A thrill ran through Sophie. Oh, how some of her more advanced students would enjoy this lecture. If only she had brought—
Andrew grazed her back with his fingers to gain her attention. The action sent an entirely different thrill through her. She twisted in her seat, thoughts momentarily muddled. Andrew held out a journal and pencil, one corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile. Gratitude surged as she took it. “Thank you,” she murmured, turning back to the front of the room.
Andrew’s hand did not move, however. It settled across the back of her chair as it had across the bench the night before, somehow both comforting and distracting. But not the sort of distraction that she wished to remove. A handful of missed words from Gompertz might be worth the sensation of warmth that came from his palm.
A thought occurred to her as she scribbled notes from the speech. Was this what had her mind so riddled with mistakes, this attraction that was clearly forming for Andrew? Did she care for him? More than in the usual way she’d long been aware of—as a friend? Did she care for him as one might a suitor?
She’d certainly been intrigued when he’d held her in the alley. Had been fascinated with how her midsection felt filled with butterflies when his face had come close to hers. And she’d not wanted to leave when in the garden the night before.
The very idea stopped her scribbling mid-word. How strange, to think of Andrew that way. Except… it didn’tfeelparticularly strange. And that was the oddest thing of all. Could she possibly be beginning to care for her faux husband as one might a real one?
And would that complicate things entirely?
As usual, Andrew was waiting for Sophie when she left work that day, even though he’d gotten to the bank late that morning after the lecture. Seeing him brought a little light to the otherwise dreary afternoon she’d had.
He crossed to her and, in an instant, pressed a kiss to her cheek. It was firm and, well, not exactly quick. But not overlong. Not long enough, actually.
“Is everything well?” he asked as he pulled back.
Her hand had grasped his waistcoat, seemingly of its own accord, when he drew near. Shocked, she forced her fingers to let go in a breath, but she could do nothing for the spot that Andrew had pressed his lips to for the briefest of moments, for it now burned fiercely. Andrew had just kissed her.
Why had Andrew kissed her?
He was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Did he know the effect he had over her? She hardly understood it, but it seemed to grow worse with each interaction.
But then he repeated his question, as if having kissed her was the most natural thing in the world, nothing to get hung up on.
She was rather hung up on it, truth be told.
“No… I—that is.” She gathered her wits, embarrassingly slowly, and tried again, meeting his eyes. They were so blue. Quite the opposite of the overcast evening above. “I am not doing well at this position, Andrew,” she admitted. “I am… In truth, I am failing abysmally. I am both bored by the work and distracted from doing a decent job. It is aggravating.”
He did not immediately rush to reassure her, thinking through the problem first, giving weight to her anxieties in a way that somehow made her feel better already.
“You are under a lot of stress, Soph. Could that be the reason?”
With how topsy-turvy she felt over that kiss of his, it was very likely thathewas part of the problem. He might be why she could not keep hermind on the work. “But I will not get the position if something does not change. I will not earn it.” And, she did not know if she wanted it.
No. That was not true. Of course, she wanted it—she had spent hours in the cold, reminding herself just why she loved this field of study the night before.
And then Andrew had come. She had enjoyed everything that followed much more.
Another point to him being the distraction.
“You have already earned it—that is what you need to remember. You already earned it and proved your capabilities. You can do nothing about whether or not Mr. Whitcomb finds a replacement; you can only do your best.”
She nodded. He was right—she was under a great deal of stress just now. Stress of the position, yes, but also this engagement that was once a business arrangement but was now something… more? How to let go of it all enough to excel, as she knew she must be capable of doing.
“For now… would you mind a distraction?” Andrew asked softly.
“I would relish one.”
His eyes crinkled. “Then I wished to take you to a circulating library.”
“Oh, that sounds delightful.” She bounced up on her toes in anticipation.
But as they walked, she could not help falling back into a fit of the blue devils, her mind constantly returning to how terribly she was doing at work. If she did not gain this position, what was she to do? Return to teaching? And what of this farce of a marriage? At the same time she was to marry Andrew in earnest, she would learn whether she would gain a permanent position in the Whitcomb project. And what if she did not gain it? Could she slip back into obscurity, no husband needed?
Andrew had only agreed to marry her for her sake. Well, and the sake of his wager. But he was a successful, attractive man. Could he not find another wife if he needed one? He had time—none of his other friends were yet married.
