Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) (4 page)

The fact he didn’t usually feel that way bothered her. “The class loves you,” she replied.

His gaze intensified. “And that’s great. It makes teaching so much easier, but it isn’t the same as having someone …” He seemed to rethink his words, falling silent. “In any case, we should eat before the food turns cold and then get to work.”

She wondered what he’d meant to say, but wasn’t about to ask. Instead, she dug plastic forks out of the bag, extending him one. He took it, their fingers brushing. Both of them halted in place.

Aarin smiled and reversed. “Hope I can do this and not spill it on myself. Nothing worse than having your professor drool.”

Lydia laughed lightly. “There are napkins,” she replied. “I won’t tell.”

Aarin lost track of time while working with Lydia, the hours filled with lively conversation. She was so bright, always asking questions and overflowing with good ideas. He’d definitely made the right choice picking her, although he wondered how the dynamic would have changed had the other two students participated.

He sat back, checking the time on his phone, and stretched, exhaling. “I guess we should tie things up. We can meet again on Tuesday if you like.”

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

Probably, he wouldn’t have made such an effort to connect with her. She was very easy to talk to and, as he’d noticed already, nice to look at, as well. On thinking of that though, he’d discovered his thoughts of her were more than skin deep. The bond they’d formed the night she’d stayed at his house seemed to have strengthened, instead of fading, their gazes connecting more than once, the distance between them shrinking.

He pulled himself out of his chair. He should break things off. “Just need to somehow get all these books to my car …” He’d brought them in on his own, but it hadn’t been easy, the major problem being opening doors.

“I’ll help.”

Their gazes crossed yet again, and Aarin wished he was a few years younger, not her professor, and not a washed-up hockey star. She was incredibly pretty, yes, but she was kind as well; and that kindness, he’d discovered, he’d needed more of lately. He hadn’t noticed how low he’d been until contrasting his good mood when he was with her to how he felt at home by himself, and he liked the improvement.

“Here, give me those,” she said, taking a stack from in front of him. “Lead the way.”

He obeyed with a smile, holding the door as she exited. They made their way out of the now deserted Center into an even more deserted parking lot. Crossing the pavement, he directed her toward his car. He unlocked it with a press of the key fob, but fumbled with the handle to the back seat. Lydia bobbled, the books sliding precariously to the right. Determined to prevent their fall, he hooked his fingers beneath the handle and tugged the door open. She leaned forward, depositing the books on the seat, and a slew of his mail fell out.

“Oh …” She bent to pick it up, but her gaze halted on one particular envelope. The flap open, the missive inside lay exposed. “An award?” She turned it toward the street lamp. “They’re giving you an award? The W.G. Grant Humanitarian Award. That’s … super and huge and …” Her brow wrinkled, her eyes finding his. “You don’t look happy about it.”

He shrugged. “It’s not completely deserved. A couple old hockey buddies nominated me. I have a face the voting group remembers and gave a substantial amount to several organizations a number of years ago. The paper did a write-up at the time. ‘Former hockey great, Aarin Kai, helps children in need.’”

Lydia’s grip on the envelope tightened. “You’re not a ‘former’ anything. You have to stop wearing that hat.”

That she’d picked up on what bothered him the most about it was exactly like her. He was tired of feeling like yesterday’s news. Not that he needed attention all the time, but it was the idea he was too broken now to be of any use that he’d thought he’d put behind him.

“You’re right,” he replied. “Still …” Still, he’d embraced his uselessness and didn’t know how to change. That was at the heart of his problems lately. Plenty of people with disabilities far worse than his survived every day with some measure of joy. Why then was he struggling so much? He could only put it down to defending himself again in front of Augustus Bloom.

“You
are
going to the ceremony, aren’t you?” Lydia waved the envelope in his face.

He honestly hadn’t considered it. For one thing, he’d be going alone and couldn’t stand the thought of tolerating the ribbing he’d get about that. For another, he’d have to dress up and though he was not opposed to that, navigating a bowtie with one hand was intimidating.

“Probably not,” he replied. “I have too much going …”

“But you have to.” She interrupted him. “You should take someone … a date.” Her hand found purchase on her hip. “Don’t tell me Mr. Kai can’t get a date when every girl on campus …” Her words trailed away.

Aarin coughed once. He couldn’t, of course, know what she was thinking right then, not entirely, but saw she was embarrassed over the remark. “Lydia …” He stopped himself. He’d never called her by her first name, not out loud, though he’d done so in his head.

That same fact seemed to affect her, too. He sought to relieve it, steering the conversation. “I don’t ‘date’, haven’t dated in a very long time. What the students think of me has no bearing on that.” He probably shouldn’t talk to her about his personal life, or lack thereof, but didn’t know how else to explain without being straightforward. He reached for the mail in her grasp and tossed it back inside the car, shutting the door firmly afterward. He spun his gaze in the direction of the dorms. “Will you be okay walking back?”

She blinked, as if awakening, and inhaled. “You want someone who doesn’t care about the past, isn’t intimidated by what you think you can or cannot do, and is willing to pick up the slack.”

That she’d described herself struck him, but he played it off. “I’m not sure that woman exists, and even if she did, I’m still probably not going. But thank you for caring.” He did his best to sound sincere.

Aarin took out his keys and opened the driver’s side door. He should leave. But his foot inside, Lydia stopped him.

“I’ll go.”

He paused. “Lydia …” Twice now, he’d used her first name, and it was easier, more comfortable, the second time.

“No, hear me out. I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said, “someone so smart and yet so … self-deprecating. I think, regardless of why they chose you for the award, you need to be there to accept it … for yourself. There’s life after hockey, after …”

Her gaze switched to his hand, and his fingers suddenly felt like lead.

She tipped her chin upward. “If you don’t want to go by yourself, then I will go with you. The date of the ceremony is a week from next Saturday. That gives me plenty of time to find a dress. I’ll come to your place, and we can drive from there.”

He opened his mouth to refuse, the right and wrong of her idea surfing through him, then snapped it shut again. It was one evening in full view of a lot of people, not like anything adverse could possibly happen, and she was right anyhow. His only reason for avoiding it was not showing up by himself, and she’d seen through that.

“If it bugs you, no one needs to know,” she added. “I’ll say it’s book related.”

A lie? He wouldn’t allow her to lie for him. “If anyone asks, tell the truth.” The fact he’d just agreed to her idea dropped warm inside, lighting a tiny flicker of what felt like hope.

CHAPTER 4

Laughter rippled around the room, smiles rising on the students’ faces, and Professor Kai paused, humor in his eyes.

Karen leaned into Lydia’s ear, her voice lowered. “He’s so funny.”

Lydia’s own smile grew. Funny and gentle and incredibly sweet, but somehow, still, hard on himself. Her mood wavered. She liked him a lot, as a teacher and, what bothered her right now, as a friend.

School had cut into their time working on the new curriculum. She’d missed their last scheduled meeting to write a last-minute report for her philosophy class. They’d met once more at the Center, Aarin providing dinner as he’d done the last time. It’d been so … nice, their chatter cheerful and laid back. Like friends.

Was that wrong? Was she not supposed to be his friend? Worse, was it good or bad that she’d been so eager to attend the award ceremony? She’d pushed him to it. How much of his agreement was from her pressure?

Shaking the thought free, she concentrated, once more, on his voice.

“That was one of the best examples,” Aarin continued. “Thank you, Mr. Pescone.” He nodded toward the student in question. “Never thought I’d hear War and Peace in modern slang. Which brings me to the next part of this assignment.” He tossed the paper he’d been reading onto a stack of others. “We’ve looked at dialogue creatively. But now, I want you to relocate a story. What happens if you write the Red Badge of Courage in another era? This will require more thought, so I’m giving you two weeks. And …” A smile remained on his lips, yet his gaze grew stern. “Thank you to the group who made Pride and Prejudice into erotica …
not
what I intended. Let’s keep this clean and please note how your trick reflects in your grade.”

He waved his hands. “Dismissed.”

Lydia stood and gathered her things, stuffing her folder in her bag, then slung it over her shoulder and followed Karen into the aisle. She glanced back at Aarin briefly, and his gaze met hers. He nodded once. She sucked in a breath, her lip folded between her teeth, then dashed toward the door.

Karen held it open for her and they squeezed out, heading left down the corridor. “Hey, I wanted to ask …”

She cast Lydia a nervous glance, and for a moment, she feared what Karen wanted to say would be about Aarin.

“You opposed to a double date?” Karen halted and released a breath. “I guess I should have said that a little more delicately. But I’ve met this guy …” Her cheeks pinked. “The
only
good thing to come out of Advanced Calculus. But anyhow … He asked me out, but I’m super nervous. I suggested I had a friend, and we could go as pairs …”

Lydia’s throat tightened. A date. She liked Karen, considered her one of her closest friends here, so to refuse would be cruel. And questionable. She could say she had to study, but she never wanted to be known as the book nerd. Refusing could also draw interest to her time with Aarin, especially since this was Karen.

That she called him by his first name now was largely because he’d done the same, but it felt … cozy. She could hardly continue to refer to him as Mr. Kai when they were alone. Nor let their new friendship cut into her social life.

“I promise … Well, as much as I can … that it’ll be fun,” Karen continued. “Dalton, that’s his name, says his friend, Scott, is free and super nice. Oh, wait …” Her eyes spread. “It’s on Friday. You aren’t … seeing Mr. Kai, are you?”

Yes.
But though the word leaped onto her tongue, Lydia didn’t speak it. A normal girl going to college would not refuse a night out to work with her professor.

“I’m sure I can get out of it. Like I said, he’s got so much of it in hand.” The irony of that statement stabbed her with guilt. But, once more, she released it.

“So that’s a
yes
? Oh, I so owe you …” Karen’s made a small hop. “You won’t regret this. I promise. Not like we can keep mooning over Mr. Kai, though he’s still a dream.” She stepped ahead. “I’m half-tempted to take his class again next year.”

Lydia released a nervous laugh.

“Hey … I wonder why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I don’t suppose he’s ever said?”

Lydia’s nervousness escalated. “Not a word,” she replied. “He’s very private. We mostly talk about books.”

“Figures,” Karen said. “Still, she’d be lucky, whoever she was.”

Aarin held the front door of his home open for Lydia to enter, and she squeezed past him into the foyer. He inhaled just then, and a whiff of fruity perfume lifted from her skin. Unthinking, a compliment fell out. “You smell nice.”

She paused turning in place. A smile slowly formed. “Thanks, it’s some fragrance I borrowed from Karen.” At his puzzled expression, she knit her brows. “Karen Parks, in class?”

The face of the girl fit into place, and he gave a nod. “Right.”

Attractive girl. Average student. He’d had better, those like Lydia, and he’d had worse.

“I appreciate you coming here tonight,” he said. “I wanted to secure a conference room again, but they were full. Hopefully …” He glanced out the window. “It won’t rain tonight.” Though that’d turned out okay, and being truthful, he’d enjoyed having someone here to talk to.

She began to remove her coat, and he leapt forward, taking it from her. His gaze fell on the nape of her neck and black curls brushing her collar. In the next second, he looked aside, draping her coat over the couch.

“No …” He reached for her before she could sit. “We’re going to eat first.”

Lydia’s brow wrinkled.

“Nothing fancy, I promise, but I got to thinking, no one is ever here to sit at the table with me …” His hand light on her arm, he steered her gently across the room, a certain amount of nervousness forming. Guiding her through the dining room doorway, he came to a halt, and she made a short gasp.

“Aarin …” Her hand at her throat, she looked over her shoulder.

It struck him she’d used his first name and not “Mr. Kai”, but then, he’d done the same thing days ago. He smiled, uncertainly. “Okay, maybe it
is
too much.”

He’d almost added candles as well, then decided that was too intimate. But he hadn’t been able to talk himself out of using the fine china stored in the back of the cabinet. He’d bought the set, thinking to impress a girl he’d dated five years ago, but the relationship had died before he had the chance.

“Did you cook?” she asked.

That question made him feel guilty for his efforts, but spaghetti and meatballs was one of the few dishes he knew how to do and, for once, here was someone worth making it for.

“I did, but honestly, it’s not a big deal. I can boil water easily enough, and the meatballs I had left from the last time I made them. It was only a matter of thawing them out.”

She stared up at him. “I wasn’t asking you to apologize. Thank you for going through so much trouble. It reminds me of home.”

Aarin pulled out her seat, waiting for her to sit, then pushed her into the table and took a place directly opposite. “Tell me about home.”

She shook out her napkin and laid it in her lap. “Well, I guess you noticed I’m not fresh out of high school. Truth is, I live with my grandmother. My dad is out of the picture. My mother passed a few years ago of cancer.”

His brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lydia offered him a grateful glance. “Thanks. Things are tight for my grandmother financially, which is why I tried for the scholarship. Winning it was amazing, but …” She paused. “I miss my mom every day. She was so full of wisdom, and more than once, since enrolling, I’ve wanted to ask her things.”

“Like?”

Cutting a bite of a meatball, Lydia took the time to taste it before replying. “This is very good.”

He smiled.

“Like … if I took the right classes, who to make friends with, those kinds of things.” She took another bite.

“Did you … take the right classes?”

“I think so, definitely yours.”

That made him happy, but at the same time, strangely, gave him doubts. Aarin looked at the meal he’d prepared, the decorations he’d used. He’d meant well with all of it, just wanted to be nice, but was unsure of the impression it gave. He’d fought hard to work with her and meant every word he’d said about his intentions. But he had to ask now … how did Lydia view it?

He ceased his questions to eat the meal. Afterward, he did his best to clean up, though Lydia, naturally, tried to help, and he was thankful for that. They moved to the living room and set to work, sorting material, making notes. He was pleased with progress and, a couple hours later, sat back with a groan.

Her behavior grew nervous then, fidgety. He offered to get her a drink, but she declined, rising and wandering to the window. He let her, not saying anything, and eventually, she turned.

“I … I hate to do this, but I … sort of promised … to go with Karen … on … on a date.” Her cheeks flushed. “I mean, on her date. No, that’s not right either. It’s a double date, a blind one, and I …” Lydia exhaled. “I need out of Friday’s work time.”

Surprised, Aarin, made no response. Asking her to give up every Friday night was unfair. Though there weren’t that many years between them, they were at different places in life. Of course, she’d want to go out with her friends and date some lucky guy. Just the same, all those arguments in his mind, part of him wanted to protest, and that was even more astonishing and, once more, made him consider his motives.

“But don’t think this will get you out of Saturday,” she said, seeming to gather herself. “You’re going to be there to accept the award.”

He gazed at her a moment longer, then stood. “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said. In fact, he’d begun to look forward to it. He hadn’t talked to his hockey buddies in quite some time. He
had
considered what they might say about Lydia, but decided to tackle that when it happened.

Lydia shuffled her feet and glanced toward the door. “I guess I should go.”

He nodded, though regret sat in the pit of his stomach. He followed her to the door, holding it while she went to her car and climbed behind the wheel. She made an attempt to crank, but the only sound that came from her engine was a click. Aarin exited and walked to the driver’s side door.

Lydia opened it. “I think my battery is dead.” In her next breath, she got out again. Standing there, face to face, neither one spoke for the longest time. “Something keeps trying to keep us together,” she said, her voice in almost a whisper. “I …”

Whatever she’d been going to say, she didn’t, but Aarin filled in the blanks. He didn’t dare speak it, however, instead, nodding toward his truck. “I’ll run you back. I can try to charge it in the morning.”

Lydia stared at him a little longer, then reached inside for her purse.

Karen would not stop talking about Dalton and their date Friday. Lydia didn’t really blame her for that, but couldn’t quite bring herself to feel the same eagerness. Instead, she kept thinking about Aarin’s expression when she’d asked, the disappointment in his gaze. Then there was what she almost said to him, a lot of talk about her feelings and their friendship that she’d completely chickened out of admitting.

Come Thursday afternoon, the whole thing was bothering her more than it should, and she decided to do something spur-of-the-moment in the hopes it would relieve the pressure. She’d gone shopping the day before and purchased a dress and shoes for Saturday’s banquet, using the student credit card she’d gotten. She used it again, Thursday night, to purchase ingredients for a pot of soup she used to make at home.