Page 41 of Boiling Point
“So here, on this one,” she said, “I added the voltage in series…but I’m not sure that’s right.”
I nodded slowly, feeling that familiar pull—wanting to teach her, and wanting something far less academic. “You’re overcomplicating it,” I said gently. “You’re treating the configuration as a single system, but you need to break itdown. Analyze the series elements first, then reduce to solve the parallel components.” I picked up a pencil and marked the misstep, correcting the sequence, graphite skating smoothly over the paper.
Understanding dawned in her eyes as I walked her through it, step by careful step. Her focus was absolute—both endearing and maddening in its intensity.
“Does that make sense?” I asked.
She absorbed it like sunlight.
“Yes,” she said at last. “As usual, I made things more complicated than they need to be.”
I chuckled softly, leaning in and lowering my voice to a near whisper, ensuring our conversation was insulated from any wandering ears in the corridor. “You know you have access to me whenever you want it,” I murmured. “No need to wait for office hours if you’re having trouble.” I hesitated, my words deliberate. “Though I’m always pleased to see you, whatever the reason.”
She seemed to weigh my words, her expression thoughtful and teasing all at once. “I’m just trying to maintain separation of church and state.”
“Which is which?”
“Well,” she started, playing with her hair, “state governs laws and action. Church governs the heart and soul. So I suppose this”—she motioned around the room—“is state.”
“And church?”
She glanced up at me through her lashes. “Tomorrow evening?”
I nodded slowly. “I look forward to…worship.”
The temptation was maddening—her presence a gravitational force pulling me toward her even as we both strained against propriety and expectation. I leaned back, widening the space between us, though the distance did nothing to diminish the magnetism.
“How are your other courses this term, Miss Clark?” I asked, unnecessarily louder to ensure we were heard.
She smiled. “Going well, thanks. In fact, I have a paper due for psychology tomorrow. I’d better get going if I don’t want to be up all night.” She stood, gathering her things with a fluid grace that completely stole my focus.
“Best of luck with that.” I straightened a few errant papers on my desk. “For what it’s worth,” I continued, unable to disguise the warmth in my tone, “I’m very glad you stopped by.”
“So am I.”
Chapter 18
Gabrielle
“What are we drinking to?”
I raised my wineglass, the deep red catching the overhead pendant light above Cal’s kitchen island. He stood across from me, sleeves rolled up, a chef’s knife in hand, slicing zucchini with maddening precision.
He set the knife aside, looked up, and—of course—smirked. “To…worship.” He picked up his glass and touched it lightly to mine.
The first sip warmed me all the way down—dry and velvety smooth. I tried to focus on the wine. The kitchen. Anything but the slow, deliberate way his gaze lingered when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“This is really good,” I said, eyeing the bottle—a red foiled tree on a slate-gray background.
Cal gave an amused huff. “Well, that’s a relief. I only bought it because I liked the label, if I’m honest.”
I leaned on the counter as he took up the knife again. The steady slice of metal against wood was strangely hypnotic. “I didn’t realize you lived so close to me.”
The blade faltered for half a second before finding its rhythm again. “Had to preserve a bit of mystery. Though…the proximity has been tempting.”
“Tempting how?” I asked, pulse kicking hard.
He didn’t answer. But the glint in his eyes said everything.
