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I caught up to her at the edge of Greek Row. She wore a large, puffy green coat and a hat her mother had knitted her for Christmas last year. She handed me the thermos of wine, and I drank deeply, dabbing away the drop that rolled down my chin.
“I think it’s wild you can sit through some of the most daunting classes Gatlington has to offer yet any social gathering has you wound up tighter than a bow string,” she teased, giving me a playful nudge as we started walking down the bike trail leading into town. “How have you managed being in a sorority for all these years?”
I took another sip of wine before handing the thermos back to her. “I had to join. My mother was in the same sorority back in the day, so... I did it. I channeled this nervous energy into something else, I guess.”
“You guess?” she snorted, screwing the lid back on the thermos and slipping it into her jacket’s inner pocket. “Let’s see... You were president of the sorority, captain of the track team, student advisor to the chancellor—”
“Like I said”—I grinned, nudging her back—“I found a way to survive. Now I’m just a high-strung graduate student with social anxiety because I have nothing else to do but study.” And pine over my professor. “No events to plan, no parties to organize.”
“So you’re incapable of being bored?”
“I haven’t ever had free time, Jess. That’s all. Now that I do, I have no idea what to do with myself.”
We continued walking until the treelined stretch of bike trail opened up to the small town of Gatlington, its stone buildings rising up before us and its streetlights casting a haze glow over the rain damp street. The rain had turned to frigid flakes of ice that stuck to our hats and shoulders, another hint of what I imagined would be an especially brutal winter. I was sure it would snow in earnest before Thanksgiving.
We reached the gallery a few minutes later and walked inside. I was thankful to see other people dressed for the inclement weather. We waited to check out coats and hats, and then accepted flutes of champagne from a waiter as we followed a small crowd into the gallery.
Paintings done in the Georgian style were hung along the walls. The attention to detail impressed me, especially given that this style wasn’t common amongst modern artists. Jessica, not nearly as into art as I was, dutifully followed me around, sipping slowly from her champagne.
“Have you given moving out of the sorority house any more thought?” she asked.
“I have,” I admitted, bringing my champagne to my lips as I gazed up at a sweeping landscape painting. “I get what you’re trying to say to me, you know. I was a different person during my undergrad. I outgrew that lifestyle.”
“You’re tired, Whitney. I hate seeing you so stressed out all the time. You’re going to burn out, and we’re not even halfway through the semester yet.”
“I know,” I breathed. “I’m working on it, okay?”
Jessica looked over at me, arching her brow. “Does that mean you’ve dumped that rich prick’s ass yet?” She turned from me, humming, “I’ve got ninety-nine problems and Christian Brockford is number one.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I tried. He hasn’t really given me an opportunity to say anything to him. I could text him, I guess. Or ghost him.” None of which would do me any good. He’d run to my parents with some tall tale about how I’d lost my mind entirely, and they’d do their best to drag me home and try to knock some sense into me. If I wanted to end things with Christian, it would take some long, drawn-out event to get it through his thick skull. “I haven’t seen him since he told Professor Ellis I had the hots for my art history professor.” I grimaced, shaking my head as a shiver ran down my spine.
Jessica made a face, then laughed, the two of us obviously imagining the professor in question, who was a far cry from my type. Plus, the man was nearly forty years my senior.
“He’s jealous. He probably sees the way Professor Ellis looks at you and has his hackles up about it.”
I blushed, turning away from her to hide it. “He doesn’t look at me in any type of way.”
“Oh, my goodness, Whitney, are you blind?” Jessica turned in a half circle, eyeing the crowd as I continued to focus on the painting.
I wanted nothing more than to walk through the canvas into the field of flowers and the sweeping vista beyond, leaving this undue stress behind entirely.
“Everyone has the hots for Professor Ellis, and he’s either oblivious to it, or he’s too focused on the one person whose least likely to return his special attention.”
“Any attention like that is totally against the bylaws of campus,” I cut in. I sighed heavily, moving on to the next painting.
“And?”
“And?” I whirled on her, my cheeks flaring red from another wave of a heated blush. “And nothing. There is nothing going on between me and Professor Ellis!” I kept my voice as low as possible so we wouldn’t be heard. I loved Jessica, I really did. She was the only woman I’d befriended in my life who didn’t care that we came from different social classes and had no reason to suck up to me or vice versa. She was spicy and sarcastic, but everything she’d ever said to me had been honest.
But right now, I didn’t want to admit that she was right, that I had a crush. And I sure as hell couldn’t accept that maybe my professor felt the same way about me.
“This isn’t like the frilly romance novels you like to read where two people who have no business falling in love with each other have a happy ending with no repercussions,” I continued bluntly, finishing off my champagne and groping for another as a waiter walked by.
Jessica burst into a fit of muted laughter that came out in a hiss while she tried in vain to keep her voice down. But then she abruptly shut her mouth, and her eyes went wide. I narrowed my eyes at her, then followed her gaze to the entrance of the gallery. A new group of people was taking off their jackets and coming inside.
The crowd seemed to part, and the lighting seemed to shift, illuminating one person in particular. It was a trick of the mind, obviously.
Everything in the room seemed to point to Rhys as he shrugged out of his worn leather jacket, his hair tousled from wearing a hat. He paused, his eyes meeting mine and a wry half smile touching his lips.
