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Hmmm. She was enjoying his discomfort far too much.
“I’ll be up-front about us knowing each other,” he explained. “PostModern isn’t a typical publication, and they’re always looking for new approaches to a story.”
“Maybe the editor wants you to explore a new style,” Nicole suggested.
“It’s possible,” he admitted.
Actually, it was not only possible, but likely. Nicole’s remark had reminded him of Syd’s prodding over the past few years, saying she wanted him to stretch more often beyond the short, pithy commentary he did for his columns. She liked his longer work and believed he should do more of it, lest he grow hidebound in one style. Now that he thought of the trial paragraphs he’d written so far on the article, he knew they weren’t what Syd wanted.
He straightened, a sense of determination filling him. He could do this.
Nicole served salad onto her plate. “I suppose it’s impossible to ever be completely objective. We look at life through the lens of our culture and our experiences.”
“That’s what I want my students to understand,” Barton said. “Some of them originally came from other parts of the world, and I think it’s wise for everyone to find out that there isn’t just one way of doing things or of thinking about them.”
“You want to teach them tolerance,” Terri remarked.
“Maybe more than that,” Chelsea suggested.
“Definitely more,” Barton agreed. “I don’t think tolerance is a high enough standard.”
“Me, either,” Nicole said. “It’s better than nothing, but surely we’re ready to go beyond it.”
“Like respect and appreciation,” Chelsea added.
It wasn’t the discussion Jordan had expected over dinner on Nicole’s deck. So…what had he anticipated? Something light and fluffy? A review of fashion or the latest blockbuster film? Or maybe Nicole was just trying to prove she could be a serious thinker.
His head began pounding in earnest as he forked up a chunk of beef from his shish kebab. It was delicious, he thought absently, marinated just right and grilled to perfection. Nicole might not have had much time to cook over the years, but it appeared she knew what she was doing.
“Did you?” Terri asked, poking his shoulder, and Jordan realized that he’d lost track of the conversation.
“Sorry, I was miles away. Did I what?”
“See the latest Star Wars film. Nicole says it was good.”
Irony struck him at the much more casual subject. How had they gone from a discussion of social and educational policies to movies?
“No, I missed seeing it.” He listened more carefully as the conversation shifted to baseball.
Barton was proving to be a good addition to the dinner party, helping make the evening more comfortable, or perhaps more casual. There was too much history between the Masterses and the Georges, not that anyone except him knew the full story. But even without that, Terri could make things awkward and all the events of the past week added to the potential for tension.
Jordan glanced at Barton, still wondering if Nicole was hoping to fix him up with Chelsea or had a personal interest in the guy. Or was Nicole’s joke about having an ally against the “Masters of the Universe” the real explanation?
Funny. No one had used that line on him before, though Jordan had heard other jokes about his supposed arrogance. But then, he wasn’t entirely sure whether the Masters of the Universe were the good guys or the villains.
Nicole was sharp and he was confronting her intelligence in a way he never had in the past. It wasn’t that he’d believed she was dumb, it was more that deep down he’d assumed she hadn’t needed her brains.
Resignation went through Jordan. He’d said some stupid things about Nicole when they were kids…things that would have gotten back to her. She was probably going to spend their time together trying to expose his biases.
Her fingers brushed his as she handed him a basket of garlic bread, and he ignored the warm flush up his arm…that is, he almost succeeded in ignoring it.
* * *
NICOLE WONDERED WHERE Jordan’s mind kept wandering to; he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the discussion.
