Yet she ached for a permanent relationship and imagined what it might be like to have a husband and a father for Cecelia, if only she could get over her fear that marrying someone meant he would leave her when she least expected … like Dylan had.But would Marcus settle for a relationship without a formal commitment?Some things he’d said after one of the general faculty meetings when he’d walked her back to her department made her think that wasn’t his style. She turned on her side and pressed her head into the pillow. She breathed in Marcus’ scent and fell asleep dreaming of making love with him.
In the morning, Amanda woke to find Cecelia’s leg snuggled next to hers. She smiled, remembering how, as a toddler and preschooler, Cecelia always found a way to touch some portion of her body whenever they shared the same sleeping space.
She slipped out of bed, wrapped a large towel over her bra and panties and tiptoed toward the bathroom. She knocked on the closed door, not sure if the room was empty. The door opened abruptly.
Marcus stood there, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair still dripping. He smiled and stepped out of the door, past her.“I didn’t want to wake you. Look at us, like an old married couple competing for the bathroom.” He grinned. “It’s all yours.” He sauntered down the short hall to the living room.
Amanda smiled to herself, no longer needing to imagine what his bare chest looked like, or those strong shoulders, and the tattoo of a shooting star on the back of the left one. When had he got it, why, and what was its significance? Would he ever tell her? As she showered, she fantasized about touching it, and other parts of his body too. After dressing, she shook Cecelia’s shoulder. “Time to get up, honey. We need to go back home to see what happened last night.Marcus—er, Professor Dunbar is making breakfast.”
Cecelia rolled over, rubbed her eyes, and crawled over to the side of the bed.
“I’ll be in the kitchen. Get dressed and come eat.”
She joined Marcus in the kitchen, relieved he kept his distance from her even as he glanced sidelong at her and smiled. After last night, she felt unsure of herself in his house.After the three of them ate breakfast, they climbed into his car and drove to her rental house down the hill from the college.
Neighbors were walking the streets and checking on one another, surveying the damage, and comparing notes about how they had lived through the unusual October storm. Crews were removing trees, branches, and other debris on nearly every street they passed.
They walked up to the house.
From his perch on a ladder, the landlord called out to Amanda. “I’m glad to see you’re okay. I wasn’t sure if you went to the Armory.” With help from the neighbors, he finished rigging a blue tarp over the hole in the wall, and the broken window where the tree had crashed into the house.
She waved at him as he climbed down from the roof.“A friend rescued us.”
“How did you come through that big blow we heard about?”
Marcus grinned as his brother’s voice boomed through the phone. He leaned back in his chair, grateful for a break from grading papers. “The campus got hit and many of the homes facing the bay, too.But, we’re back to normal now.”
“That’s good to hear. Evie wants to know if there’s any news on the social front?”
“Not much to tell.”
“You’re not still holed up in the woods licking your wounds from Felicity?”
“No.” Marcus bit his lip, not wanting to compare Felicity with Amanda. Felicity, who had captured his heart and then squeezed the life out of it. Felicity, who didn’t seem to know what she had done or why it hurt so much—until it was too late. Maybe not even then. Is that what he’d been doing? Hiding out? He twirled a pencil and imagined Amanda grading papers, too. Or was she remembering their time together during the storm? Was she reading a story to Cecelia? Or thinking of him?
He glanced over at his desk, at the pile of papers he had to grade. “I gotta go, Mike—lots of work to finish.I’m glad you called. See you at Christmas.” He put down the phone, and strolled into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. After marking two student papers, he rose and walked outside to sit on the porch. Got to fix the swing. He glanced at his watch. Too late to call her. He sent her a text message, not knowing if she would see it and reply this late at night. And if she did, would he then pick up the phone, to hear her voice? A voice that reminded him of honey—sweet, but not cloying. Smooth. A voice he wanted to hear, especially when she said his name. Marcus. She had yet to call him Marc. An owl hooted in the woods behind the house. He looked toward the sound.