Текст книги "The Finn Factor"
Автор книги: Rachel Bailey
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The walls around our relationship had worked out well for four years. They kept me seeing her as my friend Scarlett, not as a gorgeous girl.
Until that kiss…
Now we had a problem.
I could have My Friend Scarlett, who I saw as a little sister, who was as important to me as the rest of my family.
Or I could kiss her again, maybe even sleep with her, and turn her into someone I could date. Potential Girlfriend Scarlett.
But I couldn’t have both.
Potential Girlfriend Scarlett would have an expiration date. Even if I wanted it differently, I knew myself. As soon as physical intimacy happened, I shut down the emotional connection. I’d tried to not do it a couple of times, but it was pretty much beyond my control. Some sort of self-defense thing kicked in within minutes of sex finishing.
So there was no other choice I could make. Scarlett had to go back into the Friends Only box. And I had to stop thinking about that kiss. Or thinking about taking it further. With her naked. In my bed.
As if she’d heard my thoughts, she suddenly looked up and our gazes collided. They held, for about three seconds too long, before she finally looked away.
“Hey, thanks for that lesson last night,” she said brightly over her shoulder. “I think I’ll be fine from here on.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay, good to hear.”
“My friend at work, Cathy—I think you’ve met her a couple of times?—she’s going to set me up on a date with her boyfriend’s friend. So I’ll get to try what you taught me out on him.”
“That’s, er…great,” I mumbled. Everything inside me screamed to stop Scarlett from trying out anything on some random guy, but that was me thinking about Potential Girlfriend Scarlett. Since she was My Friend Scarlett, I should be glad she was moving forward.
I smiled, knowing it was probably more of a grimace. Needing to change the subject, I glanced at her canvas. She followed my line of sight then jumped into action, turning the easel away. “You can’t see!”
This time I grinned properly. It was a teddy bear, and my birthday was coming up. Given that she’d painted me a teddy bear for all the birthdays and Christmases since we’d met, it was a reasonable assumption the painting was for me.
“You know I don’t even like teddy bears, right?” I said for the forty-fifth time.
“Just because you don’t like them, doesn’t mean you don’t need them in your life,” she replied, the same as she always did.
She’d been horrified when she’d found out I’d been thrust into the role of a parent at eighteen. In her mind, I’d missed out on part of my growing up years, which apparently could be rectified by an overabundance of small, stuffed bears. In fact, Scarlett saw it as her duty to bring teddy bears into my life. Which had led to my bedroom wall being covered in teddy bear paintings. I had to admit, it was kind of a sweet thing to do, despite my teasing every time she gave me one.
Giving in, I held up my hands and backed up a step. “I’m going to hit the shower. Are you home for dinner?”
“Yep.” She put her brush in the jar of water. “But I don’t feel like cooking. How about I order pizza?”
“Sounds good,” I said and made a hasty retreat to the shower.
Scarlett
The pizza arrived and I took it straight into the kitchen. Finn’s love of olives knew no bounds and there was never enough on bought pizzas for him. I, on the other hand, hated the nasty little salty things. So we always kept jars of them in the cupboard, then ordered our pizza with no olives, and I piled them up on his side myself.
I grabbed a jar from the cupboard—giving the icemaker a little pat on the way past—but couldn’t get the lid off.
“Finn,” I called. When he appeared in the doorway, running his fingers through his wet hair, I handed him the jar. “Can you open this?”
“Sure.” He reached to take it from me, but there was something different in the action. He placed his fingers at the bottom of the jar, careful to not let them brush mine at the top. It was disappointing he had to be so careful, but then I realized he was doing us both a favor, helping to put the boundaries back in place.
He opened the jar, and I fixed his half then took the whole thing to the living room. I threw the pizza box onto the coffee table and we sat on the floor on opposite sides. Normally we chatted about our day, about friends, about anything, really, but tonight we were eating in silence.
I glanced over at him and watched him take a bite. His lips moved as he chewed, the same lips that had kissed me like there was no tomorrow. My lungs felt tight.
“Scarlett,” he said, his voice a little rough. “You need to stop looking at my mouth.”
I swallowed hard. “Huh?”
“How do you think this guy you’re going to date will feel about you staring at my mouth?”
I put the pizza down and wiped my fingers on a napkin. “Maybe we should talk about what happened last night?”
“Nope,” he said, his dark blue eyes panicked. “Let’s just move on.”
That was Finn’s default position—ignore any messy issue and hope it went away. But this time I didn’t think that would work. We needed to smooth the waters again, so we wouldn’t have to always keep our hands apart on the olive jar. I picked at a bit of cheese and stretched it out. “If we talk about it, it might make it easier to put it behind us.”
He shook his head. “Not everything is made better by talking.”
This “not talking” wasn’t getting us anywhere. Maybe it would be better to simply jump into the deep end of the conversation. “Finn, I can’t deny that was an amazing kiss last night, and—”
“You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice tight.
“Doing what?”
“Watching my mouth while you talk.” He took another bite of pizza. When he finished chewing, his eyes flicked away then back to me again. “It’s distracting.”
“Sorry.” I adjusted my sparkly purple glasses.
He drew in a deep breath. “Look—”
There was a knock at the door and I dropped my pizza.
Finn leaped up, looking relieved. “I’ll get it.”
As I watched him go, I wondered what he’d been about to say. We’d never had trouble talking before. Well, occasionally I had to give him a little nudge, but that was a guy thing. This was different. If we’d damaged our friendship, I’d never forgive myself.
The door squeaked open. “Finn!” said two familiar voices in unison.
“John,” Finn said, surprised. “Jane, great to see you.”
My parents? Weren’t they doing a camping trail across the outback? I wiped my hands and met them as they were coming through the living room.
“Baby!” My dad enveloped me in his arms. He gave the best hugs.
My mother dragged Finn over and turned it into a group hug. They’d considered Finn one of their own since I’d first brought him to my birthday celebration three years ago. That was one of the nice things about them—they accepted everyone at face value, and welcomed my brother’s and my friends with as much warmth as their own friends.
When we all let go, I wiped away the moisture around my eyes. “This is a great surprise. I thought you were miles away.”
They shared a look before my dad said, “It’s been too long, and we missed you kids. When we leave here, we’ll drop in and visit Thomas.”
“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” Finn asked.
My father nodded. “We’re heading for a campground.”
Finn looked at me with a raised eyebrow, asking and offering at the same time. I nodded. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” I said. “You can have my room and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Oh, no,” my mother said. “We couldn’t put you out. But if you’re serious about your offer, we could pitch the tent in your backyard while we’re in town?”
“Stay here in the house,” Finn said. “You can use Amelia’s room. She won’t need it until the next school holiday, so it’s just sitting there.”
Finn’s youngest sister, Amelia, was sixteen and totally sweet. She’d met my parents a few times before, when she’d been home from boarding school, and wouldn’t mind them using her room.
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” my father said with finality. “Just open the gate so we can drive around the back and we’ll pop the tent up in no time.”
Finn had never taken much interest in the backyard, so I knew he wouldn’t care about the damage to the grass that a large tent would make, but it was still his call. He met my eyes then nodded.
“Sure,” he said and went out to open the gate.
My heart warmed at his easy generosity. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised—the very fact I was living here for nominal rent and a share of the utilities had proven that. He’d said he was sick of helping me move after what had to be close to a world record of seventeen times in two years, but I knew it was more than that. Sure, there had been creepy roomies who stole my underwear, and roomies who played music so loud I could never study. Roomies who’d been arrested for growing drugs in the spare room, and roomies who’d thought the prank of hiding my coffeemaker had been hilarious, even after the eighth time.
Finn had suggested moving in with him after the fifth place that didn’t work out, but I hadn’t wanted to take advantage of him by living practically rent-free. After a childhood of constant changes, I was determined to create my own stability. But I finally started to wonder if the common denominator in these rentals not working out was me. The seventeenth move was the charm, however, and Finn pretty much staged a one-man intervention before taking my stuff to his place.
I shoved the last bite of pizza in my mouth and followed him out to the backyard.
My parents had the process of setting up tents down to a fine art, but still we spent the next hour in the backyard with them erecting the tent, pumping up the air mattress, and unpacking their old car. When we made it into our living room again, Finn and I collapsed onto the sofa.
I turned my head as it rested on the back of the cushions so I could see him. “Thanks for letting them stay.”
He shrugged, like it was no big deal to have a huge tent taking up his backyard. “They’re your family. Of course they’re welcome. Though they should have stayed in the house.”
“They’ll be happier out there,” I said, knowing from a lifetime of experience that it was true. “Houses make them feel confined.”
He smothered a yawn. “How long do you think they’ll stay?”
“Hard to say. Until they feel the wind change. Going on their past record, it could be a few weeks, or we could get home tomorrow and they’ll have moved on to my brother’s house.” They were nomads at heart. When we’d been in school, they’d tried to stay put during the term, and were mostly successful, but as soon as we’d graduated, all bets were off.
“Well, I don’t mind how long it is.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. Finn had great legs, probably from riding his bike so much—it was something other girls commented on all the time. My gaze drifted over them now, wondering…
I squeezed my eyes shut. This was a dangerous path to take. I’d already decided I was keeping him as a friend. Only a friend.
The whole time we’d been helping my parents set up outside, in the back of my mind I’d been thinking about what Finn had been about to say when the knock on the door happened. From his expression, it had been serious, so I was wary about prodding. But if we were going to get back into the friends groove, we couldn’t leave obstacles in our way. We had to be brave.
I picked up a cushion and plucked at the corner. “Before they arrived, you were going to say something.”
His eyes shifted to the left. “I was?”
“We were talking about”—when your mouth took me to heaven—“last night.”
“It was nothing,” he said quickly. “We should go to bed.” His eyes widened. “I mean—”
For one long moment, the blood in my veins stilled, then I noticed that he was flustered, which was rare—and adorable—and I grinned. “It’s okay, Finn. I know what you meant. And you’re right. Tomorrow’s a workday, so I’m going to turn in.”
He nodded once, without meeting my eyes, and I left the room, not sure if I was glad we’d avoided the conversation, or relieved.
Chapter Four
Scarlett
The next morning, eyes barely open, I headed down the hallway toward my second favorite kitchen appliance—the coffeemaker. I sent up a prayer that Finn was already up and had it going.
“Good morning, baby girl,” my mother singsonged a bit too loudly as I made it to the kitchen.
I peered around the room and found my parents bustling away, pulling fruits and vegetables from a large box on the counter and shoving them into their ancient juicer.
Finn sat on a stool at the breakfast bar with a grimacy smile and a huge glass of something thick and green. He held it up. “Your parents are making us smoothies,” he said with fake enthusiasm.
“To say thank you for letting us stay¸” my father added, passing me a glass. “Here you go.”
“Er, thanks.” I thought about asking if I could squeeze past to make some coffee, but ironically, I wasn’t caffeinated enough to face the disappointment on their faces. It seemed from Finn’s expression he was in the same boat. So I settled on, “Where did you get all this produce?” and slid onto the stool beside Finn.
My father chuckled. “We’ve been up since dawn, walking around the neighborhood, and we found a great organic fruit shop a few blocks over.”
“Don’t worry,” my mother added, “we’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes. We have a big day planned, starting with climbing the Harbour Bridge.”
I had tingles in my toes just thinking about being that high up, but I knew my parents would love the feel of the wind in their hair from that height.
They packed their assorted purchases into the fridge and wiped down the counters. “We bought some produce for ourselves, and it’s all out in the icebox in the tent, so this is for you. But we’ll pop in and make the smoothies for you each morning while we’re here.”
“As a thank you,” I said faintly, still not daring to taste mine.
“Exactly,” my mother said, and beamed. “We’ll see you both later.”
With a kiss on the top of my head from each of them, my parents left the kitchen. Finn and I sat frozen to our stools as we listened to them going through the door, then the footsteps down the path, then their car starting. As soon as it had cleared the gate, Finn and I both leaped up and raced for the coffeemaker. Neither of us said a word until we were back on our stools, steaming mugs of goodness in our hands.
“I’m sorry about that.” I tilted my head to his empty smoothie glass.
“No problem. My liver is probably exceedingly happy about it, even if it was awful. Are you going to have yours?”
“Yeah. After coffee. When I can face it.”
He nodded and took another sip from his mug. He looked sleepier than usual. His almost-black hair was getting a bit long and stuck out in all directions. The worn, pale blue T-shirt he slept in was paired with the shorts he’d dragged over his sleeping boxers like he did every morning. But today there were also dark circles under his eyes.
I nudged him with my elbow. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I just didn’t sleep well,” he said dismissively.
“Is it my parents staying?” They were sometimes hard for me to cope with, and they were my family, so I knew it was hard for Finn having to deal with them when he didn’t have to.
“No, it’s—” He swallowed and something in his eyes changed. Heated. My pulse picked up speed and my gaze dropped to his mouth.
“You’re doing it again,” he practically growled.
He’d done it first, I wanted to point out, by thinking whatever it was that had made his eyes change. But that wouldn’t get us anywhere. “Sorry,” I said instead and took another sip of my coffee.
“Look, Scarlett, about what happened.” He rubbed a hand down his face and was silent for a few beats as he studied the counter in front of him. “What happened between us. I have to check. You’re not interested in anything happening between—”
“No!” I said, a little bit too fast and too loud. “I don’t want to lose this friendship. It’s way too important to me.”
He gave me an awkward smile. “Agreed. I feel the same way.”
I looked at him over the curls of steam coming from my mug. “And we would lose it, wouldn’t we, Finn?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think there’s a good chance we would.”
A tight band formed around my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “So we’ll go back to being just friends, and I’ll go out with the guy Cathy knows. And you’ll date someone new, and you’ll bring her back here, and she’ll be jealous of me like always, and you’ll—”
“Tell her that you’re non-negotiable in my life, as always,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“—and everything will be like normal.”
Yep, normal. That was exactly what I wanted. No more kissing Finn or thoughts of kissing Finn. Just everything back to the way it had been. Oh, yes, I was ninety-nine percent sure that was how my life should be.
“And to really make things normal again,” he said, in the teasing tone he only used with me, “you’ll go back to finish your degree?”
“I’m not quite ready. I haven’t saved up enough money yet.” Though even I could hear how feeble that sounded.
“Scarlett, if you can’t bring yourself to finish your degree, then something’s wrong. If you were really committed to a career in accounting, you’d have finished it by now and be working as an accountant.”
This was better. We were acting like the old Finn and Scarlett again. “At least my chosen career—as well as my temporary career—will actually earn me money. Tell me again how many jobs are waiting for people with PhDs in obscure ancient reed flutes?”
He grinned. “Almost as many jobs as there are for professional artists. Which is what you should be doing with your life.”
“Painting isn’t my only skill. I can take my pick of jobs to earn my crust because I’m a woman of many, many talents.”
This time it was his gaze that dropped to my mouth, and I immediately regretted my choice of words. Even so, my pulse spiked at the memory, but I dragged in a deep breath and pretended we were both only thinking about our careers.
“In all seriousness,” he said, “it wouldn’t hurt to at least give it a go. You’re taking some time off from school anyway.”
“I’m happy with how things are.” I met his eyes and an understanding passed between us. We weren’t just talking about my job.
He nodded and turned away. “I’m happy with how things are, too.”
“I’d better get ready for work.” I picked up my glass of green goop and downed it in one go. I might not like it, but I had a lifetime of experience in stomaching whatever my parents fed me.
If only it were as easy to think of Finn only as my roommate again, then everything would be right in the world.
Finn
Following the instructions in the diagram, I speared the knife into the reed to make an air hole, but apparently used a little too much force. The whole thing snapped. Swearing, I threw the pieces to the side, and checked the clock again—11:43 p.m. and Scarlett was still out. Grabbing another reed from the box I’d bought on the internet, I tried again to make a flute the way the ancient Mesopotamians had.
Where was she? I hadn’t even had a chance to meet this guy—she’d caught a cab to meet him at the bar—and that always made me nervous. Her parents had turned in a couple of hours ago, obviously not seeing a problem with their only daughter being out at all hours of the night, but I couldn’t let it go as easily.
A car pulled up in front of the house and I heard doors close, then a key in the front door. I finally let out the breath it felt like I’d been holding since she’d left.
I stood and stretched, ready to make mojitos if it had gone badly. “Hey,” I said as the door opened, “how did it—”
Scarlett appeared—her blonde hair shiny and styled, her eyes seeming huge with the dark makeup—and behind her was another face. A male face. And it looked like he’d spent as much time on grooming before the date as she had, from his near-orange skin to the dark makeup around his eyes.
“Finn,” she said with a fake smile, “this is Peter. He dropped me home and asked if he could come back for a nightcap. Do you want to join us, maybe for appletinis?”
I stuck out my hand and smiled, but mine was more genuine than Scarlett’s had been. Asking the other to join in for appletinis was part of our code, meaning, I don’t want to be alone with this person. And I was more than happy to oblige.
“Good to meet you, Peter. Let me show you the sofa while Scarlett makes us some drinks.”
He looked from her back to me. This was obviously not the direction he’d been hoping the night would go.
“Okay, sure,” he said, apparently deciding to ride it out to get to the prize. I smiled wider, baring my teeth. Scarlett was not his prize.
Scarlett disappeared into the kitchen and Peter followed me, but I stopped before reaching the living room.
“So, um, you’re her roommate, right?” he said, his voice hopeful.
I dropped the smile. “Peter, it’s time to go home.”
“What?” His eyes darted to the kitchen doorway.
“You’ve probably had a very nice night, but it’s over. You can leave now.” I took the few steps back to the front door and swept an arm toward the exit.
“But, Scarlett—”
“Is too nice to say it. She was going to let you down easy, but I can tell you’re the sort of guy who’d appreciate knowing up front. So I’m doing you a favor, man to man.” With one hand in my pocket, I opened the door with the other. “As I said, good to meet you, Peter.”
He slowly covered the distance to where I waited, his gaze swinging to the kitchen and back a few times first. “Yeah. Um…you, too.”
Then he was gone and I grinned. My work here was done. I closed the door behind him and arrived at the sofa at the same time as Scarlett, with three opened beers in her hands. We didn’t even keep the ingredients for appletinis in the house—the offer had been all about the code—so I hadn’t been sure what she’d bring. Beer was the perfect choice to celebrate Peter’s departure.
“Where’s Peter?” she asked, glancing around the room.
“He had to leave.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Finn, what did you say to him?”
“That he should leave.” I sank onto the sofa and stretched my legs out in front of me, more relaxed than I’d been all night.
She raised her face toward the ceiling. “Shit. I leave you alone for two minutes—”
I held up a hand to interrupt. “You wanted him gone, right?”
“Well, yes, but he was nice. I was going to have a drink with him then tell him I needed some sleep.” She handed me a beer and dropped onto the sofa. “And I’ll save you the trouble. Yes, he was wearing guy-liner and had a man tan.”
“And more foils than a fencing competition,” I added and swigged the beer.
“He was just putting in an effort, which is more than I can say for some of the guys I’ve dated.” She picked at the label on her beer. “Did he say anything when he left?”
I shrugged. “He won’t be calling.”
She dragged her laptop from the coffee table and opened her dating chart. “Another one-dater to add.”
“But this one wasn’t your fault. And, the good thing is you realized before you had to kiss him this time.” I took another mouthful of beer, feeling pretty satisfied with the outcome.
“Oh, I kissed him,” she said casually as she typed. “Twice.”
The beer went down the wrong way and I coughed and spluttered for a couple of moments before I could reply. “You kissed him? You didn’t even like him!”
She shrugged and closed her laptop. “He was kinda cute. And I needed the practice.”
“Guy-liner and a man tan,” I pointed out, surprised I even had to.
She sighed. “But the kissing was awful.”
All of a sudden, the evening seemed a little brighter. Then I remembered I was the one who was supposed to have been teaching her about kissing, so I made sure my face was serious as I said, “Which was his fault.”
“Oh, totally.” She took another sip of her beer. “If nothing else, your lesson taught me to raise my standards in my kissing partners.”
That moment when our lips had first touched filled my mind, blocking out all other thought. My skin heated, and the air felt thick. She wasn’t the only one whose standards had been raised.
“Glad to have been of help,” I said, hoping it sounded casual, and finished my beer. “By the way, I enrolled you in a silversmithing workshop in a couple of weeks.”
She groaned and wriggled back in the sofa. “Is this another attempt to get me to be a professional artist?”
“Nope. This time it’s about my career.” The prospect of getting her to spend time with other artists was a side benefit.
She arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing a word. “You want to be a professional artist now?”
“I want to make my own reconstruction of the Silver Flute of Ur.” The two badly damaged silver pipes that had been found in the Mesopotamian city-state of Ur were older than any other existing wind instrument from the Near East, and one of my obsessions. Scarlett had sat through me explaining the discovery and its importance a few times already, and the fact that she didn’t ask what the Flute of Ur was showed she’d paid attention. I appreciated that about her.
“Fair enough, but why am I doing the workshop when you’re the one who wants to make the flute?”
“Here’s the beauty of the plan.” I put my empty beer bottle on the coffee table and snagged the extra one. “I’m enrolled as well.”
She eyed me dubiously. “And you need me to hold your hand?”
“I need you to translate,” I clarified. I wouldn’t survive a workshop without her.
The suspicion in her eyes didn’t ease off. “I only speak the one language.”
“Not true. You speak Artist Talk. Completely different language. When I called to sign us up, the woman spoke for two minutes about the course, and I only understood about a quarter of what she was saying. If I’m going to get anything out of the workshop, I’ll need an interpreter.”
“If I agree—”
“Too late to disagree,” I said. “You’re already enrolled.”
“If I agree”—her hazel eyes didn’t waver—“what do I get out of it?”
I grinned. “The chance to help make a replica of the Silver Flute of Ur. It’s what all the cool kids are doing.”
“I can hardly contain my excitement,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm, which didn’t matter. She’d clearly decided to come with me.
Before she could change her mind, I jumped up. “Another beer?” I asked, using the fail-safe method of alcohol-as-distraction.
“Why not.” She passed me her empty and I grabbed two more bottles from the kitchen.
We drank the beers, then another each, as I updated her on two students in a first-year class I tutored—the guy was head-over-heels about the girl, and she was completely oblivious. He was trying time-honored traditions of shy guys everywhere, such as passing her notes and making her giggle. It was sweet, and part of me wanted to put the two of them together in a room and tell them to cut to the chase. Instead I was pretending it wasn’t happening under my nose and letting things take their natural course. And keeping Scarlett updated, naturally.
She smiled and put the most recent empty beer bottle on the coffee table.
“Another?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m nicely buzzed but not too far gone.”
“Me, too.” Four beers in quick succession had made me pretty happy with the world. Well, they had until she opened her mouth again.
“Speaking of you teaching people things, I think I need another kissing lesson.”
Suddenly the walls of the room started closing in on me, and my gaze automatically went to her mouth. Her lush mouth that still had the remnants of fiery-red lipstick.
I swallowed. “No, you don’t. We don’t kiss anymore. We’re friends who don’t kiss.” Panic was rising up from my chest. “We don’t want to form a habit.”
She shrugged, apparently having forgotten we’d already dealt with this. “It takes twenty-one days to form a habit, so I think we’re safe.”
“Actually, that’s a myth. It takes a minimum of twenty-one days, but it’s usually more like sixty-six.” I snapped my mouth shut, aware I was babbling.
“Well,” she said, her eyes bright with the beer-buzz, “we’re even more safe then.”
“Regardless, we agreed not to do it again. We don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.” But I was uncomfortably aware that the real issue was if I started kissing her again, would I be able to stop?
“Yeah, I know.” She picked up her empty and started picking at the label.
“Are you letting Appletini Guy’s bad kissing get to you?”
She didn’t look up. “I don’t remember our first lesson very well.”
The blood in my veins froze. A kiss that had rocked my world hadn’t even made enough impact on her to be memorable?
“You don’t remember?” I repeated, just to be clear. “It was only two nights ago.”
“I haven’t forgotten we kissed, obviously, but I can’t remember details, like what the most effective elements were.”
I shifted in my seat. Every second of that kiss was burned into my memory bank. It seemed that hadn’t been as mutual as I’d suspected. I blew out a breath and focused on being a teacher in the situation, not a man who’d been carried away with his own lesson.
“I think you’re over-analyzing this. The elements don’t matter on their own. It’s more about the big picture.”
“Would you say that to your undergrads? Don’t worry about the specifics of the aqueducts, or which emperor came to power in what year. It’s more about the big picture of knowing there was a Roman Empire?”
“Well, no, but it’s completely different,” I said, looking down the hall and wondering if I could escape the conversation by simply leaving.
“How?” she persisted. “In both cases, you’re teaching something. So the student needs the topic broken down into bite-size pieces.”
At the word “bite” all the air left the room. Scarlett must have interpreted my silence to be disbelief because she grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper.
“Here.” She smoothed it out on the coffee table in front of us. “I’ll graph it for you.”
That snapped me back. “You’re going to graph our kiss?”
She drew an X and Y axis, then a line that went up across the page, but not smoothly—there were spikes and bumps along its progress.
“So, here, for example”—she pointed to a sharp rise in the line—“you did something and the kiss took off. What was it?”
“Seriously?” She wanted to talk as if it had been a clinical experience?
