photographs of Wither shaking hands with important political figures—and a few movie stars—occupied another wall. A large, saltwater aquarium filled with vibrantly beautiful fish sat against the third wall. The tank was Wither’s pièce de résistance and held fragments of Grecian urns and pottery carefully placed around a shipwreck.
Lourds suspected Wither dreamed about doing the things that Lourds himself did on a regular basis. The dean was almost sixty, almost old enough to be Lourds’s father. Maybe he even wanted to be treated like a father figure to a degree, but Lourds wasn’t interested in a mentor.
Before Wither could react to Lourds’s response, Lourds changed his mind. “Maybe.”
Wither’s eyebrows knitted. “Maybe?”
“Maybe I am out of my mind. I honestly don’t know. Being in love is more complicated than I’d imagined.”
“What?”
“Being in love.” Lourds lounged in his chair across from the dean. His hat sat on the desk between them.
Wither shook his head. “You’re not in love.”
“I’m afraid I am.”
Wither sighed. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never found a woman who could pull you away from your work.”
“Yes. But that’s only because I’ve never been in love before.”
“On that, we can both agree.” Dean Wither paused, then went on, “You’re asking for another leave of absence.” He checked his computer screen. “Ten days, in fact, this time.”
“Yes.”
“It’s out of the question. We’ve just gotten the semester underway. Your classes can’t afford to be without you for the next ten days.”
“I understand that, and I’ve already talked to Tina Metcalf. She’s willing to take over my classes.”
“Professor Metcalf has classes she’s teaching.”
“No, she’s teaching a class. Singular. One.”
“She’s currently an adjunct.”
“An adjunct who took her doctorate under me. In addition to being my graduate assistant. If anyone knows my classes, Tina does.”
“She’s already busy. We’re not going to pay her for classes we’re already paying you to teach.”
“I’m going to pay her out of my own pocket. And she’s going to be co-author on a book I’m doing on languages spoken along the Silk Road.” Lourds’s time out in Afghanistan with Boris had inspired the book, and Lourds had presented it to a publisher, promising a lot of anecdotal stories that would give the reader a flavor of what it was like on the trade caravans.
“Tina is impressive,” Dean Wither said grudgingly.
“Of course she is. And she’s more than qualified to work with the classes I currently have. She welcomes this opportunity. And, frankly, the money. She’s trying to make a living wage, you know. Working for me will keep her from serving at the diner where she also works. We can’t have a potential adjunct coming in smelling like burgers and French fries every day.”
Wither sighed. “Why do you need this time?”
Lourds reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it to show the sparkling diamond ring nestled inside. “Because I’m going to ask Layla Teneen to marry me.”
For a moment, Wither was speechless. “Oh. My. God.”
***
The Dingo Diner
Massachusetts Avenue
Cambridge, Massachusetts
United States of America
Lourds strode into the diner and looked for Tina Metcalf, spotting her easily in the sparse afternoon crowd. He waved, she waved, and he sat in a booth against one of the long walls.
The diner was small, with booths all down one wall and the opposing wall outfitted with booths halfway down, then stools in front of the counter and grill area.
Lourds dropped his hat on the table and slid his backpack over. He took out his Kindle and opened the e-book he was currently reading. Despite his love of thriller literature, he was having a hard time staying focused on the storyline.
“So? How’d it go? Do I get to sub for you?” Tina stood beside the table and smiled at him. In her late twenties, she was gorgeous, a petite brunette with an upturned nose and smattering of freckles. She was lean and athletic, and her jeans hugged rounded hips. The T-shirt advertised the diner. She had her hair pulled back and gazed at him through her glasses.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you do.”
“Cool.” Tina’s grin widened. “In fact, thank god. If I had to keep schlepping burgers back and forth to tables much longer, I was gonna scream.”
“Well, we can’t have that.”
“I miss being your GA, prof.”
“I miss having you there. You were the finest GA I’ve ever had.”
“That’s what you put on all my rec letters. I thought you were just being nice.”
“No.” Lourds held up a hand. “Nothing but the truth. Otherwise, I would have never