Between the improbably large soft curls in her hair and heels that felt more like she was walking on stilts—Blake said if she appeared taller she would come off as more believable—she felt like a top-to-bottom awkward fake.
Wearing this whole get-up made her feel like she was playing the starring role in a play there’d been no rehearsal for. Her daily go-to outfit consisted of Yoga pants and flip-flops or tennis shoes depending on the weather. Her oversized ARMY sweatshirt was practically her uniform even when it was ninety degrees outside. She didn’t care about the weather. The comfort of the worn-in shirt took priority and she was known to crank the A/C up in order to wear it around her house.
Her usual beauty routine consisted of a few minutes of mirror time. A half hour before class started or she had to be on campus for her assigned office hours she’d run a quick brush through her hair, which was naturally a little wavy, and throw on jeans and a button-down oxford shirt. Kinsley bicycled to work if the weather cooperated.
In colder months, she’d throw a navy blazer over that ensemble and if it was really cold a wool scarf and drive in her two-door electric hatchback across campus.
But then, she hadn’t needed to get dressed up to go into the classroom and teach a room full of undergrads—undergrads who on a good day wore something besides pajama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt with hair that looked like they’d just rolled out of bed. To be fair, most of them had and that was especially true of morning classes. As the day wore on, she’d noticed that the outfits improved.
Kinsley’s own unofficial uniform got her through the day and provided the ultimate benefit of not wasting time or a decision on what to wear each day. Time was precious considering she had lectures to give, assignments to grade and a book to promote now that it was written.
Today’s outfit was a navy pencil skirt, hose—who wore those anymore?—and a gray silk blouse with a cream-colored blazer. At least the blazer felt like her.
Blake had arranged for Tiffany to come to Kinsley’s hotel room in order to help prepare her for the launch. As a result, Kinsley had on more make-up today than she’d worn in the past year, but then undergrad students weren’t hard to impress. Her dating life was on life support, so she wasn’t needing to get fixed up for a hot night on the town.
There’d been a few men she’d gone out with in the past couple of months. Hank Fields from the business department had asked her to the faculty dinner. And then there was Joe Green, the basketball coach who’d made it clear he’d like to spend more time together. One date had been enough for her to know that she didn’t need a second to realize the two of them had nothing in common.
And then there was Herbert Dutter, head of the History Department. She almost dry heaved thinking about dating someone who could be old enough to be her grandfather. He had quite the reputation for dating younger faculty members and grad students. He’d moved closer to campus when his wife of forty years left him because of his pandering ways.
Unfortunately, he was one of her new neighbors.
So, that was about the excitement of her dating life. She chalked it up living in a small college town where a quarter of the male population was barely more than teenagers. She consoled herself by saying that she didn’t get out enough. The truth was that there’d been no one to get excited about for a long time. Not since Gabriel and that had ended in disaster.
Her lack of a social life was one of many reasons that Kinsley needed this book launch to be successful. For one, she needed a distraction from her abysmal personal life. For another, she needed to make all those long hours and nights eating takeout in her office worth something.
Her thoughts wandered to the last person she’d been serious with. Gabriel Cooper. Her finger absently traced the scar. That relationship had ended in disaster and left a permanent mark on her face and neck. Her parents weren’t right about a lot of things but they’d pinned Gabriel for what he was—a guy who would disappear when life got too tough.
They’d been all too eager to point out that his life as a foster child on what they’d called a foster farm—basically a home that takes in foster kids in order to staff their ranch—had set him up for being distant emotionally.
Kinsley realized that her toe was tapping against the concrete when she caught sight of a whirlwind moving toward her out of the corner of her eye. Blake was tall-ish with a runner’s build. He had that improbable hair that seemed to fall into place without much effort. She realized he must’ve spent plenty of time in front of the mirror in order to perfect that effortless look.
“Blake, I thought you were going to be here early,” she immediately said, not wanting to admit just how much her nerves were getting to her but twisting the book around in her hands.
“You didn’t answer my calls, Kinsley.” He stalked toward her, his gaze wildly scanning the area. His statement came off as an accusation.
“What’s wrong?” Something was off. He looked like he was trying to maintain his composure…like someone was watching. It was odd. Blake had the rare and unique ability to come across like he’d just come in from a day of relaxing while he admitted to being wildly overworked and stressed. She’d first noticed this ability during finals week at university. The man never looked tired whereas she’d been told more than once that she wore her emotions like a suit coat.
Blake reached her and grabbed her by the arm. She almost checked his
