“I’m confused.” I think and then realize I’ve said it out loud.

  “I can see that.” he says. “Your sign has my name on it. . . Although, you are not what I expected.” And again I see that amused smile. What is it that he finds so funny?

  “Well…,” my brain finally clicks and I realize that he is the other fellow. So that’s what she meant by an impressive specimen of a man. I blush in embarrassment at the realization that I was just checking out my coworker and try to regain some semblance of professionalism, “…you… you’re not exactly what I expected either.”

  Behind me I hear a man calling Dr. Graham and he looks up from me long enough to wave someone over.

  “Good morning, Eric. It seems you have some competition.” I turn to see a man who is clearly more practiced in picking up important people from airports than I. He is wearing the traditional black suit but I can tell from the way he walks and carries himself that he is capable of much more than driving a car. He is tall and lean with close cut blond hair and deep brown eyes that show a wisdom that only comes from certain experience. I turn to him and introduce myself, happy to be distracted from the confusingly attractive Dr. Graham.

  “Hi Eric,” I begin, “I’m Isabella Scott. Dr. Sandling sent me over to pick up Dr. Graham and bring him to the lab. I didn’t realize that you would, well, that he had a driver. I can take him, I guess, or maybe you.”

  I can tell that Eric is uncomfortable that I am addressing this all to him. He keeps looking from me, to Dr. Graham, and back again. But I’m reluctant to turn back to Dr. Graham. I can feel him watching me as I talk with Eric and I’m becoming more flustered by the second.

  “Eric is quite capable of driving me, Ms. Scott.”

  His voice feels like velvet drifting seductively over my skin, but there is an undertone of mocking that brings me back to my senses. I turn to look at him and find him still staring with that infuriating look of amusement.

  “I am quite capable of driving you as well.” I scowl. “I also happen to have the knowledge and office keys that will get you to your destination and the computer pass codes that will allow you to do your work.”

  Why on earth am I arguing with him about this? It’s amazing how much trouble my stubborn pride can get me into. The smart thing to do would be to give them the address and start over at the office but I have already pushed and I just can’t seem to back down. I extend my hand to take his briefcase and after a brief pause Dr. Graham reaches to place the handle in my hand. As he does he grasps my fingers gently and I feel a confusing energy course through me. He lowers his voice and states, “I am sure that I could convince any number of people to help with all of the tasks you have mentioned.”

  I look him up and down, again astounded by the power of his presence. I don’t know who this guys is, but he certainly isn’t lacking in confidence. I narrow my eyes at him and reply, “Yes, I am sure you could.”

  I tug the briefcase from his hand and turn to Eric who is suddenly the one who has his eyes fixed to the floor. Desperate to change the subject, I ask, “What branch of the military did you serve in?”

  He is a Marine who served two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan and is excited to learn that my father is General Warren Scott, career Marine and role model to most of the modern day enlisted. We talk about what he is like to have as a dad and I tell stories about the hundreds of Marines I have seen come and go from my house at all hours of day and night. Eric is the type of man with whom I am comfortable and familiar, which is more than I can say for Dr. Graham.

  The ride back to the lab seems to take an eternity. I am still irritated with Dr. Graham and I am at a loss for conversation. I am starting to deeply regret my stubborn push to make him ride with me. He is making no attempts to rescue me from my discomfort and is making it worse by watching me intently as I drive. Desperate to distract him I take a deep breath and ask him about his research.

  “I am much more interested in your role here Ms. Scott. Are you the lab chauffeur or do you have other... roles.”

  “Well, Dr. Graham,”

  “Please, call me Nathan.”

  “Well, Nathan, I am a lab manager of sorts. I was originally hired as a research assistant but I currently coordinate several of the projects and help Dr. Sandling keep the lab running smoothly. And yes, that occasionally involves picking up the visiting fellows.”

  “And you’re engaged? I noticed your ring as you took my briefcase.”

  His question catches me off guard and I make the mistake of looking over at him. I start to wonder if the look of amusement is permanent. Once again I find myself disoriented and slightly irritated. “For the moment,” I reply.

  “For the moment?”

  “Yes, Nathan. Engagement is, by its nature, a temporary state. Either one marries and is no longer engaged, or one doesn’t and is... disengaged as the case may be.”

  Why is wrong with me? Just being in his presence seems to make me say odd and snarky things. I am starting to wonder if he is the Roman god of confusion and inarticulate speech. “I’m familiar. And how is... your fiancé?”

  What is it with people asking about Christopher today? Is it that obvious? I glance again at Nathan and see that the look of amusement is gone. He is unexpectedly dead serious.

  “Christopher? Suddenly much less infuriating that he seemed this morning.” I reply drily.

  I manage to make it through the orientation without further insulting our distinguished guest but this is mostly because I refuse to look at him. I wander into Dr. Sandling’s office to give her the update and go over the afternoon schedule. We decide who should be in which meeting and clear up a few last minute details about tonight and I stand to go.

  “Wait Isabella, you never told me what you think of Dr. Graham.” She watches me closely as I purse my lips and take a deep breath.

  “I have no idea.” I answer honestly. I open my mouth to continue, but I wind up just shaking my head. There’s nothing more to say.

  Chapter 3

  From: Christopher Mathis

  To: Isabella Scott

  Re: lunch

  I,

  Any time for lunch? 12:00? I’m busy but will make the time.

  Love,

  C

  I check my e-mail to find the lunch invitation from Christopher. As I re-read it I can’t help but think his comment about making the time is an insult to me. I look at the clock and realize that it is too late to meet him anyway so I pick up the phone to call and it goes directly to voice mail. I’m sure he waited until noon and then turned it off so that he wouldn’t have to hear me apologize.

  I leave a message apologizing anyway, for not receiving his e-mail earlier- and for everything. My own voice sounds far away as I tell him I look forward to seeing him tonight at the reception and then hang up. I place my head in my hands and wonder why my life has suddenly become so confusing. Two days ago I would have told you my plan for the next year with certainty. Today, I’m unsure and disoriented, questioning the most basic aspects of my life.

  My tiny melt down is interrupted by a knock at my door and a fabulous smile that I can’t help but meet with a smile of my own.

  “Hey Boss, do you guys let people eat around here?” James asks.

  “Of course! I’ll give you the tour of the local eateries if you promise not to mock me for having ice cream for lunch.”

  “That bad huh?”

  “I have a feeling it is only the beginning.”

  We decide to stop at the local Chinese joint and James makes the mistake of questioning my assertion that he won’t be able to finish his glass of water before the meal is done. The waiters here are known for being obsessive about water and we are both full of laughter and giggles as each drink he takes is quickly refilled by a ninja-like water boy. He tells me ‘hypothetical’ stories of the people he kept out of jail and I give him ‘hypothetical’ stories of the best and worst visiting fellows we have trained.

  I am truly ha
ppy with my choice of lunch date as we stumble onto the street laughing and full. And then we tumble clumsily into Christopher. His hurt and anger from this morning have grown and have likely doubled again at the sight of me laughing and acting ridiculous with James.

  I stiffen at his look of reproach and gather myself to introduce James as one of the new fellows. Christopher is formal and polite. I remember him after his run this morning relaxed and out of breath and an intense sadness fills my chest. This is the Christopher I have most often now: tense, businesslike, admonishing. When did he start to feel like a disappointed father? I apologize again for not getting his message about lunch and make sure to mention that I tried to call him back. My voice sounds high and falsely chipper as I remind him that I’m excited about tonight and will be home early to change. His face remains unchanged as he acknowledges that he will be home at 5 and tells both of us politely to have a productive afternoon.

  I am embarrassed in front of James for sounding so pathetic. He takes my arm and asks, “So where did you say that ice cream place was?”

  The relief I feel is short lived as we turn around and find ourselves facing none other than Nathan Graham. I catch my breath and actually close my eyes for a second. It was fun to think about him in theoretical terms at the airport. Just an incredibly attractive man who would come and go on his way through to another reality. But this is my reality. And it’s not just the way he looks. I’m somehow lucky enough to be engaged to a man that causes women to literally turn their head when he walks by and I’m standing arm and arm with a man who is absolutely gorgeous. I can handle handsome. There’s something different about Nathan. I look at him and lose the ability to form a coherent sentence. I can’t read him. I can’t predict him. I feel the now familiar confusion wash over me and I struggle to figure out when he joined us and which parts he saw and heard. The silliness with James? The painful conversation with Christopher? How much do I have to be embarrassed by? Add why on earth do I care?

  He is watching intently as Christopher disappears into a building. His brow is furrowed and the look on his face seems something like disgust. He softens a bit as he brings his attention back to James and me but his gaze lingers on my arm, which is still wrapped around James’. James starts to pull away and I hold tighter, now irritated that Nathan should have any say in the moment. James glances at me curiously and then introduces himself. I’m surprised to hear that he knows who Nathan is.

  They briefly acknowledge each other’s papers and begin to talk about their projects for the summer. It is not just James who seems comfortable and warm. They are truly curious about each other’s work and they become more animated and excited as the conversation progresses. Once again the pieces don’t seem to fit. I pegged Nathan as arrogant and needing to be in control, but in this moment he seems open and at times even self-deprecating. I am bothered by the idea that he might actually be likable. I’m bothered by his habit of looking over at me and watching me for my response, of trying to include me in the conversation. I am bothered by Nathan’s presence at all. In this moment I’m especially bothered by the fact that James, my new best friend, loves him. I remind them both that we need to be back at the conference hall by 1:45 for the symposium and drag James quickly on for quick cup of ice cream.

  It is then that I get a real taste of Lawyer James.

  “Tell me about Christopher.”

  “So you may have figured out that he is my fiancé. I met him here at Dartmouth and he now owns his own consulting firm. We are supposed to get married in March and he has recently, as in last night, decided that I would make a much better trophy wife than physicist. He apparently has ‘aspirations’ that I don’t take seriously and he feels that I need to grow up and stop acting so silly with my friends. Oh- and he hates my friends. My guess is that now includes you.”

  “Well the fact that you used air quotes around the word aspirations indicates that he may be right about taking them seriously, but we can come back to that. What about Dr. Graham? How well do you know him?”

  “Who Nathan? I only met him today. I picked him up a couple of hours after you. Why?”

  “And what do you think about him?”

  “Well, I’m really not sure.” I ponder Nathan for a moment. “He seems really intense. I find him sort of irritating but also a little intriguing. We’ll have to see. I don’t know, I don’t have the energy to figure him out right now. I have my hands full with Christopher.”

  “Well he certainly has the energy to figure you out. He couldn’t take his eyes off you back there. And I notice you failed to mention that he looks like some sort of well chiseled gift from heaven. Don’t tell me you are immune to that?”

  “It’s my personal belief that he is the Roman god of confusion and inarticulate speech, since you ask, and my personal approach is to try not to look.”

  James’ warm laugh brings me back to equilibrium as we wander inside the ice cream parlor.

  Chapter 4

  From: Elizabeth Sandling

  To: Isabella Scott

  Re: symposium

  Isabella,

  I’ll need to leave early to make sure Kara is ready. Walk the fellows over when you come.

  - E

  There’s a large part of me that wants to avoid him, but I dutifully stop by Nathan’s office and offer to show him to the symposium. We gather James as well and walk over to the lecture hall. I’m walking between the two and trying to give a brief preview of the talk that we are going to, but I can’t help but notice that the people we pass are stopping to stare. After a few seconds it hits me and before I catch myself I break into a wide smile. They are staring because I happen to be walking down the hall with two absolutely, jaw droppingly gorgeous men. I’m smiling because I get that we don’t belong. People are trying to figure out why we are here and looking to see if there are cameras.

  I know I should be more mature but there’s part of me that can’t help but feel cool to be seen with these guys. I forget myself for a moment and take full advantage by taking them each by the arm. James barely misses a beat and gently squeezes my elbow as he pulls in close to my side. My arm brushes along Nathan’s side as I reach for his arm and in the very first moment I feel him flinch. I know immediately that I have messed up but time is moving like a slow motion bicycle wreck. I have time to acknowledge the tree before I crash into it head first.

  He stops in his tracks and looks at me like I have injured him physically. I feel sick to my stomach. I know that I can sometimes be too conformable with people. If you are my friend you will be hugged, bumped, nudged, held around the waist or arm, and generally cuddled. But he is not my friend. I’ve overstepped and he has quite obviously rejected me. I’m also hurt and offended that he could be so offended when I meant nothing by it. My basking in their gloriousness has ended in Nathan making it quite clear that his gloriousness is not something I am privy to in any part.

  I am watching him, trying to process in my mind what just happened but I just feel hurt. I hurt. His presence, and now his absence, leaves me feeling wanting. I don’t understand it, and I don’t understand him.

  I drop James’ arm and walk into the lecture hall. They find seats while I check in with Dr. Sandling and then purposely sit as far away from the two men as I can get.

  The talk is by one of the research groups whose grant I am coordinating. They are presenting their preliminary results for feedback before preparing the manuscript for publication.

  I’ve talked with Caitlin several times about the analysis so I am a little surprised to see that she is presenting something different today. I can’t help but ask. I think I am being diplomatic when I ask why she used one formula for data transformation rather than another that we had discussed. I’m trying to sound simply curious.

  “Well, Isabella,” she responds, “after we talked I did a thorough review of the literature and this it the way that others have done it. Did you want to share your thoughts on that?” The tone of her voice drips
with condescension.

  I should just sit down and let Dr. Sandling sort it out, but the stress of the day seems to have won out. I am too overwhelmed to care about my place or to try to remain tactful. “Well, we have spent over 6 million dollars on this project; I should hope that we would be more interested in getting it right than in repeating the mistakes of others.”

  The room has gone quiet and I can feel the blood start to drain from my face. I feel terrible because I really do like Caitlin and she is excellent at her job. I turn to Dr. Sandling and expect to see her disappointment, but am surprised to see that she looks almost proud.

  “Isabella, I’m curious as to which formula you recommend and why. Could you walk us through your calculations?”

  I feel at this point I have nothing to lose so wonder over to the whiteboard and write out the formulas and a few sample calculations. I try to explain the implications of the decision and argue that one may more accurately capture what we are trying to measure. I become more animated as I go because I actually care about this. I think we have a chance to get it right and that others have missed the mark.

  It probably takes about 2 minutes, but it feels like an eternity. I keep looking into the audience to gage the reaction and most people are looking at me like I am speaking in German. Nathan, however, is paying full attention. The end of my argument is directed at him because he seems to actually be listening. We stare at each other for a few moments and then he smiles. Not the irritatingly amused smile from before, but a real smile. He gets it. He gets me. I smile back. Connection.

  Dr. Sandling interrupts our moment and it’s clear to me that she has been watching us.

  “Dr. Graham, what do you think?”