Page 10 of Boiling Point
“I looked up a couple of repair shops last night. I’ll call between classes and see what I can find.”
“I know a mobile mechanic,” I offered as I turned into the faculty lot. Campus was still sleepy—Friday eight o’clocks were never popular.
“Oh, if you wouldn’t mind giving me his number, that’d be great.”
I parked and turned to Gabrielle. “Why don’t you give me your keys, and I’ll take care of it?”
“Seriously?” Her tone caught me—surprise, maybe. Or reproach.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s no trouble.”
She hesitated, gripping the strap of her backpack. “I really don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing.” I leaned back in my seat, the leather creaking softly. “You have a full day of classes. I only have ours at eight.”
She studied me, uncertainty flickering behind those bright green eyes. Then she exhaled, a soft sigh of grateful resignation. “All right.” She handed me her keys. They felt oddly significant in my palm. “Thank you,” she added, absolute sincerity in her voice.
We sat a moment longer than necessary, silence suspended like blown glass. I knew what needed saying before we stepped out of the car and into roles far better defined.
“Miss Clark?—”
“You can call me Gabrielle, you know.”
I smiled. “That brings me to my point, actually.”
Her face dropped. “Oh gosh, I crossed a line.” She shook her head violently. “I didn’t?—”
“No, not at all.” A beat. “Not at all, Gabrielle.”
Her eyes shone when I said her name.
“Once we step out, I’ll have to go back to acting like a stuffy professor. I may come off as cold or distant.” The words landed more clumsily than I’d intended. “I don’t want you to take it personally,” I added quickly.
Her brow furrowed before understanding smoothed it over. “I get it, Dr. Hawthorne.” She tried to mask her disappointment with a small smile. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
I nodded. “Drop by my office when you’re finished with classes this afternoon, and we’ll see how much progress I’ve made with your car.”
A moment passed, one that felt both fragile and precious.
“See you in class. And thanks again.” She opened the door and got out, her backpack swinging lightly as she walked toward the science building.
I lingered in the car for another breath, unmoored by how easily she accepted what I couldn’t bring myself to say aloud—this was only temporary.
Chapter 6
Gabrielle
Iwasn’t the first student in class, but the room was still sparsely populated. I counted four others—earbuds in, laptop screens glowing. My third-row seat by the window was vacant and waiting for me. Overhead lighting bounced off the white tile floor, casting a sterile glow that made me long for glowing lamplight and worn book pages. I could already imagine myself curled up on the couch with a soft blanket and the new Savannah Evans novel I’d saved for the weekend—my reward for surviving the first week of the spring semester. That and—weather permitting—a few glorious hours in the cockpit of a Cessna Aerobat.
I flipped open my notebook to Wednesday’s lecture: diagrams, equations, and my meticulous color-coded notes on electric current, circuit configurations, and capacitors. I heard each word in Dr. Hawthorne’s voice—smooth and rich, accented just enough to make every technical term sound like poetry. I imagined him on my sofa again, explaining the difference between series and parallel circuits.
I snapped back to my notes:Current always flows through the path of least resistance. A short circuit can cause a discrepancy between intended and actual voltage levels. Mymind wandered again to this morning in his car—how he hesitated before starting the conversation, his wry sense of humor when he relented that French was not his forte. The way he said my name.
Stop it, I chided myself.Focus.
The room began to fill, most of my classmates looking as bleary-eyed as I felt after my restless night. A half-asleep student tripped over his laces, muttering more with irritation than pain as he slumped into a chair. Yawns rippled through the hall. The Friday morning exhaustion was contagious.
I took a deep breath and refocused on my notebook.Current, I read to myself.The rate at which charge flows through a surface…
