The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (23 page)

“Actually, say the magic word, and I’ll be as silent as the grave,” I whispered.

“Fencepost?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“That’s the one.”

“Honestly, Aubrey, even the fencepost is going to have to be out of the loop on this one.” His plaintive expression made my heart hurt.

“Deal,” I said, but the thought pained me. I wished I could share my feelings with someone—Julie in particular. “What’s going to happen with Jeremy and Julie?” I asked. “He sounded so desperate to hook up with her.”

“Did you give her his number?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want to say anything before talking to you.”

“Thank you for that. I’m glad you haven’t mentioned it. I told Jeremy everything yesterday—about how she’s in the class as well. I feel bad for him, but I’m not sure what to do. Can you let me think about it?”

I nodded. I guess it was natural for him to feel anxious about more complications. “So, now what?”

We both stopped walking and faced each other. He thrust his hands in his pockets. “When is the final exam for this course?”

“April thirtieth.”

“That’s about nine weeks. Then I’ll have to mark my share of the exams. That’ll take a few days. Professor Brown will review them and submit marks to the department. Once the marks are uploaded and accepted, my official duties will come to an end. I guess we need to bide our time.”

He looked at me intently, and I nodded in agreement. He smiled, the dimple making an appearance, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

God, this was too much! Had he actually told me he was interested in pursuing a real relationship with me? My throat was thick with emotion. I swallowed furiously.

We reached my building, and I pulled my keys from my pocket, entering the lobby ahead of him. As much as I wanted to drag him upstairs, taste his lips, run my hands though his hair, and have a clothing-optional repeat performance of the crotch-ass rub, we couldn’t. I was determined to prove to him how prepared I was to meet his terms.

“So, I’ll see you on Wednesday? In class, of course,” I added.

“Absolutely, Miss Price,” he said. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “I look forward to it,
Aubrey
,” before heading out the door.

He walked out to the sidewalk with a spring in his step I was sure hadn’t been there earlier. I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t fill my lungs properly. Was I hyperventilating? Dropping my bag on the floor, I leaned against the mailboxes, sliding down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, legs bent up in front of me. I clasped my arms around them and rested my head on my knees.

To my surprise, tears welled up behind my eyes. I was overwhelmed by the events of the day—by Daniel’s admission and by the mutual agreement we’d reached about the future course of our relationship. Suddenly the door swung open again, and Daniel was standing in front of me, watching me sob quietly against my knees.

“What the hell happened? Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered, trying to smile while sniffing and wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “A bit much to absorb in one day, you know? Why did you come back?”

Please say,
I had to kiss you just once before I left
.

“Is this yours?” he asked, crouching in front of me, dangling a glove in his outstretched hand. I put my hand into my now-empty pocket.

“Crap. I must have dropped it when I took my keys out. Thanks,” I said, smiling abashedly.

Apparently there would be no kissing. Not today. Not for weeks
. Oh, Jesus! I can’t do this
. His eyes drifted across my face.

“This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” he asked.

“Hell, no.” I looked from his eyes to his gorgeous lips and then back to his eyes. “
‘I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient,’”
I said, exhaling a shaky breath.

Daniel gently tipped my chin up with his fingers. “He’s a wise one, that Falstaff,” he said. “How about this for a rebuttal?
‘How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?’”

“Touché.”

He released my chin and stood up. “Nope. Iago,” he said, pulling me to my feet.

He reluctantly released me and turned to leave, but this time he swung around to wave. I lifted my own hand, offering a small wave in return.

Daniel Grant wanted me, and I couldn’t tell a single soul.

Chapter 16

Wishing Clocks More Swift

Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?
…Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?
(
The Winter’s Tale
, Act I, Scene 2)

I’
D
A
VOIDED
S
ELF
-I
NDULGENTLY
L
OLLING
about in bed in the morning for months, having very little cause and no time for such decadence. There was always something to be read, something to be written, somewhere to go, or someone demanding my time, energy or attention.

The morning after my coffee date with Daniel, I stayed in bed for ages. I replayed the scene at the Gardiner over and over in my mind, with particular emphasis on Daniel confidently walking me to the restaurant, unburdening his feelings for me, looking into my eyes longingly as he touched my hand, telling me he wanted to spend more time with me, walking me home, tenderly lifting my chin and counseling me to have patience…

The individual vignettes of the afternoon simply didn’t lose their luster. The encounter had created havoc with my emotions, but after Daniel had walked away, I’d managed to pull myself together enough not to raise alarm bells with Matt. He’d been a little curious about the motivation behind my sudden decision to make a fabulous risotto for dinner, but I wouldn’t be put off. I, of course, was celebrating; he, sadly, wasn’t allowed to know that.

My celebration was tempered by an unfortunate caveat. While I was buzzing with the anticipation of a future with Daniel, I was dreading having to wait to pursue a romantic relationship with him. How could I possibly wait nine or ten weeks to touch Daniel again? How could I refrain from kissing those lips and running my hands through his hair, not to mention touching other parts of his body? Keeping my distance from this man who had been making me weak in the knees since I’d first seen his gloriously soulful eyes was not going to be easy.

I finally climbed out of bed and logged onto Facebook before my shower to leave Julie a message. I’d tried to call her several times the night before, eager to talk to her even though I couldn’t share my most secret thoughts. I’d finally given up trying to reach her when my call went directly to voice mail for the third time. She was probably recovering from her Reading Week trip.

Several people had posted messages of inquiry on Julie’s Facebook wall.

Where you at?

Hey, loser, call me…

Helloooo? Is anyone home?

I added my own message to the collection:
Vacation’s over, bun-head. Get your lazy ass out of bed
.

St. Mike’s was a mere three minute walk from Jackman Hall, but I would have happily walked for hours. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining; the flurries of the day before were a distant memory. St. Mike’s was quiet for this time on a Tuesday, and of the few people I did see, most looked morose and despondent.

Snap out of it, people!
I wanted to shout.
Can you not see?
It’s gorgeous, the birds are singing…love is in the air!
I couldn’t help scoffing at my own ridiculousness.

Nothing could ruin my mood as I sat through my children’s lit lecture. Even the moribund poetry of Christina Rossetti was powerless against the sheer magnitude of my happiness. At quarter to one, we were dismissed, and I traipsed back to Vic to make it in time for my French lecture. As I walked up the paths, I recalled the day several weeks prior when Daniel had lanced me with an irate glare in this very spot as he’d returned from lunch with his equally angry father. What had been going through his mind? I’d have to ask him about that.

And wonder of wonders, think of the devil—there he was, leaning against the large maple tree in the middle of the Vic quad. One leg was bent, foot planted against the tree trunk, and his hands were in the pockets of a pair of heart-stopping black jeans. To top it all off, between yesterday and today he’d made a trip to the barber. Without an unruly curtain of hair falling across his forehead, his eyes were even more entrancing. In fact, all of his features were somehow sharper. My God, he was
so
gorgeous. Was it really possible that one day in the not-too-terribly-distant-future I was going to get me a piece of that? Be still my ever-loving heart.

As he stepped away from the tree, he held up his hand in greeting. “Good afternoon, Miss Price.”

“Good afternoon yourself, Daniel,” I said, reining in my urge to leap into his arms and lock my legs around his waist.

He smiled smugly. “What a coincidence it is to see you here.”

“Indeed. One might suspect that a certain person’s schedule had been examined by someone else with access to said document.”

“One
might
think that,” he said with mock seriousness. “Or one might discover that this certain someone else never,
ever
forgets important details, like the exact location of the other person on a particular Tuesday several weeks ago, at this precise time, only to hope like hell that this was part of that other person’s regular Tuesday afternoon flight path.”

I tapped my palm against the side of my head, laughing in complete confusion. “Come again?”

He leaned forward. “Hmm, having not had the immense pleasure of doing so a first time, that request is invalid.” A delicious smile played around his lips.

What was that I’d said about no hope of uninhibited flirtation? That was some extremely hot sexual innuendo, and there wasn’t a can of Guinness in sight.

“You’re not playing fair,” I said.

“Sorry, you’re right.” He bit his lip and shifted his weight, hiking his laptop bag higher on his shoulder, and then resumed a light, conversational tone. “I was taking a chance, though. I remember seeing you walking this way a few weeks ago, and I saw you go into Old Vic at one o’clock. I suspected you might have a class here every Tuesday.”

“I do. I actually need to head in,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment.

“One hour? Two?” he asked.

“Two. I’ll be done about ten to three.”

“Okay. And are you free after?”

“As a bird,” I confirmed.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to meet somewhere to talk about…your
independent study?”
he said. His eyes gleamed.

“Ah, yes, I should start working on that. Would you like to help me?”

“I’d love to,” he said, leveling me with his gaze.

“Great.” I was having trouble tearing my eyes away from his lips. “Do you want to meet over at Pratt?”

“Prat?” he repeated with a laugh. “What’s that?”

“Over there.” I pointed to the building on the other side of the quad. “The E.J. Pratt Library.”

“What an unfortunate name.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, in England, when you call someone a prat, you’re essentially calling them a total idiot—a tool.”

I laughed. “I’ve never thought of English as a second language before. I might emerge from this school year tri-lingual. I didn’t understand half the things Penny said the other night.”

“I admit when I’m with her I tend to fall back into old habits. Sorry about that, poppet,” he said smiling.

“Poppet?” I asked, again completely confused.

“Poppet—it’s, well—my mother used to call me that. It’s like
doll
—or
sweetheart.
Nothing bad,” he assured me with a sweet smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to refrain from relapsing too much.”