Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) (2 page)

His gaze dropped to the first words on her paper.

Who am I? Some days, I’m the girl who couldn’t read.

His interest perked. He swigged his tea and returned it to the coaster.

Some days, I’m the girl who learned it was okay to be different. Just because the words didn’t look the same for me didn’t mean I was less than anyone else, and it didn’t mean I couldn’t become someone. In fact, it pushed me to become more than I would have been. I can overcome the disability that would have held me back, and find success.

Who am I? A twenty-two-year-old woman sitting in the front row of an English lit class, perhaps, older than other freshmen, but for that reason, more determined to succeed. After all, I’m here because I accomplished something I previously couldn’t.

Overwhelmed, Aarin tightened his grip on the paper, the edges curling in his fingers. After what she’d written to win the scholarship, to admit how far she’d come was brave, and gave him a new light on her. Like himself, she faced her future with courage and the determination to overcome great odds.

He switched his gaze to his hand again and felt her fingers there, and a kinship he probably shouldn’t.

“In order to understand reading, you need to understand writing.” Aarin Kai’s gaze swept the class, settling on hers.

The warmth in her cheeks rose.

“I’m aware this is not a writing class,” he continued, “but after reading yesterday’s assignment, decided to approach literature from a new angle.”

He waved toward the overhead screen, depressing the button on a small, gray remote. “On the screen, you see an image. Lots going on there … a woman buying groceries, a boy crossing the street, a policeman chasing someone at the corner. I chose this picture because, with all that’s going on, there will be something for everyone to focus on.”

He set the remote down on his podium. “I want each of you to pick a piece of the scene and tell me the story behind it. What do you think happened to put that person in that location at that moment in time? These don’t have to be perfect. Your random thoughts will work.” He paused. “You have from now until the end of class to complete it.”

With that, he turned his back and headed for his desk. Lydia stared at him for a minute, noticing the stretch of his shirt across the thick muscles of his back, then, rattled, dug her notebook from her bag. Flipping to a blank page, she set to work, not looking up until he rose at the front of the class again.

“You can leave your papers in my inbox as you go,” he said.

Students filed forward one by one, dropping their papers in the red, plastic box. But, like the day before, Lydia held back until they’d left. Her page in her hand, she strolled ahead and met his gaze.

“I was going to call you this afternoon,” Aarin said. “But since you’re here … I’ll just ask. I’d like to show everyone what I have planned. I’ve quite a list, but I think it’s clear enough. Are you free this evening? Say, seven?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Seven? If I know where to go …”

“Meet me in front of the school library,” he said. “I’ll direct us from there. That saves me from having to write anything down.”

“Of course.”

With a short nod, she made her way back to her seat. She shouldered her book bag and wended her way out. Pushing through the doors, she was surprised to come face-to-face with Karen.

“Hey,” she said. “Thought you might want to grab a bite if … if you have time.”

“Sure, that sounds good.” It’d be nice to have a friend.

“We can go to the mess hall.”

They turned their footsteps toward the common, striking out across the green space. Karen, her books tucked to her chest, angled her gaze. “He’s awesome. Isn’t he?” she asked. “Never had a teacher who made me think. I actually look forward to his class every day.”

“He’s great,” Lydia said, when it appeared Karen was waiting for her response.

Karen sighed, long, rolling her eyes upward. “And nice to look at, too,” she added in a wistful tone.

CHAPTER 2

Seven o’clock came quicker than she expected. In fact, she was a few minutes late for their meeting. She arrived to find Aarin Kai waiting for her by the library doors – and no one else. He was holding his hand funny, in kind of a twist, but had a smile on his face.

A rumble of thunder presaged overnight rain, the thick clouds making the area darker than usual. He glanced upward. “Looks like if we stand here too long, we’ll get wet,” he said. His gaze returned to hers. “Not sure how to work this, but … it seems the other two students I asked have withdrawn.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Strangely enough, so they can date each other. Can’t deny them that. Anyhow, it changes my plans, and given the weather …” He looked at the sky again. “It might be easiest to work from my home.”

His home? He wanted to take her home?

“But, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, so if you prefer, we can go to my office. It’s small and rather disorganized though … that is, if you’re still interested in the project.”

Lydia wavered. For her to abandon him after everyone else had would be cruel. Plus, he’d given no indication of anything but proper thoughts about the meeting. She shouldn’t make too big a deal out of this. Yes, it was unusual, but would last only a few hours.

“Wherever you feel is good is … fine,” she said.

He nodded toward a cobalt blue pickup. “You can ride with me. Unless you have transportation?”

“I have a car. Maybe, I should follow.”

He gave another nod and shook a set of keys from his pocket.

Aarin lived in a moderate-sized home on a street of similar ones, all single story brick ranch-styles of about two thousand feet. The garage door rose at his approach, and he pulled inside, but signaled her to remain in place once he’d exited. He disappeared from view, reemerging with a large black-and-white umbrella held overhead. He made his way to her door, carrying it aloft, water dripping off the tines and down his back.

A dash into the garage did little to prevent them both getting wet anyhow. He laughed, folding the umbrella and propping it in the corner. “I always say you get wetter using those things than doing without.”

He was right. Lydia shook her head, drops spraying outwards.

“Here, we’ll go in, and I’ll get you a towel.”

The door from the garage led directly into the kitchen. A single light on the stove cast a blueish glow across what appeared to be newly remodeled space. Aarin flipped on a light and vanished around the corner, returning with a large bath towel in one hand. He offered it to her, and she mopped her hair and blouse. Then, setting it on the kitchen counter, she raised her gaze.

A rock lodged in her throat. His shirt was damp, the fabric clinging to his chest, every outline and contour plain in her view. He glanced down and back up again.

“I’ll put on something dry,” he said. “Why don’t you go in the living room? I’ll be out in a few …”

Left alone to find her way, Lydia walked slowly, the fingers of one hand trailing along the wall. In the center of the living room, the couch behind her, an armchair on either side, she stared out the rain-slick window.

Being here and not at the dorm seemed odd, the stormy weather adding to the dreamlike feel. No one’s fault. Mr. Kai hadn’t caused the rain and, similarly, wasn’t responsible for the others backing out, or being stuck with old curriculum. He needed someone to do what he couldn’t and had said he valued her thoughts. Still, being in his house was strange … and a little exciting. She figured his being so very attractive caused that. After all, if he was old and gray and ugly, she wouldn’t be thinking like this. Students worked with their teachers all the time on any number of tasks.

A shuffle from behind turned her gaze. Aarin had changed into blue jeans and a light gray t-shirt. The shirt was askew, the bottom of it caught in his waistband, revealing a trim figure and a hint of skin. Her gaze shifted to his hips, and, her face heating, she caught herself and forced it upward.

He had a stack of books in his grasp, one spilling over the other. “I’m afraid I’m about to drop these,” he said.

She rushed forward, taking a few off the top, and noticed his hand again. Concerned, she dropped the books on the couch. “It’s hurting?” she asked. Without thought, she took hold and flipped it over, with gentle motions, straightening his fingers in her palm.

He winced. “Worse than usual tonight. It’s the rain,” he said, nodding toward the window.

“The doctor doesn’t give you anything for the pain?”

Their eyes met, his washing with emotions she couldn’t quite grasp. But what she did recognize was persistence. Whatever he faced, he wouldn’t back down. Did that come from personality or maybe his hockey training? In either case, he’d handled adversity and learned to rise above it.

“He does, but I don’t like the side effects. It makes me fuzzy-headed, and I’ve found distracting myself helps.”

Releasing his hand, she lifted the rest of the books from his grasp and placed them on the couch.

“Well, then, I’m here to distract you.”

She didn’t mean that as intimate as it sounded and tried to play it off. Rounding the couch, she sifted through what he’d brought out, opening a few of the books and reading the copyright dates. “Nineteen forty-two?” she asked. “These books are over seventy years old.”

At his lack of response, she searched for his gaze and found it caressing hers. His hands at his side, his stance rigid, he never blinked and something new replaced the look she’d seen before.

Loneliness. He was lonely, and in pain, and she’d bet the second made the first that much stronger. She wouldn’t ask, but being younger than the other professors might cause them to overlook him socially. Though, as nice as he seemed to be, she’d think he’d have other friends. There could be many reasons why he didn’t – maybe he wasn’t from here; maybe no one he’d met had similar interests. She’d certainly spent a lot of time alone, particularly in recent years, and so couldn’t fault him for that.

Thinking further, the low light, the hum of the rain, and their vicinity to each other combined to create an ambience it’d be best not to encourage. She looked away, returning to her perusal of the stack, but with the swish of his breath, the rustle of a chair cushion, was aware of his presence more than ever.

“The problem I have with most of this material isn’t its age,” Aarin said, waving toward the scattered stack of books. “It’s the thinking. Today’s students are more progressive-minded. Yes, we’re reading the same books. Yes, the classics are still the classics, but in the light of the electronic age, most of the conclusions reached in these manuals are false.”

“The red door being the red door,” she said.

He nodded. “Exactly. They find analogies where they don’t exist and frankly, it gives me a headache.”

At his mention of discomfort, though he’d been facetious about it, Lydia’s expression became soft. She’d inspected his hand earlier, the gentle press of her fingers somehow lessening the pain, and his mind had detoured from the job here tonight to the fact he hadn’t had that sort of care in a long time.

His mom called frequently, his sister not quite as often, but both lived far away from here in other states, so his days and nights were spent primarily alone. He’d thought when he’d taken this job that he’d make more friends. But with the exception of his brief contact with other professors and attending an occasional college celebration, he found himself as detached as he’d been years ago attending classes with twenty-year-olds at age sixteen. Being used to that mentality, he’d withdrawn rather than pursue new friendships, his natural inclination anyway. His mom had forever been encouraged him to get out, take part in things, when he was a boy, but not until hockey had he made any big effort.

And after leaving the sport, he’d fallen back into old patterns. If his hand ached, he dealt with it by himself, either ignoring it entirely or taking the pills that knocked him out. He tried to use those only on extreme occasions, not liking the impact, and probably, had Lydia not been here, would have done so tonight. Only, as she said, she was a distraction, a pleasant one.

Having someone to talk to during the evening was nice. Her being such a lovely, intelligent young woman made it even nicer. He’d needed that, found her thoughts refreshing, and her company engaging. That had worked to dull the pain better than any drug.

“So focus on the classics like you’d planned,” Lydia said, “but dwell on the story instead of the moral of the whole thing. That’s what people read for anyway … to be entertained. I think students, entertained, will put way more thought into what they’re reading and, subsequently, what they’re writing than they’d do bored stiff by endless prattle.”

Waking himself from his wandering thoughts, Aarin smiled. Her words confirmed what he’d decided. The steadfastness of her gaze set him to thinking about her, once more.

He wasn’t big-headed or vain. He never thought of himself in terms of attractiveness, but was aware, from comments he’d overheard, that others talked about him. This had brought on the jokes with his students. He’d found making light of it helped the topic to die a quick death. But Lydia’s expression, right then, caused him to reconsider it, the intensity of her eyes blending in with the blush of her cheek.

“I like what you’ve planned,” she continued, her gaze absorbed, but her voice composed. “I think with a little organization, you can get everything together in no time.”

“Then I guess we’re finished for tonight,” he said.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a nearby flash of lightning and crack of thunder plunged them into darkness. A gust of wind slammed rain against the front window, rattling the glass.

He stood and strode over, pulling the drapes together tight. “I think I have some candles around.” Finding them would present a task, however. He stubbed his toe on the armchair and kicked a floor lamp in his progress toward the kitchen. Inside the dark space, he fumbled along searching for the right drawer. He located it well enough, but bungled his grasp of what was inside, and a straight pin stabbing into his arthritic hand, he released a curse.

Jerking his hand back, his elbow glanced on Lydia’s shoulder, and he turned. “You okay? I didn’t see you there ….” He plucked the pin from his finger and made to try and search again, but she reached past him.

“I’m fine. Here, let me look … I think I’ve found one.”

Moments later, a candle flame flickering between them, he stared into her eyes and willed the pull toward her to cease, but, a lock of her hair dangling on her cheek, her lips puckered in concern, indulged it instead.

“You have a candlestick holder?” she asked.

With a jerk of his chin, he awakened himself. “Upper cabinet by the phone.”

She revolved, with her free hand swinging the cabinet door open. Tugging the glass holder free, she fitted the candle into it and shifted it to the center island.

Lightning flashed again, and the rain slashed harder.

“I can’t let you go out in this,” he said. “Looks like you’re stuck.” Why was he relieved by that? And did he imagine it, or was she pleased as well?

“I guess so,” she replied evenly. “You might have to put me up on the couch.”

“I’ll do you one better. There’s a twin bed in the spare room. I promise to not say a word to anyone about you staying.”

The flickering light of the candle fluttered, seductive, on her face. “You didn’t create the rain,” she said, “and there’ll be sunshine in the morning.”

A positive outlook that lightened the mood, despite the noise echoing around them.