Page 37 of A Convenient Heart
“Liar,” he said quietly. When had he come to stand beside her?
She lifted her chin slightly. “It isn’t a lie.”
“Sure it is.” He was standing close enough to reach out and brush his thumb against the corner of her mouth. “When you tell an untruth, your mouth pulls. Just here.”
His hand dropped away, and she felt the pulse of something just beneath her skin where he’d touched her.
She dipped her eyes. “Fine.” Was she grinding her teeth? She couldn’t seem to help it. “It was difficult, but only in the very beginning.”
She remembered nights lying on a narrow cot in a girls’ dormitory, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Meals in a dining hall where everyone except her seemed to know each other.
“I did what seemed most natural and dove into my studies,” she explained, her voice only a little uneven. “I loved the learning.” That was true and she looked defiantly at him, daring him to challenge it. “And eventually I made friends.” Including Darcy, who’d sent her a letter just today. Darcy’s younger sister Elsie, who was like a little sister to Merritt, was in need of a teaching job. “Things got better. God provided this job for me, right in Calvin where I’d always wanted to be.”
Jack was watching her face. His expression was more closed off now. She couldn’t read him.
Books had always been easier. Perhaps she read too many romantic novels, but she’d rather thought he might reach out for her in this moment that seemed charged with…something.
And then he did reach out for her, his hand coming to cup her jaw.
Her pulse thrummed in her ears, her skin felt stretched too tightly over her cheekbones. She felt alive and aware, and she tipped forward on her toes, her hand at her side moving to reach for him.
Only for him to swipe his thumb across her cheek and drop his hand away.
“You had a smudge of ink.” His brows had creased, and he looked almost angry as he half turned away. He reached up to where a hat might rest on his head, huffed impatiently, and pushed his hand through his hair. “I miss my hat,” he mumbled.
He’d turned away.
She’d thought he was pulling her close after the vulnerable confession, and he’d only been wiping away a smudge of ink.
Disappointment and humiliation warred as her cheeks flamed.
What had she been thinking? She clutched the books to her midsection, and her other hand trembled as she reached for the satchel.
“Here,” he said. She didn’t understand him until he reached for the books in her arms.
“I can get them,” she said.
“I insist.”
She didn’t want him to insist. Not for this.
And she wasn’t some fainting maiden from a silly romance novel. She smacked the books back onto the table. “I thought you were going to kiss me. You haven’t kissed me once.”
His eyes flared wide and he frowned, though she saw his throat work. “We shouldn’t.”
Shouldn’t?
“Why not?”
He looked at her as if she were a hysterical female instead of one asking a simple question. “Because.”
That wasn’t an answer.
Before she could argue, he picked up the books and lifted the lampshade to blow out the wick. “We shouldn’t be alone in here after dark. People might talk.”
He was awfully worried about people talking, about her reputation.
It was endearing, in a way. Even if she didn’t need protecting.
