Read Online A Midnight Clear by Emma Barry & Genevieve Turner - Free Book Online Page B

started walking again, they didn’t touch, which was likely protective for them both. They didn’t talk, but every block, they’d exchange a look, just to make sure the other one was still there. As if to say, I like walking with you. And then, I can’t imagine not walking with you. And by the time they reached her street, Frances felt like she was floating two feet off the ground.
    “Can I see you tomorrow?” Joe asked in a low voice.
    “If I’m not allowed to go out with other boys, I guess you should come to dinner.”
    Joe tilted his head and considered the offer. “Are you certain?”
    He sounded as if he weren’t sure himself, when any other midshipman would be leaping at the chance.
    “Yes. Ever since you insisted on talking to me after chapel, Father has been asking questions. So come and meet him. Tomorrow at seven?”
    “I’ll be there. Have a nice afternoon.”
    “You too.”
    Neither of them moved.  
    “You should go. You have chemistry,” she chided.
    “You should go. You have menus.”
    Still they remained in place.
    “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Joe said, with a smile that made his ability to quote Shakespeare endearing and not pretentious. He kept doing that alchemy, and she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to resist him for long.
    “The tragedies are next semester,” Frances said.
    “I hope you never have to study tragedy again.”
    A few more seconds passed. Frances looked around and, assured that Betsy wasn’t peeking, she popped up and kissed Joe on his jawline. Then she dashed up the steps.
    As she fumbled with her keys, she could hear him whistling.

    Joe paused on the front step of the Dumfries’s stoop, taking it all in. The Superintendent’s house looked like someone had started with the idea of a cottage and then gone above and beyond, adding another story and a garden and a fountain and an extra wing here and there. Two dormer windows poked skeptically out the roof. They reminded him of the Admiral’s eyebrows.
    He adjusted the jacket of his dress blues, then a quick check of his shoes—still gleaming despite the walk over—and he knew he was as spit and polished as he could get. Too bad the shine on his shoes wouldn’t be enough to sail him through this dinner slick as a greased pig.
    One last lung-filling inhale and then he knocked on the door, hard. Too hard in his nervousness—his knuckles stung and he had to resist the urge to shake them out.
    The door swung open and Suzanne stood there in red silk with her hair pinned up, wearing a rather smug expression.
    Joe handed over a bouquet of sweet peas. “For you.”
    She took them with a small smile, and then delicately sniffed them. “Thank you. I see you didn’t bring any for Frances.”
    “Got something better for her.” As he crossed the threshold, he leaned in close and dropped his voice. “How am I doing on our little agreement?”
    “So well I don’t think you need my help at all. I heard about the motorcycle.” She mouthed the last word. “Very bold. And Frances loved it.”
    “I live to serve.”
    They shared a conspiratorial smile for half a moment, and then she said, “Here. Let me take your coat.”
    He shrugged out of it and handed it to her, then set his cap on the hat stand by the door. One last check in the mirror—thank goodness the uniform meant he didn’t have to worry about his clothing choices—and Suzanne led him down the hall, her heels sinking into the Persian rug covering the marble floor.
    The whole place was impressive—bright white walls, fancy carvings in the ceiling. What did they call that? Crown molding? Whatever it was, his impression of this place—with the wood trim, and the chandeliers, and the fragile furniture—wasn’t home . This was only an ornate way station. And Frances no doubt had to keep it in pristine condition for the next occupant.  
    “Here we are,” Suzanne said, gesturing him into a parlor with a fire blazing.
    The admiral was waiting