Page 26 of Love Under Snowfall

“You’d better, pal.” She fumbled in her little golden purse and pulled out her phone. “You’ve got three and a half seconds to state your case before I call the cops. And there’s not much for them to do around here, so they’ll love fucking up a creepy, pretty-boy stalker like you.” She took another step back, eyes feral.

“I’m here for your brother’s wedding,” he blurted, not daring to move for fear of bloodshed.

“What?”

“Johnny and I went to school together.” He let out the breath he’d been holding as she lowered her phone from her ear. “At NWU. I’m Benjamin, er . . . Benji.”

“His friend Benji is a lawyer,nota professor.” Her face dripped with skepticism.

“I was a divorce attorney but switched to teaching a few years ago.” He glanced around for his fallen phone. “Here, let me show you proof.” He knelt, flinching at the crack that webbed down the center of his screen. Serves him right for not putting it in a case. He scrolled through his photos and pulled up a shot of the two men—much younger versions, of course—standing with arms flung over each other’s shoulders. He flipped the phone around and held it so she could see.

Her mouth gaped.

“Well, I’ll be fucked down the road and halfway ’til Tuesday.” She looked back up at Benjamin. Shock once again beginning to morph into something more volatile. “Wait. Was this some sick joke between you and Jon?” She stepped forward, jabbing a pointy finger against his chest. The lingering daylight caught the gold of her earrings, glimmering in a way that matched the wrath flashing in her amber eyes. This fiery version of Miss Miller was rather intriguing, and Benjamin felt a peculiar ripple of curiosity at the back of his brain. The outlandish urge to get a closer look at her gilded gaze nagged momentarily, until he shook the notion away.

“No, no,” he urged. “Of course not. I only just put the pieces together during Thanksgiving break when he and I spoke on the phone. But he doesn’t know who we are to each other.”

“Who we are to each other?” she sneered. “You mean how you tormented me for twelve weeks? Did your best to make me feel unwelcome and . . . and stupid twice a week for an entire quarter?”

Benjamin cringed. He had done that, hadn’t he? But that wasbefore he knew who she was, which didn’t really seem to make it any better.

“Perhaps I was overly harsh,” he began but quickly rerouted as her nostrils began to flare. “All right, all right, I was horrid. But you held your own. You did surprisingly well considering your experiential shortcomings.”

She huffed and turned away, marching through the external hallway and down the steps at the end of the building.

He had to fix this. For Johnny. Benjamin had been a terrible friend for so many years, promising to come out and visit, not being there when Johnny’s first wife, Cynthia, died nor when his father passed before that. It was his mission to do everything in his power to make things right. Carrying on a needless rivalry with his sister wouldn’t help matters. He jogged after the angry woman.

“Wait, Miss Miller.” She dismissed him with a swat over her shoulder and continued along the snow-plowed sidewalk. “Francesca. Please.” He didn’t know why she halted her steps, but he assumed it was the desperation in his voice. She turned and crossed her arms.

Oh wow, she was stunning. Under the residual twilight of the setting sun, her hair glistened like silk and flowed like rich honey in lustrous waves. The pink on her cheeks and scrunch of her nose proclaimed her anger. It wasn’t that he hadn’t found her attractive in his classroom, but with rage pulsing off her, she seemed particularly powerful.

Her ferocity stirred something in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in some time. Something that bordered on carnal.

Woah, maybe I should unpack that later.

She had every right to be pissed at him. He was a little pissed at himself. Benjamin’s hands itched to fix the mess he’d made.

“I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot. Flashes of cherry red toenails peeked out from the keyhole at the tip of her golden shoes.The same red that shone on her manicured fingertips. Would they also match the lingerie she wore beneath?

Focus, man.

“Look. I was awful. A monster. My behavior was completely reprehensible.” He held out his hand, palms up in supplication. “But we must suppress whatever disdain we hold for one another for your brother’s sake. This is his wedding. We need to ensure it goes well instead of selfishly ruining it because of our precarious history.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek rather aggressively but released her arms and nodded.

“Fine. Under two conditions.” She pulled her coat snuggly around her waist.

“Name them.”

“First,” she said as she held up a finger. “Stop calling me Miss Miller. I’m not your student anymore, and I sure as shit won’t be calling you Professor Clark ever again. You can call me Frankie.”

“Of course, Francesca.” he crooned, struggling to quell a grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Close enough. Number two.” She held up a second finger. “Keep your distance. I know there will be times when we have to interact, but I want them kept to a minimum. We are not friends. We are not colleagues. We are acquaintances who tolerate each otherat best.”

“Your terms are agreeable.”

Francesca nodded and began to turn toward the restaurant.

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