I looked at her from the corner of my eye and had to smile. "You're blushing," I whispered.
Clarity's cheeks burned brighter, but she nudged me back. We pressed back and forth in a playful skirmish and my heart soared. Whatever strict lines she had drawn for herself shifted whenever we were together. The thought of freeing her from all her restrictions, seeing her shake off her inhibitions, was all-consuming.
I wanted Clarity, all of her.
"Careful, you're dripping soap on your shoes," Clarity whispered with one more flirtatious nudge.
I flicked the soap off my hands and leaned on the counter so I could study her pretty face. Her wide, emerald eyes flickered with nerves but she didn't step back or look away. The look between us crackled with electricity.
"I really am sorry for outing your writing. You came to me in strictest confidence."
She smiled. "It's alright, you were nice enough to give me feedback."
"So you didn't mind coming up to my office to, ah, discuss your short story?" I asked then held my breath.
"Not at all," Clarity said. Her voice was like velvet. "Especially since you were so nice to walk me home under the maple trees."
"I hope you'll let me read your writing again sometime," I said. I reached out to brush the soft hair from her neck and froze.
Her father strode back in to the kitchen. "I'm so glad you convinced Clarity to start writing again. She used to write fairy tales and mysteries and all kinds of stories when she was a little girl, and I loved every single one of them," he said with a proud smile.
Clarity straightened up and stepped away. She kept her back to her father and scrubbed at the next stack of plates. "That was back when I was a little kid, Dad. I'm twenty-two now, an adult."
Her eyes flickered to mine and the heat went straight to my core. I tore my gaze away from her and cleared my throat. "I'm sure it's hard for you to see, Patrick, but your daughter is a very mature woman."
Patrick chuckled. "A fact that worries me every day. I wish she could go back to being that carefree child making up stories for fun. She stopped writing after her mother left and it was such a shame."
A plate slipped from Clarity's hand and disappeared back into the soapy sink. She plunged her hand into get it and I reached in to give her hand a hidden squeeze.
Patrick puttered around the kitchen without noticing his daughter's sudden quiet. I spoke up to fill the void. "There's still a lot on that behemoth of a turkey. Any chance of leftovers for a starving, single professor?" I asked.
Clarity gave me a grateful glance and pulled her hands from the soapy water. She grabbed a dish towel and dried them. "I'll pack up leftovers for you. We have more of everything, including your candied yams."
"Excellent," Patrick said. "I'll go find a bag; I have a bunch leftover from the Landsman College food drive."
He disappeared down the hallway to his office. I dried my hands and caught Clarity as she flitted back and forth, scooping up leftovers. "You know I wasn't just being nice, right?"
"What?" she blinked up at me.
"About your writing. It shows real talent. Wait, what did you think I meant?" I asked. I was suddenly aware of her silken skin underneath my fingers and the taut flex of her slender arm. Before I could think better of it, I pulled her closer.
Clarity didn't resist, she looked at my lips and wetted her own. “Nothing. I just can't quite believe that you liked my writing that much."
"I really did." My voice was rough, scuffed by my rising attraction to her. "Have you done any more?"
"Any more ki—, writing?" Clarity stammered.
I chuckled. "Yes, writing. You've been so focused in class, so rigid. Maybe I can help loosen you up, as a writer. Help you believe in your writing a little more."
We broke apart but neither went far. I leaned on the counter by the sink and Clarity drifted over to stand near me. "I don't know if I'll have the time anymore. Remember that bombshell you dropped about my internship?"
"How was I supposed to know? Man, I really walked right in and stuck my foot in my mouth, didn't I?"
Clarity laughed. "Is that why you had such a funny look on your face when you found out I was accepted?"
"What? No." I turned back to finish the dishes but there was only one small saucer left. "Congratulations on that, by the way."
"You don't think I should do it," Clarity leaned over the sink to look me in the eye. The neckline of her shirt hung open and I carefully kept my gaze on the soap suds. "Why not? What's wrong with working for Wire Communications? You did it."
"I just think you're too young to get dragged into such a dirty, corporate world. It's more about politics and money than it is about journalistic integrity at Wire Communications," I said.
"Too young?" Clarity's eyes flashed and she leaned closer. "You didn't think I was too young for other things."
I smiled at her fierce retort. "We're done with the dishes. Time to say goodnight?"
Her rose petal lips quirked in an effort to hide her smile. "How about I walk you out?"
I loved when her uncertainty disappeared and I promised myself to rile her up in the future. It was hard to shake off the thought and follow her into the dining room.
There Clarity snuffed out the candles but glowed herself in the dim light. I stepped closer to her and reached to extinguish a far candle just so our bodies could brush.
"So is this why you were so nice about my short story?" Clarity asked.
An avalanche of snow couldn't have been more effective in freezing my fantasies. "Oh, my god, please tell me you don't think that could be true. It's not." I took her by the shoulders and spun her to face me. "I see more in your writing than puff pieces and articles. I don't want you to be restricted. You should be free to write whatever you desire."
"I wish I was free in my desires," Clarity muttered and the words were like hot magma melting the ground between us.
She swayed closer, and I couldn't find the strength to step back.
"Ford," Clarity's father called from the hallway. We jumped apart, startled, and he called again. "Go ahead and leave the rest of the dishes. Come join me in my office."
"Don't worry," Clarity said, "you're not in trouble."
I scoffed at her. "As if you've ever been in trouble with the dean before."
I found Patrick leaning on his desk. As I walked in the door of his office, he pulled out two cigars and offered me one. "Care to join me? I find it helps with digestion."
"Is that the Landsman College logo? I had no idea the gift shop sold those," I said.
Patrick grinned. "No, these were specially made. A gift from one of our largest donors, Michael Tailor. I think you met him at the donors’ dinner." He held out the cigar again.
I shook my head. "No, thanks. I was never very good at it."
"Suit yourself. Do you mind if I do?"
I nodded and took the seat he offered me. The dean's home office was simple but elegant, with a large, hand-carved desk and luxurious, leather chair. Patrick took the hard-backed chair next to me and lit his cigar.