Amy frowned, continued to talk about plans for the semester in a quiet voice, tucking her hair behind her ears, glancing up and down, left and right, but never at him. Students turned and looked at him every few minutes as if to ask, “What have you done to our fun teacher?”

Finally, after the students had scribbled across pages and Amy’s nervous movements ceased, she announced, “Okay, let’s end early today. We have our first field trip tomorrow—an early morning. Meet at the front steps of Prentiss Hall with a full list of the four styles of neoclassical architecture.”

She snapped her book shut, waved a dismissive hand at the class. Nick stayed in his seat, gazed at her until the last student slammed the wooden door shut.

She looked up at him and didn’t speak.

“Hi, Ame.”

“You ruined my class.”

“I did not. It was a great class.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you teach. And I have a surprise for you.”

“Okay, you saw me teach. Now what is the surprise? Did we get the Heritage Trust?”

“No, nothing on that yet. But I think you’ll love this surprise just as much.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to wait. By the way, you look great.”

She sighed. “So do you. You need a haircut.”

He laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “I know. You’re a beautiful teacher. It’s a gift.”

“I’m trying to let them see how much . . . how interesting it is, without it being just another subject to pass.”

“Well, it seems to be working.” He touched her arm. “How was your break?”

“Cold, and except for the trauma of Jack and Lisbeth’s breakup, quiet.”

“They broke up?”

“You didn’t know?”

He didn’t know and didn’t care. He wanted to push Amy up against the black chalkboard, and when he was done with her find chalk dust on her brown corduroys, her tan sweater.

“Yes, they had quite the traumatic event. Please tell me Eliza told you something about it,” she said.

“Nothing. I haven’t been home much over the holiday break. A big job in—”

Amy smiled. “Sorry you missed it.”

“I came to take you away for the afternoon, the evening.”

“Nick, you know I can’t do that. No.”

“Amy, you have to. Trust me on this—you’ll be glad you said yes.” He stepped closer and lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him.

She jerked away from him; he followed her, then she turned to face him.

“Where do you want to go?” Her shoulders slumped in surrender.

“I’ll show you. You’ll love it.”

“Okay . . . okay. Let me drop off my papers and books at the dorm.”