Page 88 of King of Kings

“I think that sounds perfect.”

“One more thing, Knox.”

“Yes?”

“I’m planning to retire also. It’s something my wife and I have been discussing, but I didn’t want to do it until I knew I had the right person to take my place. How do you feel about not only being a professor, but also the dean?”

I’ve always wanted nothing more than to give everything I have to this University. This is my chance to go all in.

“I think that sounds perfect,” I say, shaking his hand.

“I understand you’ve been through a lot, so why don’t you take a couple weeks off and then we’ll dive into everything,” he suggests.

“Sounds great. Thanks again, Dave,” I say, getting up from my chair.

I open the office door, nearly running into someone.

“Sorry, man.” I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder.

Foster Adams.

“Foster, how are you?” I ask.

He glances at me, realization crossing his face.

“Knox Kingston, it’s been a while,” he says.

“Yes, that unfortunate dinner, how could I forget.” I laugh.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I just got offered a job. I’ll be teaching history next semester. It also looks like I’m on my way to becoming your new dean,” I say.

“Wow. That’s great, man.”

He flinches. It’s subtle, but I notice it right away.

Why does it feel like he isn’t happy for me?

“Thanks. I think so too,” I say. “I’ve got to head out, but I look forward to working with you,” I tell him.

He doesn’t say anything and just opens the door, sliding inside.

That was an awkward and strange encounter. I know it seems like he and Kinsley got off on the wrong foot, but maybe I need to have a conversation with her and make sure everything is fine now.

I glance around for my sister before I leave, but never see her.

Once I’m home, I see that Sophia is the only one here. I debate calling Kinsley, but then I remember that she asked me to give her some space now that she’s in college. She’s right. I need to let loose of the reins.

I find Sophia in the kitchen––cooking––when I walk in.

“What’s going on in here?” I ask.

“You’re not the only one that can cook,” she says, winking.

I grab a seat at the bar, watching her move gracefully around the kitchen.

“I’m making tacos and margaritas,” she says, bringing a drink over to me.