Chapter Seven
Ian
I hadn’t seen Darcy in three excruciatingly long days.
It felt more like years. I stood by the whiteboard, watching the clock, and killing time until class started. I hadn’t received a sick note, so I assumed she would attend my lecture.
She’d actually missed a class this week—Darcy never skipped. Although she’d sent me a short, professional email stating she was “under the weather.”
Something told me Darcy had been avoiding me.
And could I blame her? No.
I shouldn’t have kissed her cheek the other night. I hoped she gave me the chance to explain, to apologize.
Darcy always arrived early, then we chitchatted before class started. But a couple of other students trickled in before she arrived. Dammit, now I couldn’t speak freely.
She didn’t walk into my class until the very last minute. Starved for the sight of her, I couldn’t help but stare.
Darcy took a seat by the door as if ready to flee at any moment. And she didn’t make eye contact. I’d like nothing more than to order them all out so I could speak with her, but I had a job to do. So I started rambling on about romantic poets.
At the end of the hour, I handed their essays back. On Darcy’s I’d scribbled a quick note—See me after class. A couple students lingered, asking questions about their papers. I answered their queries as fast as possible, then pushed them out the door.
That just left Darcy.
Finally. Alone at last.
It was an evening class, and the building had emptied out.
Now that I had her here, I fumbled for something to say. And I always knew the right words. Perhaps I should’ve written a few remarks down, prepared myself.
“Hi.”
We hadn’t seen each other in forever, and all I got was a “hi”? I didn’t trust myself to speak, afraid I’d give the game away.
“You wanted to see me, Dr. Sterling?” she said.
“I told you to call me Ian when we’re alone.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Darcy, if I made you uncomfortable the other day, please allow me to apologize.”
“You didn’t. I…” She pinched her lower lip. “Never mind.”
“So, we’re good, then?”
Darcy nodded.
“Have dinner with me.”
“Uh…”
“So we can make plans for next fall.” I should be appalled by my own actions. I behaved like a stalker or a sexual harasser. And yet I knew she had feelings for me—she wasn’t immune either.
Darcy hesitated for a moment, opening her mouth then closing it. “Okay. Where? In the cafeteria downstairs?”
“No, not on campus.”
I wanted to be alone with her, somewhere discreet. Columbia was a surprisingly small place, especially for a professor.
“Where, then? The French place?”
“Yes.” I could wine and dine Darcy at Maison Rose, maybe even impress her. “What do you say?”
“Let’s go.”
***
Darcy
The next thing I knew, we were back in a booth at Maison Rose. In the early evening, it was a more elegant place, with linen napkins and real china. Ian even ordered a bottle of Bordeaux for us.
So much for my plan to back away from Ian. I hadn’t even made it a full week before caving in.
“Are we supposed to be drinking together?” I frowned at my glass of wine.
“We’re both of legal age, right?”
“Right.”
“Then I don’t see a problem. Do you?”
“No, I guess not.” And now I felt like a stick in the mud.
But there was a perception problem here. We were no longer on campus, and we sat at a candlelit table, with wine. Everything about it screamed date. While nothing untoward had happened, precisely, the stage had been set for it. Or I’m paranoid.
“Then drink up.” Ian took a sip. “Americans can be puritanical when it comes to alcohol.”
“What do you mean?” The wine was good, rich and dark on my tongue. Ah, the taste of temptation.
“My grandmother’s French and I used to stay with her in the summer. Wine is considered a national treasure, along with all the cheese. They used to give me sips as a child.”
Hmm, maybe the relaxed atmosphere was the reason you didn’t see viral videos of French frat boys chugging on a beer bong. Alcohol was “forbidden fruit,” which gave it even more appeal.
“Makes sense. We want what we can’t have.”
Ian’s nostrils flared. “I agree.” His voice had a ragged edge.
Yikes. Why hadn’t I phrased it differently? And I wished I could crawl under the table and hide.
I cleared my throat. “France must’ve been exciting. I’d love to travel.” I hoped the topic change would help.
“You haven’t?”
“No, my family had the means, but my dad’s a bit of a homebody.” His publishing schedule didn’t leave much wiggle room. “After I get a teaching position, I’ll use my summers to travel.” Assuming I didn’t get loaded down with courses to teach.
“And what about your other calling?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve read your work, Darcy. It’d be a shame if you didn’t pursue it. Are you going to write during the summers?”
“I’m not sure. Writing isn’t a practical way to make a living.” I feared relying solely on my creativity.
“Nothing fun is. Take it from me: your passions won’t die just because you don’t pursue them. Like Poe’s raven or even Keats’ Nightingale—they’ll haunt you.”
Hmm, Ian said it as though he spoke from experience.
“And what passions have you been denying?”
Ian sucked in a breath.
Ugh. What’s wrong with me? I’d become the queen of innuendo. Poppy would say my subconscious mind reared its ugly head—and she’d be right.
“I mean in the creative sense, obviously.”
“Painting.” His lips twitched. “Among other things.”
I ignored the last bit. “You’re a painter? Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“Like you, I have many secrets. And in college, I was originally a theater major.” He ran a hand down the length of his tweed coat. “You’re looking at Macbeth.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“What medium do you use?”
“Mostly oil paint.”
“Portraits? Still life?”
I knew a bit about art, but not much. And I itched to see some of his work.
“Mostly portraits.”
“Why’d you give it up to pursue teaching?”
He shrugged. “It’s a long, involved story, but things were chaotic at the time. Stability is something I needed badly, and a professor’s job is steady and predictable.”
“You make it sound like a minivan.” Was being a professor Ian’s fallback position? Odd. He’s a good teacher.
“I suppose it is. So, I chose my love of books, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He leaned forward. “Tell you what, when we’re finished, I’ll show you some of my work. My flat’s not too far away.”
My breath caught. I should say no, call it a night, and then go home. But Ian made me want to do something wicked, outrageous.
All of a sudden, I channeled Kate. The thought should’ve frightened me—it didn’t, which really should’ve scared me.
What had I gotten myself into?