Triumph and aggravation suited her equally, he’d found. Both allowed her to draw straight and comfortably inhabit every inch of her tall, round body, rather than curling in on herself as she’d been doing since the summer.
In her own way, she was lovely. Striking and utterly unique.
Her brown hair shone as it swung to her jaw, and those glasses emphasized the intelligence in her gaze. Her rosy cheeks curved sweetly, and so did her br—
No. He wouldn’t venture there, despite his recent, unwelcome discovery that physical need, the simple desire to touch and be touched intimately, hadn’t died with his wife.
Walt Whitman’s words unspooled in his mind.The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account.
When Candy stepped closer, his breath stalled in his lungs.
“You thought I didn’t know about the origins of those grammatical rules? I do, of course. I also realize their inherent foolishness. That said”—leaning in until her bodily warmth became an inadvertent taunt, Candy tapped his chest with one short fingernail—“let me askyoua question, Griff. Do you think each and every AP grader in Salt Lake City considers those rules foolish? What about the people reading and rating college admission essays? What about old-school university professors grading student papers?”
Ah. Even in his muddled mind, that made a surprising amount of sense.
“So you may not personally care about split infinitives and dangling prepositions, but you’re preparing your students for people who might.” That single spot on his chest was aflame, but he tried to act normally. Like a colleague, not a man at war with himself. “I apologize for underestimating your knowledge and thoughtful consideration of these matters.”
To his surprise, she laughed.
The room rang with it, the noise exuberant and irresistible. He found himself laughing too, and he had no idea why. Maybe because this was the first time he’d elicited that particular sound. Maybe because he was so tired of being sad all the damn time. Maybe because her body literally shook with the force of her mirth, and the sight was more charming than it should be.
It was fitting, too. Candy Albright didn’t traffic in half-measures. Not in outrage, not in joy, not in anything.
Her laughter faded to a smile that pierced him with its clear affection. “I’m just delighted to find someone who wants to talk about these issues with me. And as you’ve clearly realized, I relish a good argument. There’s absolutely no need to apologize.”
Before her, he would have said he avoided arguments whenever possible. That he found them stressful. But maybe…that wasn’t entirely true.
Marianne, the gentlest of souls, a product of her parents’ bitter divorce, had trembled when they argued. Cringed. Although she could handle moody teenagers in her guidance counselor’s office, she didn’t enjoy that kind of strife in her personal life.
Because he loved her, he’d done his best to shield her from any and all conflict—even verbal skirmishes conducted on an intellectual battlefield with no real rancor involved. She and Griff weren’t one of those couples who bickered, either in fun or bitter enmity.
For the first time, though, he could picture how a relationship could work differently. Howhecould work differently in a relationship. How those differences might not constitute a hardship.
Which was rampant disloyalty, ugly and heartless. Wasn’t it?
“That said, I’m afraid our continuing friendship may depend on one crucial question,” he dimly heard Candy say, even though he hadn’t realized theywerefriends. Not until just now, anyway. “How do you feel about the Oxford comma?”
“Indispensable,” he muttered through numb lips.
Somehow she performed that trick again, gathering all the light in the room to herself. This time, she released all that brightness, all the energy, in her beaming smile. “Good. That’s the correct answer, and I accept no other.”
When a knock came from the doorway, only a foot or two away, he turned his head dazedly. Only to find their principal, Tess Dunn, standing there, lounging comfortably against the doorframe. She looked as though she’d been lingering for quite some time, and they simply hadn’t noticed her. A ridiculous thought, because of course they’d have seen her. With her standing that close, they couldn’t possibly have missed her.
But her first words dispelled that notion. “I’m heartened you two came to an agreement on the important matters. Frankenstein, split infinitives, even comma usage. If only all conflicts were so easily resolved.”
Her sharp gaze traveled to Candy. Lingered on that faded t-shirt, the jaw-length bob, the still-puffy eyes. Then she turned her attention to him, studying his shaggy hair and beard, the undeniable bags beneath his own eyes. Self-consciously, he scratched at his jaw again.
“You know…” The principal paused for several moments, brow crinkled, before encompassing both of them in a determined smile. “I’m so glad I caught the two of you together. I wanted to speak to you both about an upcoming project.”
Candy’s shoulders squared, and she straightened to her full height, a soldier standing at attention before her respected commander. “I enjoy projects, and I’m delighted to assist with whatever you need.”
“I know you enjoy projects, Candy.” The gentle, teasing affection in Tess’s voice endeared her further to Griff—and he’d already formed a very high opinion of his head administrator. “Thank you for agreeing to one more, sight unseen. I appreciate your willingness to help.”
At that point, he didn’t really have much of a choice, did he?
“I’d be happy to help too.” He raised his brows in inquiry. “What does the project entail?”
“Good question, Griff. Good…question.” Tess bit her lip and glanced around Candy’s room. “It’s a very important task, involving—”
