RUBBED HIS eyes and groaned as he took in what had to be the most horrendous response to his essay question on the causes of the Boston Tea Party. “Because they were ‘tea’d’ off,” the freshman had scrawled. To better his chances at getting at least partial credit, he had doodled a drawing of a stick figure in a passable tricorne hat, shoving a crate.
Kyle squinted. Yep. That was steam coming out from under the brim.
The student wouldn’t remain a freshman for long with answers like that, Kyle thought. He riffled through the thick stack of exams and saw he still had at least two dozen left to go. If they were all like this one, at least grading them would be quicker than the first twenty-five test papers.
Just appreciate the fact that you’re not in Afghanistan like your big brother. Or even herding teenage football players around the state like your little brother. Teaching history is a lot cushier than either of those two jobs. Plus, you could have graded papers yesterday instead of volunteering free labor for Allison.
Ah, but then he wouldn’t have been granted admittance to the mysterious Belle Paix. And it was worth every sore muscle and the double dose of ibuprofen he’d gulped down this morning.
Beautiful.
For a flash, it wasn’t Belle Paix’s intact side hall with its intricate carved banister that came into his mind.
No. It was red hair. Yards of it. And the barest hint of freckles. And how her dimples danced when she smiled.
Kyle yanked his attention back to the next essay question. The hapless freshman had made a better stab at describing the opening battles of the American Revolution, but had still managed to make a total hash of it.
Unbidden, Allison ambushed Kyle’s thoughts again. He liked her. And that surprised him, because she didn’t seem to appreciate historical preservation in the slightest.
Amazing how one woman could invade his mind. Why, he could almost swear he heard her voice now, floating down the narrow hall that ran the length of the social sciences faculty members’ offices. With a determined sigh, Kyle fixed his focus back where it belonged. He was just bored with grading, that’s all.
But then a sharp rap brought his attention to his open door. He looked up—to see Allison.
She wasn’t in jeans or shorts today. No, today she sported a light summery dress just right for the unseasonably hot temperatures. Her long legs were beautifully punctuated by delicate, strappy sandals that showed off her toned calves.
“Don’t look so blown away.” Her mouth quirked a bit at the corners as she seemed to smother a smile. “I promise, I’m not here to ask for help moving another china cabinet.”
“Good, because I don’t think my muscles will cooperate,” he admitted. “No, I’m zoned out by these absolute hideous exams I’m grading. I think I should have done a better job teaching the course material.”
Allison wrinkled her nose. “It’s not your fault. It’s the topic. History. Lotta dates. Lotta names. No offense, but history’s a dead subject. I never could get interested in people who lived a hundred years ago.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d been told that. He’d heard it so often that it was the kiss of death for any blind date that his ever-hopeful colleagues kept setting up for him.
Usually the comment inspired a guilty feeling of superciliousness, as if he was somehow wiser than whoever it was talking to him—that and the sure knowledge that no serious relationship could really develop between two people who didn’t appreciate the same things.
But Allison...Allison made him think differently. He wanted to drag Allison to the chair by his desk and keep her there until he could convince her that history was interesting. History was a story, and he was addicted to a good story.
She, however, seemed fairly convinced already—of the opposite, unfortunately. Kyle bit back a tart response. “Well, if it’s not a burning need to hear a good history lecture,” he asked, “what does bring you to my corner of the world?”
Allison beamed. “Ah! Thought you’d never ask. Is this a good time?”
“Yes, of course. Have a seat.”
She dropped down into the chair he had for students during conference sessions, and gazed around. “Somehow this is not what I expected,” she commented.
“Oh. You were thinking that it would be the typical history professor’s lair—stacks of papers and books and—”
“Junk,” Allison interjected. “It’s wonderfully bare. Did you just move into this office?”
“No. I’ve been chair here for, mmm, about three years now. I just like things neat. Easier to concentrate.” He followed her gaze.
The office was bare. Yes, he had the requisite diplomas up, and a bookshelf filled with texts and other sources. But he needed the quiet that a Zenlike bareness helped him achieve.
“I was expecting a lot of artifacts. Isn’t that what you history folks call them? The detritus you collect over the years?”
“Oh, I have artifacts. See?” Kyle pointed to some shadow boxes mounted on the wall. “My collection of bullets rescued from battlefields. And that center box has political campaign buttons. And then for the prehistory folks, I’ve got a middling collection of arrowheads.”
“My college history professors’ offices were a nightmare. Really gosh-awful,” Allison said. “But this? This is nice. I like it. Very modern. Very clean. No gewgaws anywhere.”
Kyle regarded her for a long moment, detecting an unintentional insult to his profession, but certain from Allison’s winsome smile that she had meant no malice. “So...”
“Oh! You must think I’m an idiot. Here I am, blabbering away about interior design choices and wasting your time.” Her smile widened. “I stopped by the historical society office. Good thing I went this morning, as it closes at lunch.”
“Yeah, we can only afford a part-time secretary.” Was Allison thinking about taking up his invitation to attend some of the society’s events? Maybe there was hope, after all.
“The very nice lady there...Trish? Yes. Trish. She told me that I would need to see you about some of the paperwork I need,” Allison said.
“Paperwork? You don’t need to fill out any paperwork to attend a meeting.” What had Trish gotten so confused?
“No, no...very nice of you to invite me, and maybe I’ll get around to it, but you know...well, yeah, you do know that I’ve got my hands full, what with working on the house and getting it ready for Gran and all. No, a waiver request. I need a waiver request.”
“A what?” Now he was the one totally confused. What on earth was Allison talking about?
“There’s gotta be a way, right? To request an exemption? From the ordinances? You know, the ones you were telling me about earlier. I looked at the code, and it did say that any exemption was to be made by the city council at the recommendation of the historic preservation committee.”
“Wait.” Kyle had managed to ground
