Page 8 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

My forehead wrinkles as I try to makes sense of her words. “Um, what’s going on exactly?”

“The ogling.Allthe ogling.”

Now the flush creeps down the back of my neck. “Oh. Well. I admit Rowan Keating is definitely not unattractive —“

“Definitelynot,” she practically sings.

“But,” I continue as if she didn’t interrupt, “that’s where any ogling begins and ends.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head, ponytail leaping. “He ogled you right back just now. That man likes you, Hollis Watson.”

“Of course he likes me, he likes all his students.”

“He likes you extra.”

“Doubtful.” I scowl.

“That man,” she points in Rowan’s wake, “has a thing for you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even with the sun shining right in them.”

“He’s got to be fifteen years younger than I am.”

“So? Love is love. If he wants you and you want him, what’s the harm?”

The harm is more time wasted on yet another relationship that ends up being a trap, I retort, but silently.

Amy continues. “I’m not trying to push you into something you don’t want. But if there’s a reason besides poetry that you like class so much, just watch him next session. See where he’s looking. I’d bet damn good money that it’s mostly at you, as much as he can manage and still do his job.”

Like the adult that I am, I answer by sticking my tongue out at my friend.

Amy laughs, rolling her eyes. “That’s the spirit.”

But she also links her arm through mine, reminding me that she’s on my side. I drag in a shuddering breath and promise myself that I’ll consider what she’s saying — after we’re off the mountain.

And after I stop feeling giddy from my sighting of Rowan Keating in the wild. I didn’t miss how sexy he looked with his dark hair mussed and his sweaty shirt clinging to his muscular torso.

But I’m sure that the euphoric dizziness that came over me at the sight of him and hasn’t yet dissipated doesn’t prove Amy right.

Not at all.

Yeah.

If I could do it without my friend seeing, I’d roll my eyes at my own damn self right now. I’m full of shit and we both know it.

I’ve got the hots for Rowan Keating.

Now the question is what I’m going to do about it.

Rowan

Ican’t stop thinking about Hollis Watson, perched on the mountainside like a goddess, wreathed in bronze sunset light.

I can’t get her out of my head. And I don’t want to.

I know I should. I know that lusting after a student is unprofessional at best, and possibly career-ending at worst.

But I don’t care.

If I have to choose between continuing to teach and keeping Hollis in my life, I’ll choose the latter hands down, every time.

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