scoop, it’s going to be me. And I develop a story, get all the facts, before I print. So you can rest easy.”
He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, plowed his fingers through the swoop of dark hair that perpetually fell in his eyes, and strode out.
Beside me, Bree slipped her apron off. “I’m gonna go find the kids before Kyle comforts Alice right out of her panties,” she said softly.
That left me alone with Emily Clowper. I had this weird sense of déjà vu, like I was watching my own life unfold again, this time from a distance. Almost exactly nineteen years earlier, I’d disappointed Finn Harper and watched him storm out of my life. Emily and I might not have much in common, but at that moment, I was uncomfortably aware of how she must feel.
“He’ll get over it,” I said, though I was all too aware of Finn’s ability to hold a grudge.
Emily laughed humorlessly. “No, he won’t.” She looked at me, not as a professor or as a rival, but as a fellow woman. “One of the things I loved about him was that overblown sense of integrity of his.”
“Finn?” I was genuinely startled.
“Yes, Finn. It’s the Harper Way or the highway,” she said, and I got the sense she’d said it before. Probably to Finn. When they were both naked.
Ack.
To clear my mind of that image, I pulled a diet soda out of the cooler. “Can I get you something?” I asked.
“No, thanks,” Emily said. “I’m—”
“Diabetic,” I finished. “I remember.”
Emily laughed. “Am I that predictable?”
I returned her smile. “Pretty much. But we have soda and juice and water. I think Bree even has a block of pepper-jack cheese and a box of crackers in the back, if you’re hungry.”
“Actually, I was going to say that I’m stuffed. Finn and I went to the new Thai place for dinner.” Just mentioning his name chased her smile away.
I popped the top on my can and sat down across from her. “You know, when he was in high school, Finn was a total rebel. He drank and listened to punk music and even got a tattoo.”
She nodded. “The little anarchy symbol on his shoulder blade. Yeah, he told me about that.”
I wondered if he’d told her that I’d been with him that night, driving his Scirocco since he had to do shots of whiskey to work up the courage to face the needle.
“He’s not all that interested in other people’s rules,” she continued, “but he has his own sense of right and wrong. And when it comes to his own personal code of conduct, he’s as rigid as they come. Like I said, that’s one of the things that drew me to him. His strong principles.”
I took a sip of my soda. “He said the same thing about you,” I admitted. I didn’t particularly want to play intermediary in their relationship, even if it was purely Platonic, but I felt so bad for her. “He said that you were a straight shooter.”
Hand to God, I meant to make her feel better, but my words had the opposite effect. She buried her face in her hands. “I really blew it,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why, what?”
“Why have a fling with a student? I mean, I’m not judging here, but it doesn’t seem like a very smart life choice. And you’re obviously a really smart lady.”
That elicited a bark of wry laughter. She lowered her hands and sat up straighter. “Even ‘smart ladies’ do stupid things sometimes. I think there’s a self-help book with that very title.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I was lonely and stressed out.”
I must have looked skeptical, because she rolled her eyes. “I know most people think college professors have a pretty cushy life. I guess in a lot of respects we do. But it’s hard, frustrating work, and it’s never ever done. First, there’s the teaching. We’re supposed to be rigorous, demanding, but then, at the end of the semester, the administration lets students evaluate us. Do you think students like rigorous, demanding teachers? Most don’t. Most want an easy A. So they slam you on your evaluations, and the same administrator who told you to be tough tells you you’re a bad teacher because the students don’t love you.”
I had to admit, that didn’t seem fair.
“Even if I please my students, it’s not enough. If I want to keep my job, I have to publish scholarly articles. Publish or perish, as they