Flirting with Fifty

She felt that uncomfortable wobbly sensation in the pit of her stomach again. She ought to tell him who she was. She ought to come clean. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. He’d done such amazing things in his life. She wasn’t embarrassed that she hadn’t accomplished as much, and yet she did feel a wave of insecurity. “Not always, but Esther’s a good friend and I’m always happy to help her out.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Besides, everyone is really excited about you joining Orange this year. There are a lot of high expectations from what I understand.”

“Oh?”

“Alumni, department chairs, the university president, the media . . .”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

He said it lightly, though, and Paige could tell he wasn’t worried. In fact, Jack looked incredibly relaxed and rested for a man who’d supposedly just flown in from Delhi. “Did you really just return from India?”

“Last night, yes.”

“And you’re not jet-lagged?”

“Not now, but I will be later. Hopefully by then I’ll have found a place to stay.”

“You don’t have a place to live yet?”

“That’s next on my to-do list.”

She marveled at how untroubled he was. If the situation was reversed, she’d have been incredibly anxious about where she’d be living. In fact, before she moved from Durham, she flew out on an apartment hunting trip, and didn’t return until she’d signed a lease. “I’m surprised the university didn’t give you any help with that.”

“Dr. Rakovski offered some assistance but I declined. I saw online that there is quite a lot available in the Mission Viejo–Irvine area, so I’m not worried.”

“It sounds as if you don’t worry about a lot of things.”

“I worry about big things—climate change, species extinction, the rise of disease and poverty. But the rest of it is small stuff, and I’ve learned not to lose sleep over it.”

“You must do yoga or meditate.”

“No. That’s been suggested to me more than once. I run, hike, swim. Work out. But all those things are a kind of meditation. We can’t save the world if we can’t save ourselves.”

“You want to save the world?”

“Don’t you?” he retorted.

Jack saw Paige’s smile fade, her already guarded expression shuttering further. This was not the meeting he’d thought he’d be having this morning. First, there were no department heads. Second, there was no Dr. Hagopian. And then perhaps most importantly, this was Paige, the Paige he knew from Paris, and yet she didn’t seem to remember him.

Odd.

More than odd.

She was no longer the fresh-faced coed of twenty, but she was even more beautiful now, her features mature, elegant, reminding him of Michelle Pfeiffer with her high, prominent cheekbones, wide blue eyes, and generous mouth. He’d always thought it was interesting how women became more beautiful as they aged, wisdom adding layers and mystery. The Paige he’d known in Paris was smart, articulate, confident, brilliant with her head for numbers. The Paige he’d known wouldn’t have forgotten him. So why this pretense?

Could this Paige be a doppelgänger? Someone so much like Paige—even down to the same name—but not the same woman? Was it coincidental? Possible? He suspected not.

Regardless, he was intrigued. This would be an interesting semester. “Tell me a little bit about yourself,” he asked. “Where are you from? Where did you go to school?”

Her shoulders twisted evasively. “I don’t have a very interesting background. Grew up in a small town in California. Earned my PhD at Berkeley.” Her lashes lifted, and she gave a wry smile. “I checked out your curriculum vitae. You’ve done a lot in your life. Pretty impressive.”

It was her voice. Her mannerisms. Same education. Paige had attended Berkeley. He was silent a moment, processing.

Could she really not remember?

Had she perhaps been in an accident? Suffered some kind of trauma, something that would have hurt her memory?

His brow creased, but as much as he wanted to ask more questions and press for clarification, he did the opposite. He’d let it ride for now. School started soon and there was a lot to get done. “I enjoy my work.”

“You’ve earned hundreds of fellowships.”

His lips quirked. “I thought you were supposed to be good with numbers.”

“Okay, not hundreds of fellowships, but you’ve had hundreds of papers published. You must like writing.”

“I don’t dislike writing. It’s part of the job.”

“My least favorite part,” she admitted. “I like my numbers. Equations are my friends. But sentences? Paragraphs? Essays explaining research? No, thank you.”

“We all have our strengths. It’s what makes the world interesting.” He meant it, too.

Over the years many of Jack’s colleagues had thought he was too zealous about his work, too passionate about his causes. But he believed his work mattered. He believed he could make a difference. It’s why he woke up every day, put in the hours he did. Traditionally, professors tended to be risk averse. They liked the comfort of academia. One could bury himself in books, surround one’s self with idealistic students, and feel optimistic about the future. Jack couldn’t. He never had. He could only feel optimistic in the field, putting research into practice. Field work was essential—necessary and transformative. “What do you know about our class?” he asked.

“Just that it’s one you created, and apparently so popular it’s already full, with a waiting list of thirty-five.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t normally get thirty-five students waiting for one of my math classes.”

“But you have taught statistics before.”

“Of course, many times, but usually in the Spring semester.”

“That’s good,” he said. “You’ll be comfortable as we’ll be using statistics to teach research methodology.”

“And then you’ll be taking some students on an actual research trip end of semester?”

“That’s the culmination of the semester work, yes.” Jack looked at her curiously. “You’re not coming?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to go.”

“We’re team teaching. It’d be great to have the other half of the team in the field.”

Her blue gaze revealed wariness. “It’s not mandatory, though, is it? Dr. Nair said nothing about that part, and I have three other classes. I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave them, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’d want to leave them.”

“I don’t think that has to be decided today, no.” Jack opened his khaki knapsack and pulled out a thick spiral-bound book. “I’ll email you the syllabus later today, but I also have a hard copy. I thought Dr. Hagopian might want it.”

“I’d love it,” Paige said. “Technology has its advantages, but there’s nothing like a book.” She reached for the syllabus. “This is massive.”

“It’s the entire course. That way you know what I’m covering, what you’re covering, and when our lessons will overlap.”

“You normally teach this course yourself, don’t you?”

“At Princeton, yes. But when I’m visiting a school for a summer, or semester, I’ve found it beneficial to teach with someone on the faculty.” He could feel her reluctance. “What’s wrong?”

“This is just your course. It’s like your baby—”

“Not my baby, not at all. It’s an undergraduate course that teaches upper division students research methodology.” He smiled, wanting to reassure her. “I promise I’m not going to be riding you, criticizing your instruction. When we start teaching, you’re the statistics expert, and I’m the biology expert, and by the end, students will realize you can’t have one without the other, not in science, and definitely not in field research.” He stopped talking then, thinking he might be overwhelming her. “Sorry. I’m passionate about my work.”

“I’d rather teach with someone excited to teach than someone who’s counting down the days to retirement.”

He grimaced. “There are plenty of those out there.”

“You won’t find many here at Orange. It’s a fairly young faculty. Very friendly.”

“Have you done a lot of team teaching?”

“Not very much, and not in years.”

“We’ll make this fun.”

She lifted a quizzical brow. “Is that a challenge?”

He laughed. She was a little guarded, a little prickly, and refreshingly feisty. He tried to remember if the Paige he’d known in Paris had been the same. But there had been too many years. Three decades. “Any advice on where I should begin looking for an apartment? Any neighborhoods to stay away from?”

“I liked the complex I used to live at. It’s walking distance to campus, and there are lots of Orange faculty there. If you mention you teach at Orange, you should get a better rate, and they’ll waive some of the deposit.” She reached for her phone. “What’s your phone number? I’ll send you a text with their info.”

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