“No, because I wasn’t his student. I knew it wasn’t against university regulations.”
“At any time did Professor West indicate that your response to his requests would affect your academic work?”
“Never.”
Mr. Stafford scribbles notes again and asks more questions—how much did I know about Dean’s classes, did I ever interact with any of his students, what was my level of involvement in his work.
The questions go on for about an hour before Stafford seems satisfied. He asks me to sign a form before reaching to turn off the recorder. As I put the pen down, I notice a small framed picture on the desk of Mr. Stafford, a blonde woman who must be his wife, and two young girls.
“Your daughters?” I ask, gesturing to the picture.
He nods with evident pride. “Emma and Nellie. They’re seven and nine.”
“You should bring them to the grand opening of our café,” I suggest, taking a flyer from a folder inside my satchel. “It’s at the beginning of June, and we’re going to have all sorts of fun activities like face painting and a bouncy house. Lots of free food too.”
“Sounds like fun.” Stafford glances over the flyer as he walks me to the door. “I apologize again for having to involve you in this, Mrs. West, but you saved us some time by contacting me.”
“I assume you also have to investigate Miss Hamilton’s history as well.” I turn to shake his hand. “To see if she’s made such an accusation before?”
The second the words are out of my mouth, something jars loose in the back of my mind. I try to grab it as Stafford nods solemnly.
“We’re covering all bases, Mrs. West, I assure you. As I told your husband, please don’t try to contact or speak to Miss Hamilton. It’s best for all involved if you communicate everything through the OJA.”
We thank each other again before I leave the office and go outside.
What the hell am I trying to remember?
As I walk back to the parking lot, I think of the day last fall when Maggie Hamilton confronted me. She’d gotten angry and made a nasty comment about Dean expecting more from his female students than good scholarship.
What else did she say? Why do I feel like I’m missing something important?
I get out my cell phone and leave Dean a message telling him that Stafford was polite and respectful, and the meeting was fine.
After I hang up, I push aside thoughts of the investigation and focus on my happiness that Dean is coming home. Despite my belief that his time in Italy did us both good, I know that he’s right, that the next step for us is learning how to handle all of this together.
I go to the café where Allie, Brent, and a few other friends are busy working. After greeting them, I head to a bathroom to change into ratty jeans and a T-shirt, then grab a paintbrush and get to work.
“Liv, that looks great.” Allie comes into the room where I’m painting the window trim. “Brent is bringing in more paint for the murals tomorrow, and Marianne wants us to meet her at the restaurant supply place sometime this week to finalize our order.”
“I’m free anytime after noon,” I tell her. “Just let me know.”
We discuss a few more business-related issues before I finish the windows and go out to pick up pizzas for everyone. After eating, I get back to painting until it starts to get dark.
“Liv, we gotta go,” Allie shouts up the stairs.
“I’ll stay and work for a couple more hours,” I call. Dean will be back tomorrow morning, and I want to be at home when he arrives. “I’m almost done with this room.”
“You shouldn’t stay here alone, so come on. We’ll finish it tomorrow.”
Knowing she won’t leave without me, I put my supplies away and head downstairs. I decline Allie and Brent’s offer of a ride and walk home, enjoying the fresh air. Streetlamps are starting to twinkle over the sidewalks, and the sky is covered with reddish clouds.
I pick up the mail and go upstairs to the apartment. The instant I step into the foyer, my heart leaps.
And I know. I know without needing to see him that Dean is here.
Anticipation fills me. I drop my satchel and jacket and go inside. His travel bag is by the sofa. I hurry into the bedroom just as the bathroom door opens.
Dean steps out, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and his chest glistening with water droplets.
“Oh.” I stop, my breath escaping on a rush. His masculine beauty strikes me right in the heart, flooding me with pleasure. “Hi.”
His dark gaze sweeps over me from head to toe, a slow appraisal that has my pulse kicking into high gear. It’s a touch, that look, sending a waterfall of shivers over me. A taut, leashed energy radiates from him. He hasn’t shaved yet, and the coating of stubble over his jaw combined with the coiled tension of his powerful body and the intense look in his eyes…
I swallow to ease the dryness of my throat. “I… I was expecting you back tomorrow.”