Page 2 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

And he’s beautiful. Tall and solid. He strides with purpose into the building I just came from, and too quickly, he disappears from sight.

What was that?

Cowboys really are built different.

I shake off my stunned reaction, then find the cafe.

“What can I get you?” says the person behind the counter.

“Do you have lemonade?”

“Sure do.” As she gets it, my thoughts zoom back to what just happened.

It’s not like I thought I would come home to Wyoming and find a beautiful man to fall in love and make babies with—I know better than that. But I’ve never in my life had an instantaneous connection like that.

That was…wild.

I put the bottle of lemonade into my backpack and slowly head back to my classroom. Maybe it’ll still be empty and I can feel sorry for myself for a bit. Plus, I’d rather be early and get a good seat than arrive with the rush and awkwardly have to hunt for a free spot.

Of course, I’m not lucky, and when I pull open the classroom door, the room isn’t empty.

There’s a person crouched at the podium, in a sport coat and jeans. From the flickering on the screen above them, it looks like they’re connecting a computer to the projector, so probably the professor.

“Hi,” I call out. “Is it okay if I come in now, or should I?—”

He stands up, and my heart sinks as recognition flares on his face—again.

In the last few minutes, my hot mystery cowboy swapped his hat for a jacket, although he’s still wearing the irreverent plant t-shirt.

Which makes sense.

I was too distracted by the compelling grey eyes that took my breath away to even consider that this guy might be teaching Plant Propagation, but of course he is.

“Definitely, come on in.” He circles around the desk beside the projector and extends his hand. “Noah Lowry.”

“Paisley Stevenson,” I respond automatically. And I shake his hand, because that seems polite, but it’s probably a mistake because now I know how strong his grip is, how warm his palm is, and how weakIam for wishing I could feel this hand on my body in any other way when he’s just being a nice teacher.

“Paisley.” He says my name carefully, deliberately. Like he’s memorizing it. “Are you new here?”

“First day.” The words rush out of me, my mouth suddenly dry. “First year horticulture. I’m, uh, returning to college as amature student. The dance you saw was…kind of celebratory for actually making it here.”

Ruddy color streaks across his cheekbones. “Ah.” He clears his throat and steps back, taking a seat on the edge of the desk that his computer bag is sitting on. “Make it here from where, then?”

“Today? Wildflower Hollow.”

“I know it well.” His head tilts to the side. “But I meant metaphorically. What was the journey that deserved a dance when you finally got here? Because I make the drive from Wildflower Hollow every day and it never inspires a two-step.”

I groan. “Okay, fair. But I wasn’t expecting to be grilled on imagery or whatever by my plant professor.”

He grins. “I’m all full of teaching surprises.”

I stare for a second, then shrug. “I dropped out of college in my first term ten years ago, and since then, I bounced around a lot. It’s a long story.”

His attention doesn’t waver. “This is a fresh start, then.”

“Something like that.”

A funny look crosses his face. “I know all about second chances, Paisley. If you run into any difficulties this term, please let me know.”

---