“Savannah’s only an hour away. You’re welcome anytime. This is your home, too.”
“By the way, where’s Mom?” He peered over her shoulder toward the living room.
“At the neighbors’. She’s finally going out for an evening since she got sick.” Cassie skirted around her younger brother and headed out onto the porch. A nagging sensation made her pause and turn back toward Scott. “Did you want to talk to me about something?”
A brief glimpse of sadness and tiny lines creasing his forehead aged him beyond his twenty-five years. “No, it can wait. We’ll talk another time when you’re not hurrying out the door.”
“Are you sure?” She felt suddenly reluctant to leave.
“Yes.” He shooed her away. “Go to your mysterious class.”
While she descended the steps, she heard Scott say behind her, “I intend to find out what you’re taking. There should be no secrets between us.”
She turned and backpedaled toward her car in the driveway. “Who are you meeting?”
“No one of importance to you.”
She grinned. “It looks like we both have our secrets.”
His chuckles followed her to her white Taurus. She refused to look toward him as she slid behind the steering wheel and left. Her brother already knew how interested she was in Dr. Jameson King. She could imagine the ribbing she would receive if Scott knew she was taking a night class taught by his mentor. She would never hear the end of it. But after seeing Jameson at the fund-raiser a few months ago, she had decided it was a sign. Life was too short. He was no longer married, and she was no longer his student—well, his college student. Now that it was October and she was settled into her new job at the local high school, she had some time in the evening.
Fifteen minutes later she parked in a space near the campus building where the class was being taught and hurried toward the Gothic structure. She didn’t want to be late for Jameson’s class on persuasive writing. Seeing him again reminded her how much she’d enjoyed his lectures, especially listening to his deep voice as he expounded on a subject he was passionate about.
Cassie slipped inside the lecture hall on the second floor as Jameson approached the front. Dressed in tan slacks and a black, long-sleeved shirt, he paused by the table and dropped his notepad, then scanned the audience. His gaze fell on her, and a smile gleamed in his eyes. She quickly settled in a desk in the last row and listened as the rich sound of his voice filled the room.
For the next two hours Jameson mesmerized her. Before she knew it, the students around her were standing and gathering their books and papers to leave.
Taking a composing breath, she rose and made her way toward the front. She waited while a few classmates spoke to Jameson. When the last one left, she stepped in front of him, and suddenly everyone else faded from her consciousness except Jameson King.
He removed the wire-rimmed glasses he used for reading and stuck them in a pocket. “What a pleasant surprise to see you taking one of my classes again. Have you decided to come back to college?”
She shook her head. “I just took advantage of the auditing program the college has for the townspeople. I figured I could use some persuasive techniques to get my mentoring program started at the high school.”
“I thought for a moment you might be following in your brother’s footsteps and going into journalism.”
“I’ll leave the reporting to him. He likes to dig for answers, not me.”
“And he’s very good at what he does. I liked his last series of articles about the effects of the high cost of health insurance on the ordinary person.” Jameson collected his notes.
“I thought I was the only one who followed Scott’s career.”
He started for the door. “I read six or seven newspapers a day. The Savannah paper is one of them. I particularly like to read any work by a former student of mine.” He allowed her to go first into the hallway.
“Does everyone still go to the Half Joe for coffee after classes?”
“Yes. Some traditions haven’t changed.”
“Would you care to join me there, then? I haven’t been since I returned to Magnolia Falls, and I spent many days and nights there studying and cramming for exams.”
“Sure. I only planned to go home and grade some essays.”
Outside the English building the warm October night with a hint of honeysuckle in the air enveloped Cassie. A full moon hung in the sky, its brightness obscuring the stars nearby.
Jameson peered toward the parking lot at the side of the building, then toward the road. “Since it’s not far, do you want to walk?”
“That sounds nice.”
“How’s your new job going? Do you like it as much as your old one in Savannah?” Jameson asked as they crossed the street.
“I love it. I’m a counselor at the high school. I really enjoy counseling teenagers. And the girls I work with on the gymnastics team are talented and eager to learn.”
He made an tsking sound. “You’re beginning to sound like me.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He looked at her directly as he opened the café’s door for her. “I’ve found if you have passion for what you teach, it’s hard not to convey that to your students. Before you know it, they’re feeling the same way.”
Entering the Half Joe, Cassie scanned the college hangout for an empty chair or couch. She spied her brother sitting off in the corner with two tall men, probably a few years younger than Scott.
“Ah, I see your brother is here. Now, that brings back some memories. We used to come here after class and have some lively conversations.”
A group near her brother rose from a worn brown leather couch. Cassie pointed toward it. “Let’s grab it before someone else does.”
As she wound her way through the maze of chairs and couches, she heard several people call out to Jameson. Her brother glanced up and saw them. Frowning, he returned his attention to the two young men he was talking to. He jotted something on a notepad on the table in front of him.
Strange, Cassie thought, taking in the tension in Scott’s posture, the intensity in his expression. A minute ago she had been tempted to interrupt their conversation, but something warned her that her little brother wouldn’t be too happy with her, as though he was on assignment and nothing should interfere with his interview.
When she sat on the couch, Jameson settled next to her and waved his hand for the waitress. “What would you like?”
“A cup of green tea.”
When the college-age woman stopped on the other side of the table in front of the couch, Jameson gave her their orders.
The waitress’s expression brightened. “Anything else, Dr. King? We have freshly baked white-chocolate-and-macadamia nut cookies. I know how much you like those.”
He patted his flat stomach. “I’m afraid too much. Not tonight.”
“It’s obvious you still frequent this place,” Cassie said when the young woman left.
“I wrote part of my book here.”
“You did? The noise wasn’t distracting?”
“I’m very good at tuning others out when I need to. But I found inspiration watching the different people, especially when I got stuck.”
“When is your book coming out?” Cassie pushed her hair behind her ears.
“Not