Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,27
bind that bit into his flesh. With a hissed curse, he kicked free and went to sleep on his couch instead.
He’d expected to find serenity in the decision he’d made. A certain restfulness in having set limits and protected himself, despite how fervently he’d come to want Candy.
Instead, he found a disquieting emptiness, cold as those damn sheets.
It wasn’t the same emptiness he’d experienced upon Marianne’s death.
But it wasn’t as far removed as he’d have imagined.
The next morning, Griff encountered Candy outside their classrooms.
Other than a quick stutter in her step upon seeing him, she betrayed no nervousness, no hurt, no particular reaction to his appearance.
“Good morning, Griff.” Her briefcase swinging from her shoulder, she unlocked her door before he could offer assistance. “You’re here early.”
He fiddled with his own keys. “I, uh”—couldn’t sleep, because I kept thinking of you—“had some items to knock off my to-do list before kids started arriving for the day. You’re here early too.”
“Yes.” A polite confirmation as she flicked on her lights. “I have a few errands to run.”
When he didn’t move or say more, she directed a look of bland inquiry his way. “Did you want to discuss the poetry initiative? I have about ten minutes, if you’d like to talk in the department office or the library.”
He might have been any colleague working with her on a project.
It was what he wanted. What he needed.
It felt precisely the same as those sheets last night.
And for some reason, he was scrambling to keep her talking. Keep her with him. At least for one more minute.
“We can talk here in the hall, if you want.” When she didn’t object, her gaze as inscrutable as before, he attempted to remember anything relevant to say. “Um…I’ll finalize the logistics of the poetry slam in the next day or two. The venue, required tech, refreshments, et cetera. Any changes to our plans or new information, I’ll send along. I’ll also let you know what Principal Dunn says about the Impromptu Haiku activity.”
She smiled, and it was friendly. Nothing more. “That would be appreciated. Thank you. I’ll work on creating advertisements for the poetry slam and the Verses vs. Verses poetry bracket contest, which I’ll send for your approval before running them by the front office. As far as the poems for the morning announcements, I have the preliminary list somewhere on my desk—”
When she shifted to peer inside her classroom, the overloaded briefcase slid off her shoulder, the strap falling to her forearm. The one with a cast.
She gasped at the impact.
“Dammit.” Instinctively, he reached for her, but she jerked back from him. “Candy—”
She cut him off. “I’m fine.”
Withdrawing his hand, he tore it through his hair and welcomed the sting of his scalp.
Even through the barrier of her glasses, he could easily spy arcs of shadows beneath those pained fawn-brown eyes. Her bangs, neatly side-swept as always, were more effective at obscuring the lines etched across her forehead as she grimaced.
After squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she carefully placed the bag back on her shoulder and met his gaze again.
“As I was saying, I have the initial list we made, but I think you have one that’s updated. If you could send it to me, I’d be appreciative.” She stepped into her room. “When you do, feel free to mention any other questions or updates. Have a great day, Griff.”
She didn’t give him an opportunity to delay her further. In a blink, her classroom door was clicking shut behind her, the sound quiet but unmistakable.
Later that day, he e-mailed some updated information and raised one last question. At our next department meeting, do you want to speak to everyone about emphasizing poetry in their classes during the appropriate week, or shall I?
Her response was pure Candy, crystallized into a single sentence. Would you rather charm them or employ blunt force trauma in verbal form?
He laughed out loud, even as that emptiness inside him ballooned further.
Your brand of blunt force trauma is a pleasure to observe, always. Bring on the carnage, Candy.
He waited for a response. When it came, it was brief.
Very well. Take care, Griff.
Five words. He stared at them for a very, very long time.
Over the next few days, he and Candy orbited each other from a safe distance. They sat at opposite ends of tables during faculty gatherings, greeted each other in passing as they walked down the halls of the school, and e-mailed documents and updates on the initiative rather than