He withdrew his iPhone from his pocket, opened up the notepad application, and began writing with his finger.

“I wasn’t going to complain…” Julia began.

“You might have said thank you.”

“Thank you, Professor Emerson. But think of it from my point of view — I don’t want to play Héloïse to your Abelard.” She looked down at her silverware and began adjusting the pieces until they were all lined up symmetrically.

Gabriel quickly remembered seeing her do that once before, when they were dining at Harbour Sixty. He placed his phone on the table and looked over at her with a pained expression, made doubly painful by the guilt he felt over what had almost happened in his study carrel. Yes, he’d come close to succumbing to Miss Mitchell’s considerable charms, and risking Abelard’s fate, for Rachel would no doubt castrate him if she discovered he’d seduced her friend. Miraculously, however, his self-control proved to be superior to that of Abelard. “I would never seduce a student.”

“Then thank you,” she murmured. “And thank you for the gesture of the bursary, even though I can’t promise to accept it. I know it’s only a small amount to you, but it would have meant airline tickets home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and spring break and Easter. And money for many more extras than I can afford now. Including steak, on occasion.”

“Why would you use it for airline tickets? I would have thought you’d use it to secure a better apartment.”

“I don’t think I can get out of my lease. And anyway, going home to see my dad is important to me. He’s the only family I have. And I would have liked to see Richard before he sells the house and moves to Philadelphia.”

Actually, it would be worth it to accept the bursary so I could visit Richard and the orchard. I wonder if my favorite apple tree is still there…I wonder if anyone would notice if I carved my initials into the trunk…

Gabriel scowled obliquely, for a number of reasons. “You wouldn’t have gone home otherwise?”

She shook her head. “Dad wanted to fly me home for Christmas, rather than taking Greyhound. But the prices on Air Canada are outrageous. I would have been ashamed to accept a ticket from him.”

“Never be ashamed to accept a gift when there are no strings attached.”

“You sound like Grace. She used to talk like that.”

He shifted in his seat and involuntarily scratched at the back of his neck. “Where do you think I learned about generosity? Not from my biological mother.”

Julia looked at Gabriel, meeting his gaze without blushing or blinking. Then she sighed and put the award letter back in her bag, resolving to spend more time thinking about how best to deal with it once she was no longer in The Professor’s magnetic presence. For she saw that arguing with him would get her nowhere. And in that respect, as in several others, he was exactly like Peter Abelard, sexy, smart, and seductive.

He peered over at her. “But despite all I’ve tried to do, which isn’t much I’ll admit, you’re still going hungry?”

“Gabriel, I have a tenuous relationship with my stomach. I forget to eat when I’m busy or preoccupied or — or sad. It’s not about the money — it’s just the way things are. Please don’t trouble yourself.” She readjusted her cutlery once again for good measure.

“So…you’re sad?”

She sipped her beer slowly and ignored his question.

“Does Dante make you unhappy?”

“Sometimes,” she whispered.

“And other times?”

She looked up at him, and a sweet smile spread across her face. “I can’t help myself — he makes me deliriously happy. Sometimes when I’m studying The Divine Comedy, I feel as if I’m doing what I was always meant to do. Like I found my passion, my vocation. I’m not that shy little girl from Selinsgrove anymore. I can do this, I’m good at it, and it makes me feel…important.”

It was too much. Too much information. The quickly drunk beer, the rush of blood to the head, his scent clinging and heavy in her nose from his sweater. She should never have said all those words to him, of all people.

But he only watched her somewhat warmly, which surprised her. “You are shy, it’s true,” he murmured. “But that’s certainly not a vice.” He cleared his throat. “I’m envious of your enthusiasm for Dante. I used to feel that way. But for me, it was a long time ago. Too long.” He smiled at her again and looked away.

Julia leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Who is M. P. Emerson?”

Startled blue eyes flew to hers, burning with laser-like intensity. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but it was very, very cold, and Julia realized she’d touched upon a nerve so injured, so raw, it was still vibrating with pain. It took her a moment to collect herself, and before she had fully considered the prudence of her question, she spoke. “Are you trying to be my friend?

Is that what you were trying to communicate to me with the bursary?”

Gabriel frowned. “Did Rachel put you up to this?”

“No. Why?”

“She thinks we should be friends. But I’ll tell you what I told her — it’s impossible.”

Julia felt a lump grow in her throat, and she swallowed noisily. “Why?”

“We exist under the red flag of professionalism. Professors can’t be friends with their students. And even if we were just Julianne and Gabriel sharing a pizza, you shouldn’t want to be friends with me. I am a magnet for sin, and you are not.” He smiled sadly. “So you see, it’s hopeless. Abandon hope all ye who enter.”

“I don’t like to think of anything as hopeless,” she whispered to her silverware.

“Aristotle said that friendship is only possible between two virtuous people. Therefore, friendship between us is impossible.”

“No one is truly virtuous.”

“You are.” Gabriel’s blue eyes burned into hers with something akin to passion and admiration.

“Rachel said you were on the vip list at Lobby.” Julia changed the subject again swiftly, still not considering her words.

“That’s true.”

“She made a mystery of it. Why?”

Gabriel scowled. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

He fixed her with his gaze and dropped his voice. “I go there regularly, hence the vip status. Although I haven’t been there much of late.”

“Why do you go? You don’t like to dance. Is it just to drink?” Julia looked around at the simple but comfortable interior of the Caffé. “Here is as good a place to drink as any. I think it’s much nicer here. It’s gemüt-lich — cozy.” And there doesn’t appear to be a single Emerson whore in sight.

“No, Miss Mitchell, in general I do not go to The Vestibule to drink.”

“Then why do you go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He frowned. Then he shook his head. “Perhaps not to someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Someone like me?”

“It means that you don’t know what you’re asking me,” he spat, staring angrily. “Otherwise you wouldn’t make me say it! You want to know why I go there? I’ll tell you why I go there. I go there to find women to fuck, Miss Mitchell.” He was pissed now and glaring at her. “Happy now?” he growled.

Julia drew a deep breath and held it. When she could hold it no more she shook her head and exhaled. “No,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Why would that make me happy? It makes me sick to my stomach, actually. Really, really sick. You have no idea.”

Gabriel sighed deeply and placed both hands at the back of his neck.

He wasn’t cross with her; he was cross with himself. And he felt ashamed.

Part of him wanted to repel her intentionally — to stand naked in front of her, hiding nothing — so that she would see him for what he really was, a dark, sinister creature exposed by her virtue. Then she would walk away.

Perhaps his subconscious was already trying to do that with these ridiculous, unprofessional outbursts. For he should never in a thousand years have said what he just said to a graduate student, especially a female graduate student, even if it was the truth. She was undoing him slowly, bit by bit, and he did not understand how.