Learning to Fall (6 page)

“No it’s… it’s fine.” Forcing the muscles in my mouth to move, I stretched my lips into a smile. “Really. I don’t always pick up on the subtleties of a good joke.”

John took a sip of his coffee. “Or a bad one?” he asked dryly.

“Or a bad one.” Glancing down, I saw his hand was still covering mine. His nails were cut short and neatly filed, his fingers long and elegant, his skin smooth and uncalloused. I held my breath, waiting - wanting - to feel sparks, but instead I felt what I usually did (except for last night when Daniel had sat down beside me and slid his hand across my thigh).

Nothing.

I felt nothing.

No heat.

No spark of attraction.

No quick, lustful pull.

Except that wasn’t quite true. I did feel
one
thing. The heat of an angry stare scorching a hole in the back of my neck.

I knew, without having to turn around, that the barista who had served us our drinks, the one who had an unrequited crush on John, was currently wishing very bad things would happen to me.

As inconspicuously as possible I slid free of John’s grasp and made a show of picking up my latte with both hands. “You were right,” I said after taking a careful sip, mindful of burning my tongue. “They do have very good coffee here.”

“Best in all of Camden.” He sat back in his chair. “Have you had a chance to explore the village at all? Some of the higher end restaurants and bars close down for the season, but there’s quite a few that stay open year round.”

I thought of The Pier, which of course made me think of Daniel. “No,” I lied. “Not really.”

“Well if you need a tour guide, let me know. I’d be happy to take you around.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

He shrugged. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together. I don’t see any reason we can’t be friends as well as colleagues. You know what I mean?”

Actually I didn’t. Not exactly. Not in the way I think he was trying to imply. There was something in the tone of his voice and the subtle tilt of his head. Something that didn’t quite feel right. Something that didn’t settle. But I’d already jumped to one wrong conclusion where John was concerned, and I wasn’t about to do it again. “It would be nice to get to know everyone in the English department. Maybe we could all plan on going out for lunch one day,” I suggested.

For an instant, John’s brown eyes lost their warmth and turned cold as the ocean waves crashing up against the shore. Then I blinked, and he was once again the friendly, affable director who had gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. “Sure. That would be great. I’ll look at the schedule and see what day would work.”

We talked for another fifteen minutes or so before I checked my watch and realized the time.

“I’m sorry,” I said even as I stood up, looped my purse over one shoulder, and nudged my chair in. “I really should be going. I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Of course.” John stood up as well. “I’m glad we had this chance to get to know each other a little bit, Imogen. There is one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said as we made our way outside, buttoning our coats against the sly New England wind. “Why Stonewall? Remember, I saw your transcripts. With grades and references like that, you could have had your pick of any college or university in the nation. So why come here? Don’t get me wrong,” he said with a smile. “I love Stonewall. But it’s not exactly comparable to Dartmouth or Cornell, if you know what I mean.”

I did know what he meant. I also knew he’d just asked me the one question I had been hoping to avoid as it was the only one I couldn’t answer with complete honesty. “The ocean,” I said, looking up at him with what I hoped would be perceived as a genuine smile. “I’ve always wanted to live close to the ocean.” 

He nodded as though my answer didn’t come as a great surprise. “Well then you certainly picked the right spot. Although if it were me, I think I would have picked California.”

“Too many people,” I said automatically. I’d gone to California once on a student exchange and had disliked nearly every minute of it. The slow pace wasn’t for me and there
had
been an abundance of people. 

“Can’t argue with that.” John pointed to a small deli across the street. A hand-painted sign hung from the front window proclaiming they had the ‘best lobster rolls in the state’. “Think I’m going to grab a quick bite to eat before heading home. Care to join me?”

“I would, but I really do have a lot of work to do.” Seeing the corners of John’s mouth tighten, I quickly added, “But maybe next time. I still haven’t had a Maine lobster roll.”

“Next time then. See you tomorrow, Imogen.”

“See you tomorrow,” I echoed. “Thank you again for the coffee.”

He lifted an arm above his head as he crossed the street. “Don’t mention it!”

We went in opposite directions, John to the deli and me back to the college where Roo was still parked. Plagued by the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, I looked over my shoulder… and caught Maddy staring at me through the coffee shop window, her blue eyes filled with contempt.

CHAPTER FIVE

Poppy’s

The scent of damp soil and autumn leaves filled my nostrils as I jogged out of the house and turned right, following the sidewalk that led away from town. My sneakers slapped against the concrete in time with my breaths as I settled into an easy rhythm, arms swinging loosely at my sides.

After completing my first official week as a professor, this was exactly what I needed.

I’d never been a competitive runner - even though my high school cross country team had tried to recruit me on more than one occasion - but I did enjoy it. Besides curling up with a book (historical romance set in the time of Jane Austen and Mary Shelley was my own special brand of catnip), running was the only way I could turn my mind off and forget, at least for a little while, the papers I needed to grade and the syllabi I needed to write and the stack of non-fiction books I needed to read. Unfortunately I was often too busy to jog after class, but on the weekends, particularly in the mornings, I always tried to get in a few miles.

Stretching my stride out, I pushed a little harder than normal, sneakers blurring in a streak of orange and white as I left the village behind and headed out into the country, exchanging asphalt for dirt as I veered left onto a dead end road. No one ever came out this way. At least not this early in the morning.

Barbed wire, rusted brown with age, held in dozens of black and white cows on either side of the road. A few looked up as I jogged past, their dark brown eyes following me before they swished their ropey tails and resumed grazing, completely unimpressed with my exercise regime. For the fifth time - or was it the sixth? - I made a mental note to bring a bag of apples on my next run.  I didn’t know if cows ate apples, but I did know I wanted to try to make friends with the homely looking beasts and from everything I’d witnessed so far (mostly that they never stopped eating) it seemed food would be the quickest way to win their affection.

I’d always wanted a pet growing up, but a relentless schedule coupled with a mother who was allergic to dander had made it impossible. I was weighing the pros and cons of going to the shelter and adopting a well behaved, mature cat. I hadn’t mentioned anything to Whitney yet, but I didn’t think she would mind as long as she didn’t have to clean up after it.

Slowing to a walk as I reached the end of the fence line, I pulled my arm up behind my head in a long, slow stretch as my mind methodically sorted through the why’s and why not’s of feline ownership.

Of all the household pets I’d researched, cats were the most self-sufficient. They didn’t require the attention or the exercise of a dog. They were quiet, well groomed, and I’d read countless studies that showed people with a pet had lower stress levels than those without. The same benefits could be applied to a goldfish, of course, but I wanted something capable of more than swimming around in circles inside a tiny glass bowl.

I wanted a cat, and this time… this time there was no one to tell me no. 

Next weekend I decided impulsively, a grin pulling my mouth wide as I shook out my arms and resumed jogging. Next weekend I would call the three closest shelters and arrange times to visit each one and after a thoughtful, thorough process of elimination - culling out the cats that were too old, too young, too hyper, too apathetic - I’d select the one that would most benefit my needs and thrive in the environment I had to offer it.

I knew some would consider my decision making process calculated, even cold. But it was how I had always made every choice in my life, no matter how big or how small. It was how I’d decided on what college to attend. Where to do my graduate studies. Which states to consider when searching for a job. Whether to live alone or with a roommate. Whether to pick blue towels or beige.

I knew if I wanted to change -
really
change - I needed to stop trying to control every little aspect of my life, but that was easier to think than do.

After the cat,
I assured myself as I reached the end of the road and turned around.
After I pick out a cat I’ll make a concerted effort to be more spontaneous. Maybe I’ll even take a short vacation. Although I don’t really have the time to do that. Maybe a day trip up to the mountains. After the Fall Semester, of course. Although by then it will be the middle of winter and the roads might not be very good, in which case I’ll have to get snow tires for Roo so I don’t get stuck. I should probably start saving now.

Impossible.

I was absolutely impossible.

Grimacing, I eased up on my stride as a cramp pinched my right side. Running was supposed to be the one thing I could do
without
thinking. Determined to shut off my brain for the remainder of my run, I quickly looked both ways before crossing the street and hopping up on the sidewalk. A light breeze brushed pleasantly over my flushed skin, cooling my face and chest. For an instant I closed my eyes, letting myself simply live in the moment instead of focusing on everything that was waiting for me back at the house. Almost at once my shoulders relaxed and the knot I always seemed to carry in the small of my back began to unravel. I knew it had to be my imagination, but when I opened my eyes the sky seemed bluer and the grass looked greener. Without being driven by a single-minded purpose, I was able to notice things I hadn’t before.

Yellow sunflowers blooming behind a white picket fence.

Two sparrows squabbling high in the branches of a towering oak tree.

A black cat watching me from beneath the leafy green cover of a lilac bush.

The shout of someone’s voice as they ran up behind me.

“Coach, is that you? Hey, Coach! COACH! Imogen!”

I turned reflexively at the sound of my name, peering over my right shoulder as I checked my speed. When I saw who it was, I stopped so quick I almost tripped over my own two feet.

“Easy there.” Daniel Logan, wearing nothing more than shorts, sneakers, and a smile, laughed as he caught up to me and grabbed my waist to keep me from stumbling over the curb. “You don’t want to break an ankle. Been there, done that. Trust me, it’s not fun.”

Having never broken anything before, I would have to take his word for it.

Once I had my balance, I lifted my chin…and found myself staring straight at Daniel’s chest. His naked, gleaming with sweat, beautifully sculpted chest. “What - what are you doing here?” I sputtered, forcing my gaze away from his chiseled abdomen and up to his face. In the early morning light his eyes looked more blue than grey, but were just as intense and mesmerizing as I remembered. More so, really, now that we were standing inches apart and he was half-naked.

Over the past few days I may have thought of Daniel more than I should have, but I’d never dreamed in a million years that I would ever see him again, let alone come face to face with him on a Saturday morning when I was sweating like a pig and wearing a baggy tank top that should have been donated to Goodwill two years ago. There was even a stain on the front of it from when I’d accidentally spilled purple gatorade all over myself.

How mortifying.

“Just out for a run,” Daniel said easily, not even the slightest bit out of breath.

I, on the other hand, felt as though I’d run a marathon although I strongly suspected my pounding heart and racing pulse had little do with running and a lot to do with Daniel’s hands on my waist. I glanced down. “Could you maybe…um…”

“Sorry.” His dimple flashed as he lifted his arms in the air and stepped back. “I wasn’t trying to grope you. I promise. Only wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Wondering if my face looked as red as it felt, I managed a curt nod.

“I don’t run this way very often.” Cupping his hands behind his neck, he arched up into a stretch that accentuated his perfect biceps, perfect deltoids, perfect triceps, perfect everything really. Without a shirt, I could see just how well proportioned he was. His shoulders were broad. His arms long and nicely toned without being too muscular. His chest was smooth and tanned a rich, bronze tone only a few shades lighter than his sun kissed hair. Pulled back off his forehead by a white sweatband, his hair was longer and wavier than I’d expected to see. If he wanted to I was sure he’d have no problem pulling it up in a short ponytail. On some men the look would be have been feminine, but I had a feeling it would only make Daniel more ruggedly attractive.

The urge to stand up on my toes and rub one of his honey colored curls between my fingers was so startling and rawly sexual I actually jumped back a step. If my face hadn’t been red before, it was
definitely
red now. Because the only thing sexier than a sweaty girl in a baggy stained tank top was a sweaty girl in a baggy stained tank top who looked like a tomato.       

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern shadowing his face. “You look a little hot.”

“I’m fine.”
Come up with something witty to say,
I instructed my frazzled brain.
Something charming. Something that will make him laugh. Something that will show him how intelligent you are.
“Are you hot?”

Dear Lord.

“It’s a little warm. Warmer than it usually is this late in the year.” He scratched his jaw. “Getting in a run before practice?”

“Before practice?” My eyebrows pinched in confusion. “I don’t…
oh
.”

He was asking about practice.
Soccer
practice. Because I’d told him I was a soccer coach.

At the time, fibbing about my profession had seemed like such a harmless lie, especially considering I never thought I would ever see Daniel again. A foolish mistake on my part, given that the bartender had known him which meant he was a local.

Really stupid, Imogen
, I berated myself.
Really, really, really stupid.

Then again…was it
really
such a big deal? What did it matter if Daniel thought I was a soccer coach or an English professor or an astronaut? The important thing was that he’d actually remembered me.

No one ever did. Not really. Oh, they remembered my grades - always the best in the class - or the fact that I’d graduated high school early or completed my undergrad in just three years, but they never remembered me as a person. My personality. My likes and dislikes. My favorite color. Half the time professors who had taught me for an entire year hadn’t even been able to remember my name. Imogen became Isabel, or Iris, or in one flabbergasting case Denise.

I knew the fault was mine, not theirs. I never made a lasting impression. I never gave them anything interesting to remember about me, so they didn’t.

Except for Daniel.  

Daniel Logan, someone I’d met only once in a dark, crowded bar, had not only remembered my name, he remembered what I did. Well, what he
thought
I did. Because of a lie I never should have told. I bit the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit I’d begun as a child and had been unable to stop as an adult.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” I fiddled with the thick strap of my sports bra, tugging it away from my sweaty skin before letting it fall back with an elastic
snap
. “I’m not sure exactly how to say this, but when we met at The Pier I said something-”

“Tell me over breakfast,” he interrupted.

“What?” Certain I’d misunderstood, I stared at him wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean tell me over breakfast. You know, that meal you eat every morning? Some people eat cereal. Some people eat eggs. I’m a pancake man, myself.”

I looked down at my sweaty tank top. Back up at Daniel. Down again. “But…
why
?”

“Because I like to eat after I run. And because of what you said at the bar.” He took a step towards me and gently lifted my chin with the crook of his finger, forcing me to gaze into his eyes. His beautiful grey-blue eyes.

“What did I say?” I whispered.

“You said I hit on girls at bars all the time.” His mouth twisted into a grin. “Or something to that effect.” 

“Was I wrong?” 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head as he slowly released my chin. “Which is why I want to take you out to breakfast. There’s a cafe in the middle of town. Poppy’s. Best pancakes you’ll ever eat.”

I still didn’t understand. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Seeming amused by my obvious confusion, he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, as though having a debate over breakfast in the middle of the sidewalk on a Saturday morning was a normal occurrence. “Do you like pancakes or don’t you?”

“I do like pancakes but-”

His head canted to one side. “Then what’s the problem?”

I huffed out a breath, frustrated with my obsessive need to analyze
everything
. Why
couldn’t I just say yes? Was it such a hard thing to do? So what if Daniel wanted to take me out for pancakes? It wasn’t a big deal. Except it was, at least for me, because I knew myself, and I knew if I went out for breakfast with Daniel the attraction I felt towards him would only continue to grow. Which would have been fine, if not for the fact that I also knew, with almost absolute certainty, that my feelings were not going to be reciprocated. Outside of the movies, men like Daniel didn’t go for women like me.
I
knew it, and
he
knew it, so what was the point in wasting our time when we both already knew what the outcome was going to be? I would ultimately be hurt, Daniel would feel regret, and neither one of us would benefit.