Page 88 of Love Under Snowfall

She approached, staring at the black placard with white lettering that read Prof. Clark. A few deep breaths and she raised her hand to knock but noticed a little mail slot. Pushing aside her fleeting bravery, she pulled the sealed envelope from her pocket and shoved it through the slot. She breathed a sigh of relief and started down the hallway then froze as the door pushed open.

Busted.

As she turned, Frankie quickly realized that she hadn’t run all the scenarios through her head prior to coming, because she hadn’t expected the woman on the other side.

“Excuse me, miss.” The woman smiled warmly behind oversized glasses that crept down her long, thin nose. Kinky strays of dark blonde hair escaped every angle of her ponytail. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and held the envelope out to Frankie. “I don’t think this is meant for me.”

Puzzled, Frankie stepped closer, peeking at theroom number again. “Three ten. Isn’t this Professor Benjamin Clark’s room?”

“Yes.” She turned and tapped the nameplate of the door with her knuckle then settled both hands on her hips. “Er, well, yes, it was.”

“Was?”

“Yes.”

“But now it’s yours?”

“Yes.” She beamed proudly and offered no more than that.

“Did he switch offices?”

“No, at least I don’t believe so.”

Good grief, woman. Were they playing twenty questions and Frankie hadn’t been looped into the game?

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Okay,” Frankie dragged out the word, ready to be done with this particular exchange. “I guess I’ll just wait outside the family law class and catch him there.”

“Oh, you won’t find him there.”

“Why not?”

“Because I teach that class. Professor Dalton.” She gestured to herself. “Just transferred in.”

“You mean you teach the class that started”—Frankie glanced at her watch—“seven minutes ago?”

Professor Dalton’s eyes flew wide with panic. “Balls, I knew I was forgetting something.”

Before Frankie could get any more information, the cryptic conversationalist scurried past with an armload of papers and a mason jar of iced coffee.

So, there was a new family law professor in town. What did that mean for Benjamin? Did he still work there? Had he quit? Been fired? And what the hell was she supposed to do with thecuff links now?

Frankie wrestled around with the idea of calling him. That’s what an adult would do, right? Dial his number, and say, “Hey there, former sexual partner. You left your fancy schmancy cuff links in my hotel room just before you bolted. Do you want them back, or have you become less pompous and only buy shirts with buttons now?” Yeah, that would be smooth.

The devil on her shoulder provided a whole host of alternative ideas: pawn them and pay for textbooks, donate them to charity, bury them in the park for some metal detector enthusiast to make the find of a lifetime.

Her conscience won out. What if they were important to him? Perhaps his deceased mother had given them to him or they were an heirloom or something.

Before she could overthink, she pulled out her phone.

Frankie:

Hi Benjamin, I have your cuff links. If you send me your address, I can mail them to you. Thanks.

Perfect. Cool, matter-of-fact, and zero invitation to connect face-to-face. To reward her bravery, she decided to stop by The Java Judge in the law school lobby. Surely, she deserved a congratulatory treat.

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