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On her doorstep he kissed her again—a long, slow lingering thing that tasted of wine and apples. The old oak tree that shaded her yard cast long shadows alternated with stripes of moonlight over them and the breeze drifted to them smelling of crisping leaves and the ineffable tang of impending autumn.
He stepped back, brushed an errant strand of hair from her forehead and said, “See you at school,” before he headed back to the waiting taxi.
Sandra leaned against her door, ignoring the fact that everyone and anyone who had been passing by could have seen them, and probably did. She stood out there watching the twin cherries of the taillights fade into the darkness.
A tiny little fizzing burst of joy filled her chest and she did her beat to tamp it down. Men like Connor Beaumont dated women who were exciting, glamorous and …not her. The joy deflated and she slumped against the hard wood of her front door. The wine had begun to wear on her, her stomach ached, and her head hurt as well. She turned and let herself in, vowing not to lose control around him again.
**
That was easier said than done. The next day a gorgeous single white rose appeared on her desk, wrapped in a thin white tissue and tied with a silver ribbon. Sandra had the mother of all hangovers, both from food and wine, and was dealing with students who were either utterly unimpressed with the course—which they had assumed would be an easy A—or barracuda-like academics jockeying for a leg up in a job market that was rarely hiring. Her mood was understandably sour but the sight of that perfect rose, its creamy outer petals opening just enough to give her a glimpse of its pure heart, lightened her spirits even if it could not help the dull headache that persisted throughout the long day.
The bud sat in a tall glass for the rest of the day as she taught her last class, dealt with a student who was determined to get extra credit before the course even fully began while she packed up her things for the day.
Just as she picked up her messenger bag Connor’s leonine head popped around her doorframe. “I felt like shit most of the day,” he announced. “I wanted to apologize for wrecking your day too.”
“You should be taken out on the commons and hanged.” Even as she spoke, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Connor looked a little worse than she did—after all, she had makeup to hide the effects of the previous evening.
Shadows teemed under his eyes and his skin was slightly pallid under his tan. Fatigue showed in the droop of his shoulders.
“When I first woke up I was rather hoping someone would have the mercy to kill me,” he admitted. “Then I was pretty sure the sun was going to incinerate me but at the last minute it decided to go behind some clouds.”
“It was a rough morning.” Sandra conceded. “Remind me to never mix apples and …what the hell all did we eat anyway? I think it is the sugar crash that sucks worse than the hangover.”
“I think it was the last set of pastries and that ice wine that did it.”
“I do not remember ice wine. I do not even know what that is.”
“It was very sweet and cold.”
“I thought that was the ice cream.”
Connor laughed. “I think I am going to have to remember that trying to impress you on a school night should not involve alcohol.”
“You were trying to impress me?” She was not being coy; she was sincerely surprised that he would feel the need to impress her.
“Of course. You are hard to impress though. You blew me off for the last bite of tarte.”
Sandra, amused, exclaimed, “You said you did not want it!”
“I lied.”
“You ate the last of…whatever that was…”
“Yes and I think that was the thing that rolled up into my chest somewhere around noon and lodged there. I need some good nutritious food and a long walk to sort myself out, care to join me?”
Sandra opened her mouth to say she had a ton of work to do but instead, “That would be lovely,” popped out of her mouth. So much for being strong around him, she thought ruefully.
The walk turned out to be just what she needed too. They headed over to the lake, a long walking trail surrounded it, branching into smaller trails, and after consuming light salads and coffee they took off on a slow that took them around the circumference of the lake.
The glittering sheet of water lay under the fading sky, the multitude of ducks and geese that lived there paraded past or swam across the water in sedate little groups. Other walkers swung past or ran by and small kids tossed breadcrumbs at the fowl.
“This is the lake you sail on I take it?”
“Yes. It is twelve miles long and four wide so it is a really large lake. There is a lot of breezes due to the mountains there and…” she paused, aware that it sounded like she was giving him a lesson. “I never asked if you sail.”
“I do not. I can’t swim so I tend to stay out of the water.”
Sandra’s mouth fell open. “You can’t swim?”
