Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) by Alex Greenville

it?”
    Lydia lifted her chin, her throat tight. “Nothing happened, and swear you’ll keep this to yourself.” When Karen didn’t respond, she repeated herself. “Swear it.”
    Karen glanced behind her at a small bedside clock. “I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late. But, look, we’re friends, right?”
    Lydia hesitated, then gave a shallow nod.
    “So no one will hear a word from me. But you have to know if people find out …”
    “There isn’t anything for anyone to find out,” Lydia replied, “and if there was, it’s between me and Aarin.” She used his first name, unashamed.
    Karen didn’t respond right away. Releasing a breath, she turned. “You know, I thought seeing him would be hot …” She paused, her hand on the knob. “And I know I joked about it, but it’s crazy-scary, too. I hope you know what you’re doing.” She let herself out, and the door slowly closed.
    Lydia sank down on the bed. What was she doing? She shut her eyes. Not “doing”, but had already “done”. She was falling in love with him, and it was way too late to stop now.
     

     
    Dumping his things on the desk, Aarin checked the time and exhaled, his thoughts splitting in a dozen directions. He sank into his chair and made a vain attempt to gather himself. He was late, had only a few minutes until his first class started. It was his own fault for wasting too much time thinking about Lydia.
    Expelling a groan, he ran his hand over the back of his head and tried to drive the images of her out. Problem was, there were too many of them and those, combined with his vivid recall of her pressed against him overnight, made it difficult to think of anything else.
    The students’ laughter and conversation bled through the open doorway along with the thump of books and scuffle of shoes, reminding him even further of what was at stake. At least, Lydia’s class wasn’t here today. With twenty-four hours beneath his belt, he should regain some of his composure.
    A knock on the door frame raised his gaze to the eyes of fellow professor, Angela Reed. A curled newspaper in one hand, she smiled and strolled inside. “You look flustered.”
    His lips pressed tight, he offered an acknowledged glance.
    She took a seat facing him, crossing graceful legs. She was attractive, upper thirties, blonde hair cut short, always well-dressed, nothing out of place. He’d met her husband once at a holiday dinner two years before. Nice guy, but they’d since gotten divorced.
    “I cut my time too short,” Aarin replied. “Couldn’t seem to get out of the house.”
    He wondered why, staring at her, she’d come to see him at all. They both taught English, but Angela, grammar and punctuation and the like. She’d once called herself the “queen of sentence diagramming”. Personally, he hated that part of the Language Arts, but wasn’t about to say so to her face.
    “Well, I won’t keep you long, but I was perusing the paper this morning …” She unfurled the piece in her hand. It appeared to be an entertainment magazine of some sort. “Not local, mind you,” she continued, “but imagine my surprise to see this ...” At that, she turned the page around and dropped it beneath his nose.
    A picture of himself stared upwards, his smile posed, his award in one hand, the presenters on either side of him. Gazing at it, Aarin sat back, one palm curved over the arm of his chair, his elbow pointed outward.
    “You didn’t tell anyone? I don’t know why that thought surprises me though,” she said. “You’ve always been very humble, but, you know, the college loves any opportunity to brag about its teachers.”
    “There’s nothing to brag about,” he replied. He lifted the paper and extended it to her.
    But though she took it, she simply flipped the page and handed it back. This section had more images and a brief article about the award. His gaze stuck on a photo in the left-hand column. Him and Lydia dancing, her cheek to his chest,