Chapter 17: Unexpected Guest
I woke up still stiff from the other night with Evan. That man made me feel things that should have required a permit. The way he touched me and the words he said brought up emotions I did not have names for yet. But no matter how sweet any of it was, nothing could come of us. I was the woman he called when he needed something. Not the one you brought home to your parents. I needed to remember that before I let my feelings write a story my reality could not support.
I got up, got into the bathroom and prepared myself for the day. Two classes every day except Friday. No classes on Friday and I was not about to question that particular blessing. I was back in school trying to recapture a dream I thought I had lost and that was enough to keep me moving. Focus Cadence. I said it to myself in the mirror like a person who meant it. I put on some skinny jeans, a Michael Kors off the shoulder blouse and matching flats, grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.
There was a note on the kitchen counter. The girls had gone on a field trip to Dela Maison Rouge, a plantation in Hammond, and would be gone for the rest of the day. I made a mental note to take them somewhere nice this weekend because I had not been present enough lately and they deserved better than that. I grabbed some juice and a bagel and smiled to myself. I was officially a college student again. That still felt unreal.
I had barely made it to the front door when a flower truck pulled up outside.
A man climbed out carrying a bouquet of yellow roses so large it was almost unreasonable.
"Ms. Cadence Montgomery?"
"That is me," I said, already smiling before I knew why.
"These were specially ordered from Afghanistan. The true yellow blossom is very hard to duplicate here in the US." He handed me the flowers and a small black bag with a gift wrapped in white paper and a red bow. "Tip is already taken care of. Enjoy."
I brought everything to the kitchen and found the card tucked inside the flowers.
In every bunch there is one who stands out. And you are that one.
I looked at the bouquet. Nestled in the middle of all the yellow roses was one single yellow rose with a red tip.
I put my hand over my heart like a woman in a film and I am not even slightly embarrassed about it.
The vase was crystal. The thorns had been carefully trimmed. These flowers were expensive in a way that said someone had thought about this for longer than five minutes. I reached into the black bag and pulled out the gift. Tore it open. Black velvet box.
Inside was a small gold mirror with my initials engraved on the top. I opened it. The inscription read:
In this mirror you will see the image of the most beautiful woman in the world.
E.M.
The thought of that night choked me up completely. I wiped my eyes. Looked in the mirror. Mascara running. Just a full on emotional situation happening in my kitchen at eight in the morning over a man I had absolutely no business developing feelings for.
But this was who I really was. I could not turn my emotions off like a switch no matter how many times I told myself to. I placed the mirror carefully in my Louis Vuitton bag, fixed my makeup and walked out the door smiling, because those women from the party did not have a single chance and we all knew it.
I made it to Tulane campus, parked in the commuter lot and headed to the business building. My first class was Healthcare Marketing Concepts on the second floor. It felt genuinely good to walk onto a campus again. I took the elevator and held it when I heard a deep voice asking me to wait.
A very handsome man walked in.
Now. I want to be transparent with you. This man’s jeans fit in a way that should have come with a disclaimer. His polo shirt suggested muscles underneath that I had absolutely no professional reason to be thinking about. Was I developing a thing for men with muscles? Possibly. Was I going to examine that right now? Absolutely not.
The elevator stopped. He held the door and stepped aside.
"Ladies first," he said.
"Thank you," I said, blushing again. I had to have a conversation with my own face about this blushing situation because it was becoming a pattern.
He walked in the opposite direction and disappeared into a room down the hall. I found my classroom, took a seat and noticed I was ten minutes early and one of only two people there. I pulled out my phone. Two new appointments had been added to my calendar by Marci.
Paul Captiville. Friday at seven.
Robert. Saturday night.
I was still looking at the calendar when a text came in telling me to call Marci after class. The room filled up gradually until there were about fifteen of us, a mix of backgrounds and nationalities, a couple of guys who smiled in my direction that I very deliberately did not encourage.
The door behind us clicked shut.
I looked up.
The man from the elevator was standing at the front of the room.
He turned around and wrote on the board. Healthcare Marketing Concepts 430. Then he faced us.
"Welcome everyone. For those who do not know me," he said, and his eyes found me for just a moment longer than was strictly academic, "my name is Todd Poché and I will be your instructor for the semester. I am also the Dean of this department."
I heard my inner voice immediately. Cadence not every man is looking at you. Calm down. You are a student. Behave like one.
My inner voice had a point.
I flipped open my notebook, clicked my pen and told myself very firmly to pay attention to the curriculum and absolutely nothing else.
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