Lectures wouldn’t begin until after the new year, but Andrew had more than academia demanding his attention. His desk was buried in notes—not just for the coming term, but for his private research. The Air Ministry expected his next report before the end of the week, technical findings for the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough. Officially, he was studying winter flight stability: ice accumulation along wings,drag in freezing air, the strain of cold on engine casings. Unofficially, he tested his theories with his own magic, shaping frost across scale models, summoning controlled drafts to mimic high-altitude currents. Few in Whitehall knew the true extent of his “insight,” only that his results were reliable. And while duty pulled at him, his thoughts drifted back to Isla.
He saw her—not Isla as she was now, but as she hadoncebeen.
A New Year’s Eve—another lifetime ago, the air thick with the scent of candles and violin music. Couples danced, swirling across the polished floor. He remembered standing at the edge of the ballroom, a man who had seen too much of the world and found it lacking—until his eyes fell on her.
She wore pale silk, the color of moonlight, her dark hair pinned with pearls that caught the glow. She laughed at something her partner whispered, and the sound carried across the room like a spell. For a heartbeat the dance floor and the noise melted away; there was only her.
And then—her gaze lifted, amber eyes locking with his across the crowd. His chest tightened. Recognition struck like lightning, though he had no name for it yet. Just the unshakable certainty that she was already his whole world.
The memory warmed him now, even as snow pattered softly against the office window. No matter the century, the country, or the name she bore, Isla always found him. And each time, she undid him completely. He then had to work to win her over.
A knock broke through Andrew’s half-hearted attempt at work. He set down his pen, knowing he’d achieved little more than smudged ink and scattered notes.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened to reveal Isla, with Juliette at her side, who said something to him.
Andrew smiled at Isla, his eyes soaking her in, and then looked to Juliette, trying to remember what she had said. As his eyes moved to his friend, he could see her amusement at his struggle to focus on anything except Isla.
Juliette’s laugh bubbled out as she backed toward the door, one hand raised in mock surrender. “All right, I can see three is a crowd. She’s all yours, Andrew. No trouble has befallen her on my watch, and now I entrust her to you. Not that I doubt your vigilance—clearly, you’re going to keep a very close eye on her.”
Andrew ushered her out and closed the door behind them. He could still hear Juliette’s laughter echoing down the hallway. Isla looked up at him, cheeks warmed with embarrassment, clearly aware of her friend’s insinuations.
He stepped closer, slipping his hands inside her open coat and looping his arms gently around her waist, drawing her in, feeling the soft curve of her waist. Her eyes widened at the contact, and her heavy satchel bag slipped to the floor with a thud. He lowered his face toward hers.
“Andrew,” she laughed softly, “what if someone walks in and sees us?”
Without a word, he began to back toward the door, still holding her securely. With a swift motion, he spun her so her back pressed against the closed office door and quietly flipped the lock.
“There,” he whispered. “No one will disturb us.”
Her gaze flicked to the windows. His office was on the ground floor. “But ... the glass—”
He raised his hand, and a delicate frost formed along the panes, blurring the view of anyone walking outside. Tinysparkles of ice caught the light, giving the office a soft, magical glow. “Okay,” he murmured with a grin, “now you’re out of excuses.”
Andrew leaned in again, his lips meeting hers gently at first, a tender, lingering press. She tilted her head, allowing the kiss to deepen slightly, their breathing syncing. His hand rested lightly on her waist, thumbs tracing the hem of her blouse, while hers tentatively touched his chest. Snowflakes he had unintentionally summoned gathered around them—small motes of floating frost—seemed to twirl in celebration.
The kiss was soft, innocent, and exquisitely slow, a shared heartbeat in the quiet office. Each touch, each brush of lips, made the sweet moment stretch.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, Isla’s breath mingled with his. She laughed softly, her fingers lifting, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He smiled at her, eager for more quiet, magical moments together.
“I missed you, Isla.”
“We saw each other this morning.”
“That was too long a time to be apart.”
She chuckled. “I’ve read more passages from your journal.”
“You have?” He brushed his nose against hers.
“Mm-hmm.”
“And what do you think so far?”
Isla looked at him, shy but also less afraid to be vulnerable—his heart warmed by it. “I can’t believe that time in the staff room, when Professor Taylor was rude, telling me women had no place being professors. I thought you agreed with him as you didn’t say a word. But now after reading from your journal, I realize—you believed in me to sort it out, and in my strength to show him I belong here. I thought you were judging me, whenin fact your journal states how you were captivated both by my work and ... well, by me. By my mind, my achievements ... and yes, maybe a little by my face too.”
Andrew laughed. “You do have a pretty face.”
