“Windsor?” Pokorny confirms from his side of the Bunsen burner. “Dude, you better go. It’ll take you twenty-five minutes just to get there.”

  “What am I supposed to do about this?” I ask, gesturing to the lab table, our notes, and the experiment we’re working on.

  Bilquist waves me away. “Please, we’ll cover for you. Pete’s right. You’d better go now. And make sure you tell her,” he advises.

  “What? No! Do not tell her,” Pokorny disagrees. “Wait till you know her better.”

  It’s the same every time I meet a new woman.

  “Let me see how this meeting goes and I’ll decide then,” I tell them, slipping out of my lab coat and gathering my notebook and pen. “Okay, thanks, guys,” I murmur, ducking out of the laboratory while Dr. Edelstein is still helping with the lava cleanup.

  …

  Thirty minutes later, I’m walking into the café between her campus and mine. I spot her immediately, sitting at a small table for two against the back wall. I smile. She blushes. I pretend not to notice. I place a light peck on her cheek and take the seat across from her. No drama. No fanfare.

  “I was happy to hear from you,” I say. “I was afraid you might ghost me. Again.”

  “Oh, I considered it,” she assures me.

  “Because of what happened last night,” I surmise.

  Walker nods solemnly. Her eyes look stormy today with almost a hint of green. It’s the same color the sky gets when there’s a tornado nearby.

  “It was… I didn’t mean to…” she tries to explain, clearly struggling to remain cool and matter-of-fact, though the blush hasn’t faded much.

  “You might not have meant to, but I’m glad you did,” I say quietly. “And I’d really like it if you’d do it again.”

  “Do what again, exactly?”

  “Kiss me. Dance with me. Go out with me. All of it.”

  “I told you—”

  “You don’t do dates. You don’t do relationships. I know, I know. But last night tells me you want to do dates. And you want to have a relationship. But, Walker, what’s the point of working so damn hard to keep yourself from being happy? If your inclination is to try…to get out there and have a little fun…then why not just go with it?”

  “Hey, I didn’t—” she starts to interject, but I shake my head.

  “Uh-uh. I’m not done yet, Miss Johnny Walker Black O’Halloran. I don’t know what happened with your father. But can you tell me that he’d want you to be miserable and lonely? Honestly?”

  She stares at me. This isn’t a side of me that she’s seen in the very short time that she’s known me. I’ve been sweet, sympathetic, flirty, funny, romantic…but not this…whatever it is. I’m putting it on the table—daring her to tell me I’m wrong. But she can’t. And, as luck would have it, she doesn’t have to, because the waitress shows up to take our order at exactly that moment. I go chicken salad on white. She goes burger and side salad.

  “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about family,” she begins almost immediately, before I can jump back on my soapbox. “I actually need your advice on something.”

  I want to push but decide against it, sitting back in my chair and folding my arms across my chest. I’ll talk about whatever she wants to talk about so long as she keeps talking to me. “Okay, go ahead. What’s up?”

  “My sociology professor has asked me to consider working with her on a project in the fall. She liked a paper I wrote on the sociology of bars and pubs and the people who frequent them. Now she thinks she can parlay that into a grant, and she wants me to be her research assistant. I know it’s not exactly your area of expertise, but I figured since you’re a grad student at the U maybe you’d have some insights?”

  “Well, are you interested in sociology? You haven’t mentioned it, but, then, I’ve known you for only like five minutes.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I never thought about it. I never thought about anything as a major, really. I think maybe that’s why I’ve been taking a class or two a semester and dragging this out. I don’t want to make the decision.”

  Walker runs a hand through her short, silky black hair nervously. She’s really stressing over this.

  “You know, it’s okay not to have a degree. There’s nothing wrong with spending your whole life running the pub and tending bar—if that’s what makes you happy.”

  “I know that,” she says quickly. “I’ve had that discussion with myself already. But when I took a semester off last year, it felt like something was missing. Something important.”

  A different server appears with a pot of coffee and two mugs. She sets them down in front of each of us, filling them with steaming French roast. Once she’s gone, I take a few seconds to fix mine with cream and sugar. Then I take a sip, well aware of the fact that she’s waiting for my reply.

  “It sounds like a great opportunity to me. That is, if sociology is something you’re interested in pursuing. But you’re right, you’d have to get into the U and then transfer. Still, the fact that your prof is encouraging you to do it says a lot about her esteem for you. Who is she, by the way? I might know her.”

  “Samantha DiDonato,” she says, stirring sweetener into her own cup.

  “Oh yeah,” I respond, nodding.

  “You know her?” Walker seems surprised.

  “The Geological Sciences and Behavioral Sciences programs are housed in the same building and, after a while, you get to know who’s who. And Dr. DiDonato is kinda hard to miss…”

  Something strange passes across her face. It’s a tightening that comes and goes so quickly that I’d think I imagined it. Until she makes her next observation.

  “Yeah, she’s really pretty…”

  Hah! Is it possible that Walker O’Halloran is…jealous? I suppress the urge to jump up and do a happy dance right here in the middle of the café, deciding to screw up my face instead.

  “What?” I begin, as if this is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. “Ugh, no, she’s not my type at all! I don’t go for the whole California-girl thing. And there’s that dog, and she’s always in bare feet. Yeah…no. Definitely not on my radar that way.”

  Her exhalation is so slow and shallow that I might have missed it had I not been on the lookout. She’s relieved. And that’s a relief. Because it means she cares about me either more than she knows…or more than she’s willing to admit.

  “That being said,” I continue, “the freshmen love her quirks in the classroom—there’s always a wait list to get into her classes. As for what the faculty think of her, well let’s just say she’s got the Midas touch when it comes to grant funding.”

  “Right,” she says thoughtfully, taking a sip of her coffee.

  “Is that what you were looking for?” I ask.

  Walker seems to consider this question before she replies. “It’s just that…this is kind of a big thing she’s talking about. And I don’t really know her. I just…I needed to hear about her from someone I trust.”

  And there it is. The words are out and she can’t burn them, blow them up, stuff them back in, or pretend they didn’t happen. She said it. I heard it. And we both know it’s true.

  I smile my understanding smile.

  She smiles her reluctant smile.

  “So…would you like to come take a look at my rocks?”

  The reluctant smile turns into an enthusiastic scowl.

  “Dude! Your…rocks?”

  “I’m a mineralogist,” I explain with faux innocence. “I have rocks. What did you think I meant?”

  She’s shaking her head. “You’re something else, Mason Stevens.”

  “I know. But back to Sam DiDonato, I think this opportunity sounds really exciting. But what it comes down to is this—do you even like sociology? Apparently, you have a good head for it. But that doesn’t matter if you’ll be bored out of your mind and stuck in a totally unsatisfying career. So, that’d be the main question I think you need to ask yourself.”

  I watch as her face begins to thaw.

  “Why aren’t you with anybody?” she asks, and I feel like I’ve just hit a concrete wall going a hundred miles an hour.

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, you’re…you know…” she begins, gesturing in my general direction, “you’re all smart and funny and not unattractive. Why isn’t there some hot blonde sitting here with you?”

  “Okay…well, first, thanks…I think. Second, I was with someone for a few years.”

  Walker frowns. “Do I need to worry about some crazy ex stalking me?”

  “Not likely she’ll stalk you. We broke up about nine months ago and I needed a little breathing room afterward. A little time on my own.”

  “Wow. That’s a long time to be together.”

  “It sure felt like it sometimes.”

  “Was it mutual?”

  “No.”

  “Ahh. She dumped you, then.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Other way around. But, really, I don’t want to waste another second talking about her when I should be talking to you. I’ll answer all your questions later on, after our third date.”

  “Third? Did I miss our second?”

  “What do you think this is?” I ask.

  “A favor,” she counters quickly.

  “Okay, well…you texted me, asking to meet someplace to talk. We met here. At a restaurant. We ordered lunch and now we’re gathering information on each other, including talk about my ex. If it walks like a duck…”

  “Mason, I don’t think—”

  “And it talks like a duck…”

  “Dude!”

  “So, how about date number three, Walker? I’m free right now.”

  She doesn’t agree immediately. But, then again, she doesn’t stomp out, make a scene, or say no. She just peers at me with those slate-colored eyes. And that’s good enough for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Walker

  This time, Mason is the one to drive to the university, and I have to say that his Lexus is quite a bit more luxurious than my beat-up old Jeep.

  “I thought we were going to look at rocks,” I comment when he navigates to the very spot where I dropped him the other night.

  “We are,” he says, looking a little confused.

  “Oh…I just…I figured we’d go to some big…you know…rock room in one of the science buildings or something.”

  “Nope. I mean, yes, there is a…rock room…as you call it—around here, we refer to it as the Geology and Mineral Museum—but that’s not where the ones I want to show you are located.”

  I nod. “This is a dorm.”

  “Boy, can’t get anything past you!” He smirks.

  “Yeah, well, you said you have an apartment off campus. So who are we—” I stop midsentence because I know the answer suddenly. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Just bringing me over here and springing me on your brother?”

  “I texted and asked him first. He says it’s fine, so long as you don’t sit on his bed or move anything on the shelves or desk.”

  “I can do that,” I reply, trying not to sound as reluctant as I feel.

  I get out of the car and join Mason on the front walk. He extends a hand out to me. I just stare down at it wondering what it is he’d like me to do. It takes a second to realize that what he wants is for me to hold it. Really? Even if we count this as a third date, is this the hand-holding date? He waits patiently, not commenting until I finally lay my palm gingerly in his.

  Mason has a keycard that unlocks the front door, leading us into a wide hallway lined with resident mailboxes. Beyond that, there’s a lobby that looks like more of a great room with big, overstuffed chairs, a flat-screen TV, and a fireplace roaring on the far side of the room.

  “Wow. The dorms don’t look like this over at Iron Range Community College,” I murmur, trying not to gawk at the Starbucks cart with its designated barista.

  “Well, most of the dorms here at the U don’t look like this, either. That’s because this isn’t your run-of-the-mill dorm. My folks went with one that has extra amenities like cleaning and laundry service, a twenty-four-hour café, and a small movie theater in the basement. That kind of stuff makes it easier for my brother to live away from home.”

  “I’ll bet! It’d certainly make it easier for me to live away from home.”

  He glances at me and smiles. “But that’s not the main reason why my parents wanted Emmet here. It’s because this building offers enhanced security. They sleep better at night knowing there’s someone on duty around the clock.”

  As if to illustrate the point, we walk up to a large mahogany counter where a young woman with glasses and a long black ponytail is sitting on a stool and glancing at a computer screen. When we get closer, I see that she’s monitoring the video feeds on several different cameras placed around the exterior and interior of the building.

  “Oh, hi, Mason.” She’s talking to him but looking at me. “Your brother hasn’t been out at all today.”

  “No, he’s got an exam at the end of the week so he’s probably studying,” he explains, signing the tablet she hands him with his index finger.

  “Who’s your friend?” she asks, not bothering to conceal her annoyance at my presence.

  “Oh, Tara, this is Walker,” he replies.

  “I see,” she says in a tone that’s a bit cooler than her greeting was.

  I wonder if Mason notices this change—if he notices the way other women look at him all the time. I’m surprised when we reach the end of one of the halls and he gives my hand a little squeeze. “Ready?” he asks.

  “Umm…yes?”

  He raps on the door before using his key to let us in. The man sitting at the desk is a thicker, stockier version of Mason, his hair a little darker and longer. And, while the blue eyes are identical, they’re less prominent behind thick-rimmed glasses. He doesn’t look up when we walk in.

  “Hey, Emmet, how’re you doing today?”

  “Fine,” he tells his brother. “I’ve been working on my project. It’s due next week.”

  “Yeah, I thought maybe you’d be busy with that today. Hey, brought my friend Walker with me, like I said.”

  Emmet’s eyes flick over me briefly before returning to the computer screen in front of him. “You don’t look like Cassandra,” he informs me.

  “I’m sorry…who?”

  “My ex,” Mason explains, looking none-too-happy that his brother has mentioned her. “Emmet, it’s not—”

  “You liked Cassandra?” I ask, cutting him off before he can chide his brother.

  He shrugs. “I fixed her computer once. Mom likes her. She wants Mason and Cassandra to get back together.”

  “Is that so?” I quirk an eyebrow and smirk in Mason’s direction. “Well, I’m sure if you like her, she must be very nice.”

  Not knowing the reasons behind their breakup, I don’t see any need to say anything negative about this Cassandra.

  “So, what’s the project, Emmet?” Mason asks in a not-so-subtle attempt to move the conversation in another direction.

  “Steganography.”

  “I’m sorry—stegawhat?”

  “Steganography,” Emmet repeats. “It’s when you hide secret messages in non-secret text or data. Sometimes in an image.”

  “Okay…”

  “Like invisible ink.”

  “Oh!” That I can wrap my head around. Sort of. “But that’s not what you’re doing on the computer now,” I venture.

  “No. Now I’m hiding a message inside of everyday code.”

  “So, you’re kind of like a cyber spy.”

  “Yes, exactly,” he agrees, clearly pleased by the comparison.

  “Well, I think that’s really cool, Emmet.”

  I see the reflection of his smile in the computer screen.

  “Mason likes rocks.”

  “I know. I didn’t realize they were so interesting.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I brought Walker here, Emmet. I wanted to show her a few of my favorite specimens. Do you mind if I pull them out of the cabinet?”

  “No, I don’t care,” he informs us flatly, his fingers returning to the keyboard.

  Mason opens the storage bin above the desk and removes a box that bears a striking resemblance to Bailey’s makeup case. He beckons me over to one of the twin beds in the room—the one we are allowed to sit on, I guess, because that’s what we do. We’re side by side, so close that our thighs are touching. Normally, I’d feel the need to put a few inches between us but not this time. I’m feeling quite comfortable right where I am.

  “Have you ever heard people talk about crystals—and using them for different things like managing stress or finding clarity?”

  “Yeah. Not much, but I’ve overheard conversations in the bar about what someone’s crystal pendant was for or what kind of stone someone should get for whatever problem. I never really cared enough to investigate it further, though. Is it legit or just some new-age-y BS?” I ask him.

  “Depends on who you ask. I mean, I’m a scientist so I tend to put stock in things that are proven. But over the years, certain crystals have just…spoken to me, I guess you could say. I’ve come across them and felt compelled to have them or touch them. So here’s one that I was immediately drawn to,” he explains, pulling out a smooth, squarish chunk of stone in a rich cobalt blue.

  “Lapis lazuli,” he informs me. “It’s supposed to stimulate objectivity and clarity. Help you find your truth.”

  “Oh, wow, that color!”

  “I know, right? I think that’s what caught my eye originally. But then, I held it and…”

  “And there’s weight to it,” I say. “And it’s…kinda warm. Is that even possible?”

  He’s got a huge smile.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25