To Professor, With Love by Linda Kage Page B

set my hand against the desk, hoping to brace myself and somehow stop the word vomit. To my complete horror, it kept gushing.
    “I keep thinking about it and hoping the amazing man I read about accomplishes all his goals and finds a measure of satisfaction in his life. Plus I really hope he gets his family out of that awful place. And I really need to shut up now because this is truly embarrassing, and I’ve never said anything so unprofessional to a student before in my life. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d stand up and—”
    Noel reached out and set his hand on the desk next to mine. He didn’t even touch me—a good three inches of space separated us—but it felt as if he’d just covered my fingers with his and squeezed pure life into me.
    It effectively stopped my flow of words.
    “Thank you,” he said. That’s all. One simple thank you and I almost started bawling. My lashes beat madly and my entire face was enflamed; I’m surprised I didn’t set off the smoke detectors.
    When he leaned in toward me, I swayed closer too until we were both straining across the desk to meet in the middle.
    He paused less than a foot away. “What am I doing?” he whispered aloud to himself.
    I was kind of asking myself the same question. And why had I leaned in to meet him? Answering in my own covert whisper, I said, “I don’t know. What are you doing?”
    He jerked back, ripping his hand off my desk. Balling his fingers into a fist, he brought them to his mouth, his expression full of frozen shock and dread as he gaped at me. Then he blinked, shook his head and quickly said, “Sorry.”
    Since I was in total denial over the fact he’d even been entertaining the idea of kissing me, I arched my eyebrows. “For what?”
    “Nothing,” he said immediately. He clutched the sides of his chair, still gawking at me with that petrified stare. “I’m going to go now.”
    Shooting up to his feet, he whirled around and fled. But then he paused at my quote board. After digging into his pocket, he pulled free a sheet of folded paper. Without opening it, he plucked one of my tacks from the cork and stabbed his note into the center. Then he was gone, and the doorway where he’d disappeared looked extra empty.
    A nanosecond later, I scrambled from my chair and snagged the note off my board. Whipping it open, I gaped slack-jawed at the words he’d written in a sloppy, bold scrawl.

    “The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.” - Geoffrey Chaucer.

    A second later, I shook my head and grinned. “ Touché , Mr. Gamble. Touché .”
    Literary scholar or not, I’d just made a huge mistake; I had let Noel Gamble know how much he affected me.
    I was still rattled by the time I eased back into my chair. I stared at my ereader but couldn’t make myself reopen the story I’d been reading. All I could think about was—
    My desk phone rang.
    I answered without paying attention to what I was doing.
    “Hey,” an upbeat male voice entered my ear. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
    “What?” I shook my head. “Who is this?”
    “It’s, uh...It’s Philip. Philip Chaplain...from the—”
    “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. Of course.” Who else would it be? Wasn’t like I had an active social life. “I wasn’t thinking. Please excuse me. I have my Friday brain on.”
    He gave an uncertain chuckle. “It’s fine. Been a long week.”
    Boy, hadn’t it. “Yes, it has.”
    “Look, about tomorrow...” When he paused, I knew he was going to cancel. Damn. This had to be a record; I’d bombed my date before even going on it.
    “Something came up...” Yep, I knew it. Something came up...unavoidable...maybe some other time...blah, blah, blah. We can still be friends. Don’t call me, I’ll call you . “So do you think we could just meet there at, say, seven thirty?”
    It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. I’d been expecting the usual brush-off. Meeting there totally threw me for a