The Way to a Man's Heart Read online

  The things Meghan had said utterly intrigued him, for over the years, Grey had become far too accustomed to having his own opinions spouted back at him. Rare was the student who would have told him that Middle English sounded like Swedish. He couldn’t keep from smiling at the thought.

  The fact was Grey hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the waitress all day. Hearing her outrageous statements was like sifting through sand and discovering pieces of gold.

  He’d gone home the night before and found himself chuckling just thinking about Meghan. In the middle of a lecture the following morning, he’d paused, remembering how the young woman had told him no one was sorry Spenser had only completed six of the twelve books he’d planned. He’d broken into a wide grin and had to restrain himself from bursting out laughing right there in front of his students. The freshman class had sat there staring at Grey as if they expected him to leap on top of his desk and dance.

  Grey didn’t know who’d been more shocked—his students or himself. But he’d quickly composed himself and resumed the lecture.

  If Grey was going to be thinking about a woman, he chided himself later, he should concentrate on someone like Dr. Pamela Riverside. His colleague had been less than subtle in hinting she was interested in getting to know him better. Unfortunately, Grey wasn’t the least bit attracted to her.

  Instead his thoughts centered on one Irish waitress with eyes warm enough to melt stone—a waitress with a heart for the classics.

  He was getting old, Grey determined. It took someone like Meghan O’Day to remind him that life didn’t revolve around academia and boring social functions. The world was filled with interesting people, and this waitress was one of them.

  That evening, as he walked off the campus of Friends University, Grey impulsively decided to return to Rose’s Diner. He would be discussing Milton with his students in the next day or two, and he longed to hear Meghan’s thoughts on the seventeenth-century poet. He was certain she would have something novel to say.

  ***

  “So?” Sherry asked, cornering Meghan the minute she approached the kitchen with Grey’s order. “What did he want?”

  Meghan stared at her friend and blinked, pretending not to understand. “ ‘The reader’?”

  “Who else could I possibly mean?” Sherry groaned.

  “He wanted the special.”

  “I don’t want to know what he ordered! Did he tell you why he was back again?”

  Meghan chewed on the corner of her bottom lip. “Not actually. He asked what I thought of Milton, though.”

  “Milton? Who in heaven’s name is Milton?”

  Meghan smiled at her friend. “John Milton. He wrote Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained and plenty of other, lesser-known works.”

  “Oh good grief,” Sherry muttered. “It’s those highfalutin Greeks you’re always reading, isn’t it? When are you going to give up reading that antiquated stuff? Wake up and smell the coffee, Meghan O’Day. If you’re going to get anywhere in this life, you’ve got to start reading real writers—like … Stephen King and … Erma Bombeck, God rest her soul.” Sherry hesitated, then nodded once for emphasis. “Take Erma—now, there’s a woman after my own heart. She’s got more to say in one newspaper column than those Greek friends of yours say in twenty or thirty pages.”

  “Milton was English,” Meghan corrected, smiling inwardly at her friend’s mild outburst.

  “What’s so intriguing about these people, anyway?”

  “It’s not the writer so much,” Meghan said carefully, not wanting to insult her coworker. “It’s what they had to say about the things that affected their lives.”

  “Stephen King doesn’t do that,” Sherry countered. “And he’s done all right for himself.”

  “He has, at that,” Meghan agreed. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with Sherry, but she wanted her to understand. “Listen to this,” Meghan said, and inhaled deeply. When she spoke, her low voice was soft and well modulated. “ ‘Know then thyself, presume not God to scan / The proper study of Mankind is Man.’ ”

  Sherry was giving her an odd look. “That’s Milton?”

  “No. Alexander Pope. But don’t the words stir your soul? Don’t they reach out and take hold of your heart and make you hunger to read more?”

  Sherry shook her head. “I can’t say that they do.”

  “Oh Sherry.” Meghan sighed, defeated.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself. That sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me, but if that’s what turns you on, I’ll try not to complain.”

  When Meghan had finished adding salad dressing to the small bowl of lettuce and chopped tomatoes, she delivered it to Grey’s table.

  “Can I get you anything else before your dinner comes up?” she asked, setting the salad in front of him along with a narrow tray of soda crackers.

  “Everything’s fine,” he replied, and looked up at her. “Listen, I’d like to apologize if I embarrassed you earlier by asking you about your college education.”

  “You didn’t embarrass me.” He had somewhat, but she couldn’t see that telling him that would help matters. Years before, she’d yearned to go to college, dreamed of it, but circumstances had kept her home. She didn’t begrudge her lack of a formal education; it was part of her life, and she’d accepted the fact long ago.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Grey said, frowning just a little, “but I’m curious why someone who loves the classics the way you do wouldn’t pursue your schooling.”

  Meghan dropped her gaze. “The year I graduated from high school my mother fell down a flight of stairs and broke her hip. She needed surgery and was immobile for several months because of complications. With three younger brothers, I was needed at home. Later, after Mom had recovered, the family was strapped with huge medical bills.”

  “You’re helping to pay those?” Grey pressed.

  “They’re mostly paid now, but I’m twenty-four.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Meghan laughed lightly. “I’d be years older than the other freshmen. I wouldn’t fit in.”

  Grey’s brows drew together, forming a deep V over his eyes. Apparently, he was considering something.

  “I was wondering,” he said, and hesitated. “I mean, you hardly know me, but there’s a lecture on the poetry of Shelley and Keats at Friends University tomorrow evening that I was planning to attend. Would you care to go with me?”

  Meghan stared back at him, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. This distinguished man was actually asking her out on a date.

  When she didn’t immediately respond, he lowered his eyes to his salad. “I realize this is rather spur-of-the-moment.”

  “I’d love to go,” she blurted out, scarcely able to disguise her enthusiasm.

  “Shall we meet here in the parking lot … say, around seven-thirty?”

  “That would be fine,” Meghan responded eagerly. “I’m honored that you’d even think to invite me.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” Grey insisted with a boyishly charming smile.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” she said.

  “Tomorrow,” he repeated.

  ***

  An hour later, Grey stood beside his car, his hand on the door handle, his thoughts excited and chaotic. He’d found a kindred spirit in Meghan O’Day. The minute she’d softly quoted Chaucer, his heart hadn’t been the same. When he heard the reason she hadn’t gone on to college, Grey knew he had to ask her to the lecture. Once she’d sampled the feast of rich works to be served the following night at the university, she would be hooked. He wanted this for her. Even if she was a few years older than the majority of the students, he knew she’d fit in. He could tell her this, but it wouldn’t be nearly as effective as giving her a taste of what could be in store for her behind those walls of learning.

  Grey wasn’t an impulsive man by nature, but when he was with Meghan he found himself saying and doing the most incredible things. This i
nvitation was just one example.

  With an unexpected burst of energy, Grey tossed his car keys into the air and deftly caught them behind his back with his left hand. He was so stunned by the agile move that he laughed out loud.

  ***

  A light snow had just begun falling when Meghan walked toward Grey in the well-lit parking lot in front of Rose’s Diner the following evening. Snow had arrived early this year; Wichita had already been struck by two storms and it wasn’t yet Thanksgiving.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Meghan said, strolling up to his side.

  “Not at all.”

  He smiled down at her, and the chill that had permeated Meghan’s bones was suddenly gone, vanished under the warmth in his eyes.

  Grey tucked her hand into the curve of his arm. “I think you’ll enjoy this evening.”

  “I’m sure I will. Shelley and Keats are two of my favorites, although I tend to like Keats better.”

  Grey opened the car door for her. “I find their styles too similar to prefer one over the other.”

  “Oh, I agree. But I happened to read some of Shelley’s letters,” Meghan added conversationally, “and I’ve had trouble thinking objectively about him ever since.”

  “Oh?” Grey walked around the car and joined her in the front seat. “What makes you say that?”

  Meghan shrugged. “His notes to his friends were full of far-out abstractions and so dreadfully philosophical. If you want my opinion, I think Shelley was stuck on himself. In fact, I’ve come to think of him as a big crybaby.”

  Grey’s eyes widened. “I thought you said you liked Shelley?”

  “Oh dear,” Meghan replied, expelling her breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve shocked you again, haven’t I?”

  “It’s all right,” he said, the frown slowly unfolding. “As it happens, Shelley is my all-time favorite and I’m having one heck of a time not defending him. You’re right, though. He was big on himself. But who could blame him?”

  “No one,” Meghan agreed.

  “You know what I like best about you, Meghan?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re honest, and that’s a quality I admire. You aren’t going to tell me something just because you think I want to hear it.”

  Meghan cocked her head to one side and expelled a sigh. “That—fortunately or unfortunately, as the case might be—is true. I have a bad habit of blurting out whatever I’m thinking.”

  “I find it refreshing,” he said, reaching for her hand and squeezing her fingers. “We’re going to enjoy tonight. And when the lecture is finished, we’ll discuss Shelley again. I have the feeling your opinion’s going to change.”

  Grey drove across town to Friends University. Although Meghan had passed the campus several times, she’d never actually been on the grounds. As she looked around at the ivy-covered structures, her gaze filled with longing. Someday, someway, she would find a way to further her education here.

  “It really is lovely here, isn’t it?” she said, once they’d parked. Grey walked around and opened her car door, his impeccable manners again impressing Meghan.

  “Just standing here makes me want to curtsy to all these buildings,” she commented, smiling.

  “Meghan,” he said kindly, tucking her hand once more into the crook of his arm. “I don’t understand. You so obviously love literature, you aren’t going to feel out of place once you sign up for a few classes. Yes, you would be older than the majority of first-year students, but not by much, and really, what would it matter?”

  “It’s a bit more than that,” she said, looking away from him.

  “If you can’t afford the expense, surely there are scholarships you could apply for.”

  “Yes, I suppose I could. But I haven’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She looked away, feeling uncomfortable. “The last thing I want to do is sit in some stuffy classroom and listen to some white-haired professor,” she said defensively.

  “Why not?”

  Grey did a good job of disguising his shock, but Meghan could see that her words had rattled him. It seemed that his voice tensed a little, but Meghan couldn’t be certain.

  “If you really must know,” she said nervously, “colleges and professors frighten me.”

  “Meghan, that’s ridiculous. They’re people like you and me.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is absurd, but it’s the way I feel. I’m afraid a professor would look down his learned nose at me and think I’m full of myself.”

  “Listen,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning on the pathway so that he faced her squarely. “There’s something you should know.”

  In the distance, Meghan could hear footsteps approaching. Grey dropped his hands, apparently wanting to wait until the group had passed him.

  “Evening, Professor Carlyle.”

  Grey twisted his head around and nodded. “Good evening, Paul.”

  “Professor Carlyle,” Meghan muttered. “You’re a professor?”

  Two

  Meghan felt the surprise splash over her, drenching her to the bone. Grey Carlyle was a university professor, specializing in English literature, no doubt! She couldn’t believe how incredibly obtuse she’d been. Just looking at him, reading Chaucer and Milton in his crisp three-piece suit, precisely knotted tie, and boot-camp polished shoes, should have been a dead giveaway. Only Meghan hadn’t figured it out. Oh no. Instead she’d danced all around him in an effort to impress him with her dazzling insights and sharp wit—all the while making a complete nincompoop of herself.

  Her gaze met his and quickly lowered. “I should have guessed,” she muttered, forcing a smile.

  “Is my hair that white?” he coaxed. “Do I really come off as so terribly stuffy?”

  His words were a teasing reminder of the things she’d said about college and professors. “You could have gone all night without repeating that,” she whispered, feeling the warm color rush into her face.

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  “You’re not the least bit sorry,” she countered.

  Grey chuckled and rubbed the side of his jaw. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  “I should be furious with you, letting me go on that way!” Meghan continued, still not looking at him directly. If those students hadn’t arrived when they did, there was no telling how much more she would have said.

  “But you’re not angry?”

  “No,” she said, releasing a pent-up sigh. “I probably should be, but I’m not.” She’d done this to herself, and although she would have liked to blame Grey, she couldn’t.

  “I didn’t know how to stop you,” he admitted, frowning. “I wanted to say something—let you know before you’d embarrassed yourself. I suppose I just assumed you’d have figured it out. It was my own fault; I should have said something earlier.”

  “That’s the problem,” Meghan admitted with a rueful smile. “My tongue often outdistances my mind. I get carried away and say the most absurd things, and then I wonder why everyone is giving me odd looks.”

  “Friends?” Grey prompted, holding out his hand.

  His look was so endearing and so tender that Meghan couldn’t have resisted had she tried. From the first moment she’d noticed Grey Carlyle reading Chaucer, she’d been attracted to him. Strongly attracted. Lots of good-looking men had passed through the doors of Rose’s Diner, and plenty had shown more than a casual interest in her. But this was the first time Meghan had ever dated anyone she’d met at the restaurant after such a short acquaintance.

  “Friends,” Meghan agreed, slipping her hand into his. His touch was light and impersonal, and Meghan experienced a sensation of rightness about their being together. Perhaps it was best that she hadn’t guessed his occupation earlier. If she had, she might not have been so candid.

  They started walking toward the ivy-covered brick buildings. The pathway was lined by small green shrubs. “I wish now I’d worn my other
shoes,” Meghan commented casually. The one good thing about this date was that she’d cleaned out her closet while searching for the perfect outfit. After trying on anything and everything that was the least bit suitable, she’d chosen a red plaid skirt, white blouse, and dark blazer, with knee-high leather boots.

  Grey paused and glanced down at her feet. “Are those too tight?”

  “No, especially since I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth a couple of times, but my other shoes are more subtle.”

  “Subtle?” he repeated.

  “All right,” she muttered. “More dignified. If I’d known I was attending this lecture with a full-fledged professor, I’d have dressed more appropriately for the occasion. But since I assumed you were just a regular run-of-the-mill classical literature lover, I thought the boots would do fine.”

  “You look wonderful just the way you are.”

  The open admiration in his gaze told her he was telling the truth. “It’s nice of you to say so, but from here on out, it’s my black patent-leather Mary Janes.”

  He burst out with a short laugh. The sound was robust and full but a little rusty, as though he didn’t often reveal his amusement quite so readily.

  Again he securely tucked her hand in the curve of his arm. “This is a prime example of what I was talking about earlier.”

  “What is?” Meghan wasn’t sure she understood.

  “Your honesty. There isn’t any pretense in you, and I find that exceptionally rare these days.”

  Meghan was about to make a comment when they strolled past a group of students.

  “Hello, Professor Carlyle,” a blond girl said eagerly and raised her hand. When Grey turned toward her, the teen smiled brightly. “I just wanted to be sure you knew I was here.”