Page 2 of Love Under Snowfall

“You’re late.” His level tone matched an equally flat expression aside from a muscle clenching at the back of his jaw.

“Only by ten minutes—”

“Twelve.”

Frankie cringed as she glanced around the room in search of a clock. The small auditorium held around eighty people, and every single set of eyes took in her disheveled state. Some smirked, but most hadglad I’m not youscrawled across their pityingfaces. Her heart raced and she struggled to swallow the boulder-sized lump stuck in her throat.

“I’m sorry I’m late. My alarm didn’t go off, and I got somewhat lost.” She chuckled nervously and gestured to her feet. “And the flip-flops slowed me down, and—”

“And you are wasting everyone’s time.” His intense glare finally broke as he shuffled around a few papers then scribbled a note at the top of one.

Was he dismissing her?

Should she leave or find a seat?

“Well?” the intimidating man prompted. “Are you going to grace us with your presence from a seat or the doorway, Miss Miller?”

“A seat,” she blurted then turned and scanned the crowd for an open spot to slink off to.

“You’re in luck. There is one chair that remains open.” Sweeping his arm out in front of him, he gestured with flourish. “Front and center.”

“Thank you,” she said with a curtsy because her lizard brain had completely taken over at that point and she had no control over her body. Ignoring a few snickers, she slinked to her seat, cringing as her footwearslap-slap-slappedher heels with each step.

Professor McMean’n’Scary shuffled his papers once then cleared his throat. “Oh, and Miss Miller?”

Frankie looked up, and the cold, deep ocean of his eyes again captured hers. “Yes?”

“Arrive late again and you’re out of my class. The waitlist is a mile long and full of students hoping that someone like you will wash out quickly so they can take your place. I do not tolerate tardiness. Is that clear?” The terse cadence matched the bristly expression, each sentence punctuated by a clench of his clean-shaven jaw.

“Yes. Um, sir.”

“Yes, Professor Clark,” he corrected her with a low rumble.

Her ears flamed with embarrassment, and she wished desperately that her hair flowed loosely around her shoulders to cover them.

“Yes, Professor Clark,” she parroted quietly.

Can the world open up and swallow me already?

He finally released her from his petrifying focus, settled a pair of black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his aristocratic nose, and resumed the lecture.

Frankie couldn’t focus on a single word he said as she scrambled to pull out her laptop and textbook. Her classmates turned their attention back to the front. Many typed furiously, trying to capture every word the professor said, while others sat back, nodding smugly everything he discussed was common knowledge. She wished she could pull off that level of aloof confidence—pretend or otherwise.

“Let’s examine the cases assigned for today’s reading,” Professor Clark announced loudly, breaking through Frankie’s shame haze.

The what now?

“We will start withGriswold v. Connecticut.”

Assignment? It’s the first day.

He scanned a sheet of paper and said, “Let’s hear from . . .”

No. No no no. Please, anyone but . . .

“Miss Miller.”

Crap.

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