I shake his hand in disbelief, stunned by the fact that not only is he quite young to have a twenty-seven-year-old daughter, he doesn’t look anything like I’d imagined.
From what Allie has told me, her father moved to one of the artsy neighborhoods on the other side of the lake, after Allie’s mother died years ago. Allie hadn’t wanted to ask him for more money to help with the bookstore or the café, and I’d assumed that was because he’d helped her out a lot already and didn’t have much money himself. In fact, I’d pictured Max Lyons as a long-haired hippie who wears frayed jeans and smells faintly of pot.
I did not picture a man who looks as if he’s just stepped from the pages of GQ.
“And this is Kelsey March,” Allie tells her father. “She’s a professor at the university.”
“In which department?” Max Lyons asks, holding out his hand to Kelsey.
I can’t believe it. My majestic friend is standing there as if she’s just lost the ability to speak.
“Atmospheric sciences,” I pipe up, giving Kelsey a quick poke in the side.
“Uh, yeah.” She shakes Max’s hand, then takes a step toward the door. “Weather forecasting. Nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
“I asked Dad if he could stop by and give us his opinion about the building,” Allie tells me. “He’s an architect.”
“Oh.” Now things finally fall into place. “Well, that’s great.”
“Come on.” Allie tugs on Max’s sleeve. “I’ll tell you what we’re planning for the upstairs rooms. Liv, could you call Marianne and ask if she can stop by?”
“Sure.”
Kelsey and I walk to the front porch as I take out my cell and leave Marianne a quick voicemail.
Dean’s car pulls up to the curb. My heart gives a welcome, familiar leap as he approaches, his black peacoat buttoned against the cold. In contrast to his rumpled appearance this morning, he’s now wearing a tailored suit with a navy tie knotted at his throat. His thick, dark hair is brushed away from his forehead, emphasizing the masculine planes of his face.
Although I always love the sight of my handsome husband in full, distinguished-professor mode, now my pleasure is shadowed by a twinge of despair.
Dean brushes his lips across my cheek and turns to hug Kelsey.
“How long are you staying?” she asks, pulling her car keys from her pocket.
“Ten days.”
“Racquetball tomorrow, then?”
My stomach twists. Dean and Kelsey often work out together at the university gym, but with him not allowed to be on campus now…
“No, I’ve got stuff to do,” he tells her.
Kelsey glances at me, as if she senses something is up. Then she shrugs and goes down the steps to her car. I move closer to Dean, disliking the ever-present knowledge of what he has to contend with.
“When is the meeting?” I ask.
“Wednesday. I’m going into Forest Grove this afternoon to consult with a library board about their medieval manuscript collection.”
“What’s the Wednesday meeting about?”
“It’s a mediation meeting, see if we can come to some resolution so the case won’t go to the university board of trustees.” Dean gives me a reassuring smile that doesn’t ease the concern in his eyes. “Shouldn’t be too bad.”
He runs his hand over my hair and nods toward the café. “So tell me what you’ve got planned here.”
Pulling open the door, he steps aside to let me precede him. He takes his coat off, tossing it over a chair before unbuttoning his suit jacket.
I stop and do a double-take. Beneath his jacket, he’s wearing…
“Is that a sweater vest?” I ask in astonishment.
As if he’s forgotten, Dean looks down at the navy, buttoned vest he’s wearing over a gray shirt. “Yeah.”
“Since when do you wear sweater vests?”
“Since the girl at the store told me it looked good.”
I stare at him, struck by how a piece of clothing so dorky can make a man like Professor West look like… well, like this. With his hair burnished by the lights, the knot of his tie tucked against his collar, the sweater vest molding beautifully to his sculpted torso…
“That girl was right,” I admit.
“So you like it?” he asks.
I lean closer and whisper, “Makes me want to rub my naked body all over you.”
His eyes flare, and he strokes his thumb across my lips. “Hold that thought.”
“Keep that vest. It’s incredibly sexy on you.”
“You’re incredibly sexy on me too.”
I smile and stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Before I can ease away from him, he plants his hand on the small of my back and tugs me closer. His eyes fill with that combination of heat and tenderness that I know so well and have missed so much.