“English Breakfast. Why do you live here?”
Julia stood up quickly in response to the sharpness of his tone. She kept her back to him as she located a large, brown teapot and two surprisingly beautiful china teacups with matching saucers.
“This is a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. I don’t have a car, and I needed to be able to walk to school.” She paused as she placed a small silver teaspoon on each of the saucers. “This was one of the nicer apartments I looked at in my price range.” She placed the elegant teacups on the card table without looking at him and returned to the dresser.
“Why didn’t you move into the graduate student residence on Charles Street?”
Julia dropped something. The Professor couldn’t see what it was.
“I was expecting to go to a different university, but it didn’t work out.
By the time I decided to come here, the residence was full.”
“And where were you going to go?”
She began to worry her lower lip between her teeth, back and forth.
“Miss Mitchell?”
“Harvard.”
Professor Emerson just about fell off his very uncomfortable chair.
“Harvard? What the hell are you doing here?”
Julia smothered a secret smile as if she knew the reason behind his anger. “Toronto is the Harvard of the north.”
“Don’t be coy, Miss Mitchell. I asked you a question.”
“Yes, Professor. And I know that you always expect an answer to your questions.” She arched an eyebrow, and he looked away. “My father couldn’t afford the contribution he was expected to make to my education, so the fellowship they offered me was not enough, and the living expenses were much more in Cambridge than in Toronto. I already have thousands of dollars of student loans from Saint Joseph’s University, so I decided not to add to them. That’s why I’m here.”
She returned to her hands and knees to unplug the now boiling kettle as The Professor shook his head in shock.
“That wasn’t in the file Mrs. Jenkins gave me,” he protested. “You should have said something.”
Julia ignored him and began to measure loose tea into the teapot.
He leaned forward in his chair, gesturing wildly. “This is a terrible place to live — there isn’t even a proper kitchen. What do you eat here?”
She placed the teapot and a small, silver tea strainer on the card table and sat down on the other folding chair. She began to wring her hands.
“I eat lots of vegetables. I can make soup and couscous on the hot plate. Couscous is very nutritious.” Her voice shook a little, but she tried to sound cheerful.
“You can’t live on that kind of rubbish — a dog is better fed!”
Julia ducked her head and blushed deeply, suddenly blinking back tears.
The Professor looked at her for a moment, then finally saw her. As he regarded the tortured expression that marred her lovely features, he slowly began to realize that he, Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, was a self-absorbed bastard. He had shamed her for being poor. But there was no shame in being poor. He had been poor once too, very poor. She was a smart, attractive woman who was also a student. There was no shame in that. But he’d come into her little home that she had tried to make comfortable because she had no other place to go, and he had said it wasn’t fit for a dog. He had made her feel worthless and stupid when she was neither. What would Grace say if she could hear him now?
Professor Emerson was an ass. But at least now he knew it.
“Forgive me,” he began haltingly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
He closed his eyes and began to rub them.
“You’ve just lost your mother.” Julia’s gentle voice was startlingly forgiving.
A switch inside him flipped. “I shouldn’t be here.” He stood up quickly.
“I need to go.”
Julia followed him to the front door. She picked up his umbrella and handed him his trench coat. Then she stood with downcast eyes and flaming cheeks, waiting for him to leave. She felt regret for having shown him her home, since it was clearly so far beneath him. Whereas a few hours earlier she had taken pride in her small but clean hobbit hole, now she was mortified. Not to mention the fact that being humiliated again in front of him made matters so much worse.
He nodded at her, or at something, muttered under his breath, and exited her apartment.
Julia leaned her back against the closed door and finally allowed herself to weep.
Knock. Knock.
She knew who it was. She simply didn’t want to answer the door.
Please gods of over-priced, not-fit-for-a-dog hobbit holes, just let him leave me in peace. Julia’s silent and spontaneous prayer went unanswered.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She quickly wiped her face and opened the door, but only a crack.
He blinked at her like a Christmas tree, somehow having a difficult time registering the fact that she had clearly been crying in between his departure and his return.
She cleared her throat and looked down at his Italian made wing-tipped shoes, which he shuffled slightly.
“When was the last time you had a steak?”
Julia laughed and shook her head. She couldn’t remember.
“Well, you’re going to have one tonight. I’m starving, and you’re joining me for dinner.”
She allowed herself the luxury of a small but wicked smile. “Are you sure, Professor? I thought this —” she mimicked his gesture from earlier