boy baby blues, and the woman behind the desk spilled my mom’s file in front of me. Arrested outside an African-American studies program, removed from a sit-in during a football game, caught harassing people at a Greek Life event. My momma had been a wild one—certainly not the church-going, God-loving woman my dad made her out to be.

I wondered if he knew she was a bona fide badass with the reputation to back it up. I couldn’t seem to reconcile what I’d learned with the little I remembered and from what my dad told me.

By the time I walked across the quad to the Frable building, I narrowly managed to shove it all out of mind. My woman was waiting for me on the other side of the door, and damn, if that didn’t feel fucking great. I hadn’t expected to get sidetracked from my quest for my mom when I’d moved here, but I wasn’t going to argue with fate.

I’d bought that stupid yellow house for a reason, one I firmly believed was Claire. I was meant to fall for the beautiful professor and make her happy again.

I didn’t care if that made me a romantic fool or not.

Inside the dark building, I pulled off my hat and fixed my hair, glancing down at my cargo shorts and polo shirt. My running shoes carried me up the stairs to the third floor, to the left, and then to the last door on the right—Dr. Claire Richards was firmly affixed on the closed door.

As soon as I knocked, the door opened, and a blond-haired, blue-eyed young girl met my gaze.

“Sorry, excuse me. I was asking Dr. Richards a quick question.” She darted to my left and then stopped, her eyes quickly looking me up and down once, then twice.

Next, she cocked her hip and stuck her minimal cleavage in my face.

“Hi,” she added breathlessly.

Oh boy, this wasn’t faring well for Claire’s arguments about me being too young for her.

“No problem, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said, racking my brain. Christ, she looked familiar. Maybe I’d seen her at Juicey’s. I told myself it was the stress of my morning. I hadn’t met many people here, and I would’ve remembered this girl. I wasn’t attracted to her, just shocked that she reminded me of someone. I didn’t know who exactly, but someone. I didn’t want to give off the I’m-interested vibe, so I schooled my features and made sure not to stare.

“I’m Abigail, but everyone calls me Abbie.”

“Aiken Fordham.” I held out my hand, keeping our interaction businesslike. “I’m here to take Richards over there to lunch.” I imagined Claire rolling her eyes and clenching her fists at my casual statement.

“Professor Richards, you mean?” The young chick eyed me with newfound curiosity, like a cat who just discovered an open can of tuna.

“Thanks, Abbie,” Claire called out, dismissing her.

Thank fuck. My head volleyballed between the two. I’d heard of Abbie with an ie…maybe I’d conjured the whole she’s-familiar thing.

“Hi.” I turned my full attention to Claire, putting all errant thoughts out of my mind.

“Hi, welcome to my office. The place where everyone knows my name.”

She stood behind her desk, casual in skinny jeans and a sleeveless buttoned blouse of some sort—I didn’t know the right name. Papers were stacked everywhere, the shelves were lined with books, and an empty coffee mug sat on the desk. The place fit her like a well-worn boot.

“So, that was Abbie?”

“Oh, yes, Abbie with five million questions. Pushing her way into classes she has no business being in, showing up early, and staying late. Now she wants to work on a research project that studies women who were raised by single dads. She’s pushing me to recommend her, and Mary keeps sending her my way. I don’t know why. Probably some fixation that…that…I don’t even know how to put this…that this Abbie is going to fix me. And now you just handed the dog a bone.” She let out a long breath. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“I was worried you were going to pass out. You didn’t even stop to breathe during that monologue.”

“Come on, feed me.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t try those lines here, farm boy.”

I waited for her to exit the room, my hand on her lower back, then pulling the door closed.

“It locks automatically.”

“Let’s roll. What are you in the mood for?”

“I don’t want to go to the Union. How about the salad place down on Main?”

“Never been…let’s go.”

She wanted salad, I was game.

“They have other stuff. Sandwiches, wraps, really good fries.”

“It’s sounding better already.”

We walked next to each other down the stairs, my hand itching to catch hers, but I didn’t know the protocol.

Outside, she fished a pair of sunglasses out of her purse and looked up at the sun.

“Ahh, feels good.”

I swallowed a moan. Her smooth skin, outstretched neck, lean legs, shiny hair flowing down her back—she was a vision.

“I take it you don’t like the snow?”

“Not really.”

We walked at a steady pace through the remainder of the quad and down the street to the small town surrounding campus. Trees littered the edge of the sidewalk, and in the distance, a lawn mower rumbled.

“On your left.” A guy on an electric bike came whizzing by, with zero courtesy or control.

“Watch it, dude,” I called and earned myself a girlie punch in the arm.

“What?” I put on my puppy eyes.

“Could’ve been a student of mine.”

“I don’t care. He was riding like an ass. Almost hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself.” She nudged her shoulder into mine. “But thanks. It’s been a while since anyone’s even tried to look out for me.”

This hurt me in ways I couldn’t explain. I was a fixer, and Claire needing fixing. She was too fierce to admit it, but I knew.

“Well, consider that over. It’ll be a while before someone doesn’t look out for you.”

At the intersection, we crossed, and Claire pointed. “Over there.”

It was a froufrou kind of place, even for a small college town like this, but I wasn’t going to say no.

Hardwood floors with dark mahogany wood along the walls, black and white tiled counters, and salad makers wearing faux tuxedo shirts behind the counter.

“Hi, welcome to Penguin’s. First time?”

“Not for me,” Claire told the young woman behind the counter, who had silver glitter on her eyes and a million bangle bracelets up her arms. The kind of girl I was expected to go after—younger, sillier, less baggage—but who did zilch for me.

“Guilty.” I waved.

“Okay, well, we have a create-your-own salad bar, and then on the wall, our sandwiches and soups are listed.”

“You promised fries.” I turned to give Claire the stink-eye.

“Hold your horses, partner. I’ll have a create-your-own salad and a large fries, mayo dip on the side, and whatever he’s having.”

“Hey now, what’s that all about?”

“Lunch is on me. There’s equality now, in case you didn’t know. Women can do whatever men can do, sometimes even better.”

A line was building behind us, so I asked for a grilled chicken club and a cup of soup, watched Claire hand over her credit card, and finally, pulled her close to my hip while she waited her turn for her salad.

“That was hot, your whole women can do everything men can do thing,” I whispered for her ears only.

“Was it now?”

“Pretty much.”

Her number was called, and she assembled her salad, instructing the coed in a tux shirt which toppings she wanted and how to chop it—medium—and what dressing she wanted—vinaigrette.

Seated in a back booth, I slid in next to Claire rather than across.

“This is cozy. Did I mention you smell great?”

“Good thing I didn’t order onions.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A server brought the fries and sandwich, locating our table by the number, before stealing away.

I plopped a fry in the mayo concoction and held it up in front of Claire’s mouth. “Ladies first.”

“Mmmm.” Her mouth made love to the fry, and I wished it was something else entirely.

Quickly, I decided next time I’d bring lunch to her office.

“So, did you go to the registrar?”

It was like a bucket of water had been dumped on top of my head.

“I did. Apparently, Bruce was right. My mom was, in fact, reckless and a well-known troublemaker. Never finished school and was tossed out for one too many organized protests.”

“Wow. Your dad never mentioned any of this?”

“Nope. He made my mom out to be this God-fearing woman. From what I remember, she was sweet-tempered. Almost too even, if I think hard about it.”

“Sounds like you need to have a chat with your dad.”

I nodded. “I hate bringing it up to him. He takes it hard. Too hard.”

“I don’t want to say this, and probably will regret doing so, but maybe you should just let your mom be? She obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

“I’ll think about it,” I lied. I should have been angry at her suggestion, but Claire knew better than anyone how it felt to not get answers. She might have been right. Perhaps I should let it all go, but I couldn’t yet.

I changed the subject to something better. “It’s Wednesday. What are you doing this weekend? I want to go explore or do something.”

She finished chewing and looked up at me. “Is this normal, to be discussing a weekend together? Already?”

“I’m no expert…you tell me.” My fingers mixed with hers, and I scooched my ass closer to her.

“It certainly feels right,” she said, “but maybe I’m wrong. Forgive me for saying this, but in the past, when things felt too good, they usually were.”

With my hand now on top of hers on the table, food spread out in front of us, chatter everywhere, I didn’t whisper. “You got to drop that feeling. It’s okay to believe in happiness, all that shit.” My lips ghosted along her cheek, making their way toward her ear. “And I see a lot of happiness with you and me this weekend…and next.”

Her eyes scanned the crowd.

I called her out on it. “Don’t you dare look for a student. I’m a man, you’re a woman, and it’s perfectly fine for me to kiss your cheek in public, Richards. Now eat and tell me about the weekend.”

“I have to grade the final paper for my class. Summer session is shorter. We only meet for six weeks, and I’ve only been there for three of them so far. Some of them started the assignment before I came…overachievers and all that. So, yep, grading.”

“Good, I have a new site to design. You’ll never guess my new client.”

“Who?” I wiped a small drop of dressing from the corner of her mouth, loving the needy expression running through her eyes as I licked it off my own thumb.

“Juicey’s.”

“No! How did that come about?”

“I was looking on Craigslist, and they had a posting for a marketing intern and a web-design person. I think they’re trying to change their image.”

“They should start with their name.”

“You think? I was thinking I’d give a whole new meaning to the word juice.”

“You do that,” she said, stuffing a forkful of lettuce in her mouth and chewing.

“I’m working a new basic logo for them and getting a new site up and running, and hopefully they’ll have an intern by then who can manage it. I also need to work on a revamp for a place back home. They opened a pie shop, so they need to add some pages.”

Done with my sandwich, I pushed my tray to the side and grabbed a few fries.

They were pretty damn good.

“Good, right?” Her free hand skimmed my thigh under the table.

“Oh, that’s good all right.” I raised an eyebrow and leaned in, kissing her cheek.

“I meant the fries.” She squeezed my leg.

“I was just thinking that you taste better than fries. But these…” I wiggled a fry in the air. “I may have to make this one of my regular stops.”

“Oh, right, with abs like yours…”

“I didn’t know you liked them so much.” I leaned back in, keeping my voice low, my flirting for Claire’s ears only.

“Not much. I’m just saying, with all your running.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Let’s go back to the weekend.”

“Since you have work to do, and so do I, we could head over to the coffee place, work, flirt, work.”

“Is that how this works? You flirt and disrupt me while I try to work? With all your getting close and leaning in?”

“You can flirt back with me a little bit too, if you want.”

She set her fork down and moved her bowl out of the way. “I’ll take that into consideration, Fordham.” With a quick peck to my cheek, she said, “Sadly, I have to go. Department meeting about fall semester. It’ll be here before we know it. Ten thousand new freshmen looking to find themselves.”

My thigh was immediately cold without her hand.

“Let’s have a drink later, with Smitty by our feet.”

“Okay,” she said and made her way out of the booth. “See you later.”

She didn’t sway her ass or cock her hip to the side when she walked out. Yet she attracted several head turns. She was one of those natural beauties—who didn’t know it, of course.