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Chapter 6
I’ll be damned.
Lincoln stopped in the classroom doorway, fixing his gaze on the redhead from the diner. Her cheeks were bright pink, and horror darkened her eyes. She opened and closed her mouth, then shook her head quickly.
“Mr. Atwood, I presume?” She rose from her chair, her mouth twisting with regret. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, and obviously I didn’t intend for you to overhear me being critical about you or your writing.”
Lincoln shrugged. “I’ve gotten worse reviews than that. Been called worse things, too.”
Her hazel gaze met his, and her color deepened. “Um, please come in. This is my colleague, Erica Bartholomew.”
“Freshman Literature.” The older woman’s smile was both wide and genuine. “It’s a thrill to meet you, Mr. Atwood, but I’ll leave you and Grace alone to…work things out. Let me know if you need anything. I’m right down the hall in Room 204.”
“I will, thank you.”
The redhead watched Erica go with faint longing, as if she really didn’t want the other woman to leave.
“So you’re Grace Berry.” Lincoln approached her desk.
Despite her Shakespeare book and overstuffed bag, he hadn’t had the rhubarb-pie-loving, rumpled woman from the diner pegged as a teacher. Much less the one whose class he was going to join for the next five weeks.
She didn’t seem happy about it, either. Her reaction was the exact opposite of what Hank Spruce had led Lincoln to believe. Miss Berry, Hank had informed him, was bothhonoredanddelightedby the notion of letting him into her classroom.
Miss Berry didn’t look or sound any too honored and delighted.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he said.
“You too.” She fidgeted with the sleeves of her blue sweater, which was embroidered with little green leaves. The buttons were done up right this time, all the way to the white collar of her shirt. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t prepared for this whole situation. Principal Spruce just informed me less than an hour ago that you’ll be teaching my class.”
“Considering I know nothing about teaching, I hope not.” Lincoln skimmed his gaze over the classroom walls, which were decorated with portraits and quotes of historical writers. “The principal asked if I’d come in as what he called a ‘Real World Specialist’ to talk to your students about writing and publishing. I was under the impression you were okay with that. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
She winced a little. “Again, I apologize. I wasn’t supposed to have a Real World Specialist until next year, so this news caught me off guard.”
“I didn’t know that. I just wanted to meet you before starting tomorrow.”
“Oh, well…” She gestured to a desk. “Please sit down and we can talk.”
Lincoln folded himself into one of the student chairs, expecting Miss Berry to sit at her desk. Instead she turned a student desk to face opposite him and sat. Her color was still high, but she had a quick composure that he suspected served her well in a classroom of unruly teenagers.
“So you…” She straightened the hem of her sweater and looked at a point past his shoulder. “You’re Lincoln Atwood.”
“Scoundrel and sanctimonious pirate, at your service.”
A smile twitched her mouth. She shifted her eyes to his. “We’re doing a lesson plan on Shakespearean vocabulary and insults. They’re on my mind at the moment.”
“I should be glad you didn’t call me athrice-double assor abacon-fed knave. Although those wouldn’t be far from the truth, either,” he added.
She stared at him for an instant, then laughed. The musical sound, like bells and wind chimes, created a pleasant warmth. He found himself smiling in response.
“What are the chances that rhubarb pie would lead to this?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and reached over to take a date planner from her desk. “I don’t know if the principal told you, but the specialists are usually hired months in advance so they have plenty of time to prepare a curriculum with the teachers. I understand that you just got here?”
“Last Friday. I was coming from the airport when I stopped at the diner.”
“I had no idea you’re Sam Donovan’s brother.” She picked up a handful of different colored pens and arranged them beside the planner. “I don’t think anyone knew.”
Lincoln avoided the unspoken question by saying, “We haven’t seen much of each other recently. You’re…uh, friends?”
“More like good acquaintances. I order all of my books from Title Wave. He’s found several rare editions for me. Now that I know who you are, I can see the resemblance. Did you come here to visit him?”
