Page 4 of Love Under Snowfall

Professor Clark, on the other hand, was groomed immaculately. His suit was sculpted by the gods, under which he wore a pressed white button-down and expensive-looking tie a few shades lighter than his eyes. Frankie could practically smell the fresh shower on him, mixed with clove and cinnamon. He’d clearly shaved—his skin had that moisturized gleam to it—but thefive o’clock shadow was already starting to peek out.

How is this guy real?

“Miss Miller,” he scolded.

What had he asked?She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs.

“Sorry, but what’s an L2?”

His eye twitched, but only once. “A second-year law student.”

“Oh, I’m not a law student.”

“Then what are you doing in my class?” His voice rumbled low in his chest, displaying the loosening grip he held on his already dwindling patience.

“Dean McCaffery approved my request to take this class. I’m in the master of social work program, and he agreed that family law would be helpful to my studies,” Frankie explained. She’d been so excited when she got the ok to attend. She knew firsthand how confusing the legal system was—especially for foster kids—and having a decent grasp would give her a leg up after graduation. The dean had been ecstatic when they’d finally met after she’d submitted her formal request; something aboutco-mingling disciplinesandthe dawning of a new era.

Professor Clark appeared to consider this new information for a moment while his expression gave little away.

“I have no intention of making this class easier for you. I expect you to keep up. No touchy-feely vibes like what you'll undoubtedly experience in the rest of your MSW courses. Law classes are cutthroat. Students are ranked against each other, and the weak are culled. As I mentioned earlier, there are a lot of talented students on the waitlist who would kill to take your seat in the class.” A bit of nostril flaring emphasized his words, and then he returned to his notes.

“Yes, sir—er, Professor Clark. I have every intention ofkeeping up. It’s just . . .” Silence and tension crackled in the air.

“Out with it, Miss Miller, I have another class in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, there were so many terms that felt foreign to me. Is there a book or something you can suggest for me to catch up with the rest of the class?”

“You mean a book that will substitute for an entire year of formative law classes?”

Frankie chuckled nervously. “Yes?”

He removed his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief to buff them clean. His dark blue eyes settled on her face. She squirmed under his scrutiny as her agitation steadily built.

We get it. You think I’m beneath you and your precious class. Can’t we move on from that so I can prove you wrong already?

After replacing the black frames, he jotted something down on a yellow sticky note. He peeled it off and held out a finger with the little square sticking to the tip.

“Take this to the law library downstairs and ask someone at the front desk to help you find it. It isn’tCivil Procedure for Dummies, but it is close enough that evenyoushould be able to follow it.”

Her eyes narrowed momentarily at the overt dig, hoping the tight smile hid her grinding teeth. “Thank you. This is exactly what I need to—”

“And get yourself a tutor,” he cut in. “Don’t be against paying for a good one either.”

“Right. Thanks again.”

Noyou’re welcome, no smile, not even a little nod. Instead, Professor Clark looked back down to his papers, dismissing her with his silence.

Frankie clasped her hands together so as not to give in to the impulse to flip him the bird on her way out. Once in the hallway,she breathed a sigh of relief and headed downstairs in search of the library.

Another text buzzed in her pocket.

Oh my god, can’t he tell I’m busy?

She crammed the phone deep into her bag and ignored the tug of shame in her chest. Avoidance wasn’t her typical MO, but focusing on salvaging her educational career seemed to warrant the temporary personality shift.

The law library was so silent that Frankie worried her slap-happy flip-flops would get her kicked out. Overcast light spread in through the windows, bathing the rows and rows of study tables in a subdued glow. Straight ahead, a glass-sided stairwell led further into the depths of the book basement. Glass half-walls rimmed the balcony overlooking the lower level as more of the frosted panes enclosed meeting rooms and small alcoves meant for studying. Everything, aside from the shelves and a few interior walls, was translucent, perhaps to welcome as much natural light as possible and detract from the library’s subterranean location.

To the right stood the circulation desk. A young woman with teal hair and a pierced septum approached with a gleaming smile.

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