Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I don’t want to be intrigued, but still…
Stanford.
“What about me?” I ask warily.
“She was feeling me out on your next steps.”
I grunt. “So word about my tenure fail’s officially out, huh?”
He gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. You know how small the academic world can be.”
“Small-minded,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “Anyway. The head of her department wants to talk to you.”
“Oh. Well. I’m flattered, but I have a job waiting for me at Nova.”
“A school where you’ll have to settle for lecturer,” Jamie says.
“I’ll have to settle for lecturer pretty much everywhere now,” I say. “I’m damaged goods.”
He shakes his head. “Not at Stanford. They’re talking tenure track, Miranda.”
I go still, not quite believing what I’m hearing. It’s not completely unheard-of—though unlikely—that someone can get back on tenure track elsewhere after being denied, but never have I heard about someone getting a second chance at a place as prestigious as Stanford.
“You’re kidding.”
He shrugs. “Apparently some universities see your high profile as a boon. That, and you’re brilliant,” he adds quickly.
“Good save,” is about all I can manage as my head swarms with possibilities and confusion.
Before I can even begin to sort through the conflicting thoughts, I hear the front door open.
“Randy? You home?”
Archer starts to pass through the open doorway, then pauses when he sees me in the living room.
His gaze finds mine over Jamie’s shoulder, and this time, our gazes get tangled up, a million unidentifiable undercurrents passing between us.
It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since New Year’s Eve.
I’ve been telling myself that the winter weather is why I’ve dragged the Buzzes off the roof and into the greenhouse to protect the flowers from elements. I’ve been telling myself that Archer’s deep into his Paris series, which is why he hasn’t been over for leftovers.
But as his eyes meet mine now, I realize that those are all half-truths and excuses.
I’ve been avoiding him.
And I can see by the slight wariness in his eyes that he’s been avoiding me, too.
He glances at my brother, who is already walking toward him to shake his hand.
“Hi, I’m Jamie. Miranda’s brother. You must be Christian.”
I let out a snort, and Archer’s eyes narrow and land very briefly on me before he looks back to my brother. “Nope. Just the neighbor. Not the boyfriend.”
Gosh, thanks for clarifying that, Archer. I wasn’t sure where you stood on that front.
Technically, Christian is still my boyfriend. I’m still planning to break up with him as soon as possible, but he’d gotten a call on New Year’s Day that he’d need to fill in for his boss at some big convention in Dallas, so he’s been gone for a week. He’s too good a guy to break up with over the phone or by text, so I’m waiting for him to get back to have the conversation in person.
“Oh, well. Good to meet you,” Jamie says to Archer, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. If he thinks it’s odd that my neighbor enters the house uninvited, he doesn’t show it.
My brother glances at his watch and winces. “I’ve gotta run to this boring dinner at some boring steak house in midtown.” He turns toward me. “You’ll think about it.”
I nod.
“Really think about it,” he says, approaching me for a quick farewell hug. “And in return, I won’t tell the parents about the offer. Yet.”
I hug him back. “I promise.”
He steps back and takes my shoulders for a second. “You deserve it, Miranda. It’s the best thing.”
Best thing for whom?
“I promise I’ll give it serious consideration,” I tell my brother. “Now go. It’s rush hour; you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now.”
He gives me a little salute, and with a nod of farewell to Archer, he steps out. A moment later, I hear the front door open and close as my brother leaves.
I do my best to ignore Archer, but I feel his gaze on me as I move around the living room, gathering the wineglasses and barely touched food.
“What are you doing here?” I ask finally as I head from the living room toward the kitchen.
“Hungry,” he says, terse, even for him.
I shove the charcuterie board at him as I pass. “Here. Go crazy.”
He follows me into the kitchen, already picking at some of the meats and cheeses on the board as he does so.
The wine my brother brought is excellent, so I pour myself a bit more. I very pointedly do not offer any to my neighbor, even as I regret a little that the easiness between us is gone. Even as I admit, only to myself, that I’ve missed him.
He sets the board on the counter, steadily making his way through its contents as he watches me, seeming to see way too much. I stand perfectly still at the opposite end of the kitchen island until he polishes off the last of the almonds.