Free Second Time Around by Beth Kendrick Page B

though the breeze this afternoon was still warm, soon enough she would awaken to find frost on her windowsill. The nights would get longer, the tree branches would go bare, and another season of her life would be gone.
    The cursor kept winking, ticking off the passing seconds with unrelenting precision.
    Screw this
. She switched off the computer and got to her feet, determined to salvage something of the day. Maybe a brisk walk through town would jump-start her creative juices.
    She changed into dark jeans and a fitted green T-shirt, shoved her feet into flip-flops and then, without stopping to analyze her motives, ducked into the bathroom to scrunch a bit of shine wax into her long reddish-brown hair and swipe on a bit of lipstick and mascara.
    Her mood improved dramatically as soon as she stepped outside. She turned her face up to the sun and wandered past houses and parks and the public library with no particular goal in mind, until she found herself turning right at the intersection of Birch Street and Highland Avenue, which just happened to be where Professor Gavin Clayburn had lived when she was an undergraduate.
    Not that she’d
stalked
him or anything. God, no. She’d never been that unhinged, even in her hormonal heyday. ButThurwell was a very small town, and since she hadn’t had a car in college, she’d mostly gotten around on foot. She’d just happened to enjoy the scenery in Professor Clayburn’s neighborhood.
    Her pace slowed as she approached the white clapboard two-story house with green shutters and screened front porch. In the fading daylight, she could make out the name “Clayburn” on the mailbox. She paused for a moment, staring at the tidy lawn and the dark windows. Just as she turned around to head back toward the college campus, a classic wood-paneled Jeep rounded the corner and pulled in to the driveway of the white and green house.
    Cait darted across the street and crouched behind a parked minivan. She held her breath as the teacher who’d played such a prominent role in her postadolescent fantasies emerged from the Jeep.
    Wow
. He looked even better than she remembered: broad shoulders, long limbs, and thick, dark hair falling over his forehead. Nary a trace of an Arthurian mullet. And somehow, his blue chambray shirt and subdued blazer only served to enhance his air of rugged masculinity. He looked commanding, capable.
    He also looked irritated.
    “Hey, you!” Professor Clayburn tossed his briefcase back into the car and pointed at her.
    Cait gasped and instinctively glanced behind her.
    “Yeah, you!” He charged into the street. “I see you. I know what you’re doing!”
    Panicking, Cait staggered backward. The side of her face slammed into the crossbar of a For Sale sign hanging in the yard behind her, and her line of vision exploded into ahundred popping flashbulbs. She dropped to her knees, cupping her cheek.
    She heard footsteps pounding and then his voice as he crouched down beside her. “Are you okay?”
    She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. “I … ouch.”
    “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    She felt his fingers trail along her temple and pry her hand away from her face. Then he announced, “You’re gonna have a black eye.”
    “I was just out for a walk,” she stammered. “I wasn’t, you know,
doing
anything.”
    “Of course not.” Now he sounded as chagrined as she did. “This is all my fault. Again, I apologize. I thought you were one of my overzealous female students. Every now and then, one of them gets carried away and sort of, well,
stalking
sounds over the top, but—”
    Cait’s cheek ached when she smiled. “Actually, I find that easy to believe.”
    He froze, staring at her. “I know you.”
    “You used to.”
    “Hang on. Don’t tell me.” He snapped his fingers. “Irish Literature, right? Second row?”
    “Ding, ding, ding. I took your Romantic Poetry seminar, too.” She extended her right hand. “Caitlin Johnson.