When The Words Are Spoken

Chapter 1-1

CHAPTER 1

Ah, convocation, one of my favorite times of year. Sheridan thought as she stepped through the doorway into the university's fine arts auditorium. The noise in the room nearly deafened her as hundreds of professors greeted each other after summers spent traveling, researching, and doing whatever it was professors did between spring and fall semesters.

Her gaze scanned restlessly over the crowd. Where is he? Michael never misses a responsibility, so he must be here.

Eventually, she found her former professor and mentor and current colleague sitting, as usual, near the rest of the English faculty but somehow separated from them, as though not really sure he deserved to be part of the group.

She walked directly to him and sat down, leaning over to give him a friendly hug, which he returned.

Ah, his embrace is so warm and lovely. I wish I could stay in his arms forever. She noticed he didn't rush to let go of her either and the hug lingered unusually long.

She smiled. This isn't going to be so hard. The thought immediately revealed itself for the lie it was as her stomach swooped. “How have you been?” she asked, taking in his dearly-missed appearance.

As always, his clothes fit poorly, hanging too loose and too ragged around his frame. He probably had a pretty good physique under those rags, but she couldn’t be sure. His shoulder-length hair hung, lank and scraggly, around his face, accentuating his piercing black eyes, but it also made his beaky nose stand out. He sure isn't hot, just like Erin always said, but I still can't make myself care. He's special.

Michael shrugged at the question. “Can't complain. You?”

“Oh, well you know I worked first summer session,” she reminded him.

He nodded, a hint of a curve lingering around one corner of his mouth.

That's as much of a smile as I ever get. I'll take it. “Then I went up north. My family lives in Duluth, you know? I spent six weeks with them. Turns out my brothers have never grown out of teasing.” She grinned at the memory. “My brother Sean and his wife are expecting their fourth baby.” The thought caused a pang in the vicinity of her heart. She swallowed and pushed it away.

Michael's cheek twitched, his response unreadable. “I'm glad you had a nice visit, but I'm also glad you're back.”

He's glad I'm back. Yes! she cheered internally, but her voice, when she spoke, sounded demure. “Thank you. It's good to be here. I can't wait for classes to start. It's still hard to believe I've achieved my life's goal of being an instructor at a university. It seemed impossible when I was eighteen.”

“Well, I remember you at nineteen,” Michael replied, the sharpness in his eyes softening. “I knew even then that you'd achieve whatever you set out to. You have the fire. I must say, I approve of your choice.”

Despite the roar of voices swirling around them, their own conversation stilled into one of those intense silences that often rose up between them, a silence that spoke words neither of them had been able to say.

This ends tonight. Again, her belly squirmed at the thought.

A few moments later, their friend, Dr. Davontay Jones, took a seat on Sheridan's other side. The tall, well-spoken black man was adored by students and faculty alike. Sheridan considered him a dear friend.

Having just returned from a summer-long work exchange in Paris, he sported new and fashionable clothing. “Bonjour,” he said, his low voice overflowing friendly good humor as he gave Sheridan a long, approving look. “Paris was magnifique. How's life in the frozen north?”

“Still nice so far,” she replied, ignoring his appraisal. “I intend to enjoy every moment of sunshine before the snow blocks us in for the next five months. Would anyone care to join me for a picnic and walk by the river this weekend?”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Davontay replied eagerly, “I'll be there. Michael?”

“If you want,” Michael shrugged. He met her eyes and she could see the awkward shyness hiding under his feigned nonchalance.

“It's a date then.” Sheridan grinned. She settled back in her seat, leaning a little closer to Michael than was really necessary, and listened to the president of the university give her opening speech.

Later, after coffee, cookies and fruit, Sheridan set her plan into motion. She had stuck like glue to Michael through the whole convocation ceremony, pleased he made no attempt to escape her presence. Once the food had been consumed and the instructors began to drift away, she sprang her trap.

“Michael, could I ask a favor of you?” she asked, with wide-eyed innocence.

His dark eyes swept her face before settling into the habitual smoldering gaze that reached deep into her soul and held on tight. “Sure, Sheridan. What do you need?”

“My Buick is on the fritz again. It's in the shop. I took the bus down here, but it's getting dark, and I don't feel safe on the bus at night.” She paused, tilting her head, looking at him with wide, enticing hazel eyes. “Would you be able to give me a ride home?”

It wasn't a lie. Sheridan's car had been giving her trouble for years. A hand-me-down from her best friend Erin, who had bought it heavily used and gnarly, it was a slightly ambulatory wreck more than a car. This is the first time I've been delighted about the old P.O.S. breaking down.

“Someday, I hope, you'll buy a new car,” he admonished. “You spend as much fixing that junk heap as you would on payments for something better.”

“You're correct as usual, Dr. Burke,” she teased, playfully throwing out his title even though he'd invited her to use his first name years ago. “I promise to work on it this semester. But until then?”

The side of his mouth curved into a pale imitation of a smile. “Of course I'll give you a ride. It wouldn't do for my best colleague to be mugged before the semester even gets started.”

Best colleague? That sounds promising. “Thanks, Michael. I knew I could count on you.” Sheridan slipped her arm through his, like in an old-fashioned movie. He paused a moment as though not sure what to make of the unexpected gesture. Then, he shrugged and went with it. Patting her hand, he walked her out to his car. She noticed his fingers felt like ice.

Just look at that sexy beast, she thought, eyeing the shiny black Firebird. Who would guess someone so obviously unconcerned with appearances would drive such a fancy car? She felt like a modern Cinderella as he opened the passenger door for her.

They drove along in companionable silence.

I'm glad Michael's not inclined to be chatty. The more I think about what I have in store for him… The thought trailed off in a flutter of nerves. It's past time to act on our feelings, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy. Rejection is the most likely outcome, and there's no defense against it. I simply have to speak, and if he breaks my heart, so be it. I've lived through heartbreak before.

Remembering, she turned to the window, her eyes moving over the oak, maple, and pine trees without seeing them. Yes, she survived, but the months, the years of agony, and the lingering hurt that never went away reminded her she had once been a victim.

If Michael breaks my heart, it will be just as painful. Maybe it really isn't necessary to say my piece. Maybe I can just continue drifting, hoping he'll wake up and ask me out one day… or never. Most likely I'll be an old woman before Michael decides to make a move. It has to be done.

As he drove up in front of her apartment building—a stocky, red brick structure framed in the front by a shady boulevard lined with maple trees—Sheridan laid a hand on Michael's arm. “Would you please come up with me?” she said softly, so softly she could scarcely hear her own voice over the hammering of her heart. “I asked you to drive me because I wanted to talk to you in private, outside of work.”

He gave her a considering look. “Of course, Sheridan.”

He walked close by her side up to the front door, where she entered her security code, and then led the way down a tiled hallway to the elevator, where she pressed the number five. Her stomach swooped, whether from the movement or her nerves, she couldn't tell. The bell dinged, and she walked him down a hallway with brown carpet and walls papered in matching brown with metallic gold paisleys, to the door into her one-bedroom flat.

Fumbling with the key, she became intensely aware of his presence beside her. He stood so close she could touch him without extending a hand. Trying to get a grip on herself, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, dropping her keys in a crystal bowl on the small table her brother had made for her.

Next to the bowl sat a framed photo she had received from her brother's wife for Christmas many years ago. In the photo, Sheridan stood staring up into Michael's face, her expression revealing what she had never said in words. His own face spoke of powerful, unexpressed emotion.

She glanced his direction and saw him regarding her with a similar look on his face, only this time curiosity blended into the intensity.

Grasping his arm, she led him into the living room and urged him into a seat. He looked right at home on her antique sofa; his shabby, outdated suit fit right in with the curvy wooden legs and red upholstery. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered.

“No thank you.”

Damn. No social niceties to smooth—or delay—the moment. Sheridan swallowed hard and took a long moment just to look at him. Erin asked me what once I see in him. She said he isn't hot… but she's wrong. The heat in those eyes more than compensates for great hair or more refined features. The man behind the face is so much more important.

As she studied him, his expression changed from intense to puzzled. “What's on your mind, Sheridan?”

Enough delaying. Sitting beside him, she laid her hand on top of his. His fingers still felt cold, but they warmed quickly under the heat of her palm. She gazed into his dark eyes and he looked back steadily. “Oh, this is more difficult than I thought,” she babbled, not knowing how to begin. “Michael, I really appreciate all you've done for me. You helped me achieve my dreams. You've supported me in every step of my training. Without you, I wouldn't be where I am now. I've always thought of you as a friend, not just a teacher, not just a colleague.”

“Of course we're friends.” Michael's heavy black eyebrows drew together at the gush of words. “What's going on? I don't think I've ever seen you look so grim. Where's that signature smile?”

“I'll smile later, I hope.” She laced her fingers through his, her palm against the back of his hand. It feels so nice to touch him. I hope it will last. “The thing is, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, shoot.”

Shoot is right. Sheridan deliberately drew inward, closing her eyes to blot out the passion in his gaze. Instead, she let her own feelings well up until they overwhelmed eight years of fear and reticence. “I want something from you. I want to be… more than friends. I want to be with you, Michael.” It all came out in a rush, and her cheeks heated to scalding.