Page 8 of On Thin Ice

“That goes both ways.”

As I cut a piece of the thin meat on my plate, unaware if it was chicken or a different type of bird, my mind still lingered on my limited time in college…and suddenly I had a question. “Um…how are the repairs going at WCC?”

I’d known it was a potentially dangerous question, as it could rouse all his negative emotions about me—how I’d been the culprit and I was here only because I was paying my debt. If he exploded at me, that would be good, because it would remind me that he was not my friend or potential love interest…and that was probably why I’d asked it.

But his response was quite unexpected. His voice was calm and steady, but his eyes were focused on the asparagus spears on his plate. “The repairs are coming along as expected and should be done no later than the spring semester.”

Why did I feel guilty about that? I hadn’t been the one who’d wreaked havoc on it—and I hadn’t been the person who’d left the lab unlocked…but I had been the one left in charge. Maybe that meant I was responsible in some way. But I wasn’t about to say anything, because in his eyes I’d already been convicted of the crime. I didn’t need to add fuel to that fire.

But it did help me almost embrace my sentence. Looking back, I knew that when I’d left for the print shop that day, I should have sent Jenna on her way and locked the lab myself. Then none of it would have ever happened.

Maybe it would have, though. I couldn’t presume to know what resources the vandals had. They may have had a key or an idea of how to break in and we’d just given them an easy opportunity. It was clear to me that they’d wanted to do it that day because of Dr. Rakhimov’s planned celebration. What better way to make a statement than to have dozens of visitors see it?

Although I kept disappearing into my thoughts, it was clear to me that Sinclair had too. So I asked, “Did you want to play chess tonight?”

When he looked up from his plate, his eyes seemed to devour me. As his pupils widened slightly, he licked his bottom lip—and my mouth went dry. “I can think of nothing better.” But I felt like his words meant something else entirely.

Chapter 4

But we didn’t play chess—not at first. Instead, he insisted we take a short trip around the block to walk off our meal. “I enjoy walking in all seasons, but this time of year is probably my favorite.”

I thought of early fall—before it got too cool out but when you could smell smoke from chimneys and you could hear the crunch of leaves under your feet…when the moon would sometimes look as if it had doubled in size. Although I didn’t take many walks, if I’d had to choose a time, that would have been it. “Why is that?”

“So many reasons.” He stopped walking and I followed suit. “Do you hear that?”

The noise of the city, yes, the incessant hum and drone of machinery and people and vehicles—but I was certain he wasn’t talking about that. “What?”

“Over there,” he said, pointing north. “You can just make out the sound of children playing—laughing and shouting.” I had heard that—but sometimes hearing children laugh reminded me of children picking on me when I was younger. But as I tuned in, almost listening through his ears, I could hear unfettered joy and abandon. Those children didn’t sound like they were being mean or bullying anyone. They were having fun.

And I smiled at him. “I hear it.”

“And can you smell that?”

Smell what? But, closing my eyes, I took a deep breath—and I did. It was a sweet floral fragrance, one I knew but couldn’t quite place. “Yes.” When I opened my eyes, he pointed to the yard we stood next to. Not three feet away grew a lilac bush that I hadn’t been paying attention to as we’d been walking.

Had a person asked me a month ago what type of person Sinclair Whittier was, I never would have said he was a closeted romantic—and yet that was what I was observing now.

“What else?” I asked, thrilled to be drawn into his world as we began walking again.

“The light. Come late October, it will already be dark—but right now we still have plenty of daylight.”

“Without the heat of midday.”

“Ah…you’re getting it. Exactly. It’s still plenty warm but not oppressively hot. And then underfoot. You don’t have to contend with ice or snow. Everything’s easy.”

I never would have expected this man to give me a new appreciation for life—and yet here he was. When he asked my favorite time to walk, I thought long and hard about it, because I’d initially thought autumn—but now I wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. I think I’m beginning to appreciate summer walks.”

“Well,” he said, looking over at me, his eyes seeming to bore into my soul, “we’ll make sure to walk during every season—and you can tell me if you change your mind.”

It wasn’t long before we were back at the mansion, walking through the perfectly kept yard toward the stately front doors. Once inside, he lingered, pausing halfway through the antechamber to admire a huge red vase with gold accents. “I’ve been told this belonged to my mother…that she bought it on her honeymoon. But I don’t know if that’s true.”

“It’s lovely.”

“It makes me think of her, and that’s why it’s here.”

As I took a couple of steps as if in a museum, not wanting to miss taking in anything, my eyes lit upon a large painting of what looked like Greek gods convening on Mount Olympus. And I decided maybe it would be okay to admit something. “I don’t think it’s any secret that I considered your home stuffy and untouchable when I first arrived. I’m…used to living in smaller quarters.”

“Yes.” He’d been there so he, of course, had known that. He might not have seen my actual bedroom, but based on the size of the living room, he probably could have extrapolated that the room I slept in now was easily three times larger.

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