Page 1 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

Prologue

Paisley

Last week of August

I’m soexcited for my first day of school in a decade, I don’t even care my only choice for a radio station is inexplicably playing Christmas music on my drive from little whistle-and-you-miss-it Wildflower Hollow to the community college in the next town over from my aunt’s house.

With “Under the Mistletoe” by Brett Eldredge and Kelly Clarkson echoing in my ears, I park right behind the horticulture building and get out of my beat-up little hatchback. A wave of relief and joy rolls over me, and I do a zero-chill happy dance. A little celebratory two-step, complete with hip swings and fist pumps.

I can’t believe today is actually here. I saved for so long to be able to afford this. I moved to the middle of nowhere in Wyoming to live with my conspiracy-theory obsessed aunt to be able to do this. But most of all, I had to learn how to give up fear and self-doubt to be able to do this.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

I glance at my watch and laugh.

I’m an hour early for the beginning of my fabulous future. But at twenty-eight, I have enough frustrating life experience to never count luck on my side. Better early than late! And this way, I have time to scout out my classroom.

But again, it doesn’t take me long.

Definitely not in Chicago anymore, Paisley, I tell myself as I glance down the empty hallway outside the equally empty classroom two minutes later.

A sign on the wall points to a cafe in the next building over, so I go in that direction in search of something cold to drink, because a sunny day in Wyoming sneaks up on you, and the water bottle I packed doesn’t sound quite thirst-quenching enough.

Over-prepared and still missing something delicious in my life.

When I step through the door on the next building, I almost run straight into a tall, broad cowboy who has to catch me by the upper arms to stop me from bowling him over.

“Watch out,” he says, his warm, rich voice even nicer than theEverything I Know About Sexual Plant Reproduction I Learned at Climax Springs Community Colleget-shirt stretched tight across his chest.

I jerk my head up.

A pair of pale grey eyes flare in awareness from behind horn-rimmed glasses. “It’s the happy dancer.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw you out my office window.” He stares at me intently, his gaze so sharp, it feels like he knows me already. “You got out of your car and…” He catches my hand, twirling me easily under his curved arm.

I gasp as I spin around, coming to a stop against his other hand in the small of my back.

“Yeah.” He steps back and smiles. “Something just like that.”

“You saw that?”

“It was hard not to. You’re like a ray of sunshine.”

I’m speechless.

Is this cowboy with glasses—and a nerdy plant shirt—flirting with me? Be still my heart. He’s even more delicious looking than lemonade.

“Sorry,” I manage to stammer.

“For what? Being joyful?” He tips his cowboy hat. “Thanks for brightening my day.”

As he moves past me, I turn, because I don’t want to stop looking at him even as he strides away from me.

He’s older than me, maybe by a decade or more. Old enough to be the dad of a freshman, easily.

But I could convince myself that he’s starting over, too. Maybe I'm not the only one who screwed up the last decade of their life in dead-end jobs and fruitless, frustrating attempts at relationships.

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