Page 31 of Engaging with Her Enemy

She stood up, slipping her book back into her over-sized purse. “It's not too cold out. We could sit on my porch. I'll drag the space heater outside. Make some coffee.”

They'd be alone then. He didn't want to leave her. Not yet. Because each time he sat beside her, heard her talk, watched her achieve one more goal, he fell harder in love with her.

But she didn’t want that. So, he smiled, gestured for her to go first through the door, and knew it’d be hell to keep his hands to himself. “Sounds great.”

11

“Ms. Gallagher?”

Becky grimaced as she walked up to the professor's desk. The heat in the old community college had quit partway through the lesson, and now she was thankful for it. Her skin burned with embarrassment after being singled out.

He'd handed out all the mid-term test scores except hers. Now, as the class left, a few curious glances by the other students thrown her way, she knew the results had to be bad. Horrible. Like, try-again-next-time type of score.

She waited, breathing through her mouth because her professor was obviously a fan of some old man cologne. He held out her paper. “Eight-two.”

“I passed?” She snatched the paper from his hand. “I passed.”

“I know this has been a difficult semester for you. Your test scores until now have been in the sixties and low seventies. I was worried you would fail, and I'd have to suggest you drop the class.”

She'd passed. When he stopped talking, she looked up. “Sorry. Yes. I've been working with a tutor.”

His eyebrows, or one unibrow, rose. “A tutor. That is very encouraging. Typically, when a student is trending that low in the class, they will withdrawal before the midterm.”

Trending low. Rather a technical term for sucking, but she liked the sound of it. “My old high school tutor actually came back to Statem for a few weeks. He's been helping me.”

“So, you had tutoring in high school as well?” He leaned his hands on the desk. “Tell me, what part of learning do you have trouble with?”

Becky swallowed, buying time by meticulously putting her midterm paper in her folder. “I'm not sure, really.”

“I see that you take notes in class.”

“Yes. It helps me stay focused.”

He nodded. “When you study, do you keep that same level of focus?”

“I try. It's more an understanding of the concepts. Math has always tripped me up. I can't comprehend things.” It was the first teacher who'd even cared about her issue. She decided Hudson would be proud of her talking about it. “It's like all jumbled up in my head. If I had to repeat what you said, I could do that. But I can't apply it.” She smiled. “And don't get me started on word problems. I could read the same problem five hundred times and still miss some part to it.”

“And your tutor understands accounting?”

She patted her notebook that contained her grade. “Apparently he does. He's an engineer.” She heard the pride in her voice.

“Good. I was going to offer you additional services if needed. Keep up the hard work. It will pay off in the end.” He picked up his briefcase and walked with her to the door. “Our final will include all the concepts on this test and the newer information. I can give you a study guide that may help focus your attention on the more important topics to review.”

“I'd love that. Thank you.” Becky floated to her car, still in a daze as she drove back to Statem. Should she wait to tell Hudson tomorrow? Everything inside her felt alive.

She'd passed her mid-term.

She'd shared her issues with her teacher, and nothing terrible happened. He hadn't judged her or ridiculed her.

As she pulled into town, a little after ten-thirty, the bed and breakfast caught her eye. He'd be there now. Probably asleep.

“What the hell!” She pulled into the driveway and parked around back with the rest of the visitors. After years of living in town, she knew the after-hours code to the lock on the kitchen door. Mrs. Roberts kept a tidy, neat kitchen that had modern appliances even with antique furnishings. Becky's eyes slid over the six-burner stove with a double convection oven. Amajorstep up from the oven she currently used for her baking.

Hudson said he was on the second floor. She crept up the stairs. Now wasn't the time to wimp out, but her rash decision to knock on a man's door this late suddenly seemed a little foolish.

Eighty-two. Hot damn an eighty-two! She wanted to share the excitement with him.

Taking the stairs two at a time now, she made it to the second floor. Only three rooms on this floor and three more on the third floor.

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