“Sorry,” she hurried to say. “You don’t need to—”
“It’s fine.” His second finger folded down, the movement brushing her back. “It’s just ... I’ve tried very hard not to show my doubts. I honestly didn’t think anyone realized, but ...”
Maybe no one but herhadnoticed his discontent. Unless you paid near-obsessive attention to Dr. William Dern, his charming smile would misdirect your attention so you wouldn’t notice those pre-coffee circles of exhaustion underhis eyes. The thoughtful questions he asked everyone—about their day, their background, their interests—would obscure how little he actually talked about himself. And the quiet, kind earnestness in the dark eyes behind those horn-rimmed frames would distract you from the occasional faint sadness in his voice.
She heard that sadness every time he mentioned having to teach classes for an online-only university or pick up English Comp sections at Dogwood U, because he needed to supplement the one or two early American history survey courses he was assigned each semester. Otherwise, if he only taught the subjects he most loved, he couldn’t possibly make ends meet. None of the adjunct instructors could.
She’d read his doctoral thesis—he’d earned his PhD right there at Dogwood—the week after meeting him. Thought it was a brilliant, well-written exploration of the intersections of class and sexuality in colonial Virginia, as exemplified by the shipyard workers he’d so extensively researched. She’d also wondered how often he actually got to use any of that hard-won knowledge.
Her guess? Very seldom. And he’d been an adjunct at Dogwood for six years, ever since earning his doctorate—which meant the field had already moved on. The scholarship had continued to evolve. If he was so busy scrambling to earn a living wage, how could he possibly take enough time to keep current?
Most adjuncts couldn’t, past a certain point. She and Claudia were trying, but only because they were still fresh to the gig. Still hopeful this was a temporary setback and they’d find a full-time tenure-track positionsomewhere, sooner rather than later. Even though the job market in academia had tanked long before they’d earned their own PhDs.
She’d heard William was a great teacher too. Calm, caring, and knowledgeable.
And none of that—his teaching ability, his intelligence, his hard work—was enough to earn him a promotion at his place of employment. Or even, at times, adequate wages to pay rent and feed himself.
“I love it at Dogwood, I really do,” he began as if defending himself. “There’s a reason it’s my undergraduateandgraduate alma mater, and there’s a reason I’ve taught there for six years. But at a certain point ...”
He was trying so hard to sound matter-of-fact, but all she could hear was the doubt and grief freighting each word, the frustration of a smart, diligent man stuck where he didn’t want to be.
She held him tighter, and it wasn’t even the slightest bit sexual. Not at this moment.
After a pause, he tried again. “At a certain point, even I have to acknowledge that the likelihood of my landing a tenure-track position there—or even a full-time position with benefits—is minimal. And since I’ve been scrambling for work and had limited time to research and publish, I’m probably not hirable for a tenure-track job elsewhere either. Not anymore.”
“You feel like you’ve wasted your time.” That was what he was telling her. What she’d already surmised, in large part. “Or at least your potential.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Most days, though, that’s not even the worst of it, Nina.”
She kept her tone gentle. “Whatisthe worst of it, then?”
“The sheer indignity of how our adjunct faculty are treated,” he said without hesitation. “We’re paid peanuts and earn no benefits. We’re given flimsy, tiny offices in the library’s cubicle farm. Our names aren’t even listed on theuniversity website. We have to pay to park on campus even thoughwe work there.”
The raw honesty in his voice, the way he was trusting her with such intimate revelations—it humbled her. Honored her, even as she hurt for him.
He added, “For the past couple years, I’ve been questioning whether I have anywhere else to go that would be better. Anywhere I could have a genuinely livable future. And then ...”
He trailed off. Sucked in a hard breath and swallowed back his words.
She prompted him after a minute. “And then?”
“And then ...” It took him another few moments, but he finally finished his thought. “This semester, the prospect of staying a while longer didn’t seem quite so bad.”
Because Claudia had arrived.
She was happy that her best friend’s presence at the university had eased some of his misery, even if their newfound relationship was a knife-twist in Nina’s gut.
Wincing from the reminder that the man in her arms wasn’t hers—would never be hers—she reached for a different, lighter subject than their probable lack of a real professional future.
“I’m glad,” she told him sincerely. “And thank you for sharing something so personal with me, William. I take that as a high compliment, and I’m grateful for it.”
“You’re grateful?” He sort of ... deflated against her, for some reason. “Okay.”
“I know it’s not my turn, but ...” This should brighten his mood, even if it hurt her. “Never have I ever cuddled with a colleague before tonight.”
Another easy point for her side. He and Claudia had clearly hooked up last night, when she’d disappeared into hisroom for an hour. And in the past, Nina had always kept business and pleasure entirely separate.
Not anymore, of course. Tonight’s embrace might have emerged out of practicality, and it might remain chaste in almost every possible way, but the experience of lying in his arms was most definitely pleasurable for her. Too pleasurable for her comfort.
