Teacher's Pet

Luckily, by the time I returned to the living room, the Thanksgiving holiday had put everyone at ease. Damien was choosing records to play, assisted by Lexi's assertive expressions. My father was enraptured by Polly's descriptions of her latest painting, and Jackson was getting a play-by-play from Carl of the last football game he missed.

"Need any help in the kitchen?" Ford asked.

"No, thanks, we've got it all under control. I'm just going to grab the cheese tray," I slipped away as fast as I could.

Ford seemed eager to tell me something, but I knew if we were alone, the volcanic attraction I felt could overflow at any moment.

Everything was fine until Ford noticed me. He stood in carved archway of my father's living room, partially in and partially out of the foyer. While he leaned on the wooden post and listened to Jackson's summer plans, his eyes followed me across into the dining room. I tried to tell myself it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy; I had daydreamed of feeling the caress of his grey eyes, and now any glance made that feeling possible.

The trouble began when he offered to help me.

Ford slipped through the narrow hallway and met me across the kitchen island. "Need any help brining dinner to the table?" he asked.

"No, I've got it. Easy," I said, but the turkey platter wobbled in my hands.

He smiled and stepped around me to gather up the big bowl of mashed potatoes and another of stuffing. He hooked the gravy boat with two fingers and carried it all like it was nothing.

"Heavenly," Ford said. Then he amended his comment. "The dinner. Everything smells heavenly."

He put the bowls and gravy boat down on the table and reached out to help me with the turkey. When our fingers brushed, I felt like a jolt of electricity scrambled my muscles. The turkey tray wobbled again, and between the two of us, we set it down with a heavy thunk at the head of the table.

"Everything alright in there?" my father called from the living room.

I looked up to see everyone watching us with curiosity and amusement. Lexi wore a dangerous, calculating smile, and I flashed her a warning look that she ignored. "Yes, fine, I think you might have underestimated the turkey this year, Patrick," I said.

Everyone laughed, and my father gestured for our guests to file into the dining room. "Go big or go home. I hope you've all brought your appetites," my father said.

"Wow, Clarity, you and your dad really outdid yourselves this year," Lexi said with a speculative twinkle in her eye.

My father beamed. "It's been a few years since we did the full Thanksgiving spread, so I'm glad you think it looks good. Clarity's been working hard. She even tracked down a candied yams recipe for Ford."

My cheeks flared. "You mentioned it to our lecture class one day before your presentation," I said.

Ford smiled at me. "I'm glad to know someone is listening," he said.

"Clarity's good like that," Lexi said. "When she is interested in someone, she notices everything."

Ford cleared his throat. "Well, she hasn't noticed that I've been trying to talk to her since I arrived, but now that I have her attention, I can finally say it."

My vision clouded and closed in around the edges. "Say what? Now?"

"I have a letter for you," Ford pulled a narrow, white envelope from his pocket and addressed the entire table. "It's from Wire Communications. My teaching assistant opened it, but I promise I did not read the contents."

I sat down hard in my chair as everyone clapped. "Why? What?"

Ford's lips quirked up at the corners. "I thought you would like to read it yourself. I imagine it has something to do with the internship you expressed interest in. Very competitive, very real world experience. Remember?"

"How did you get it?" I asked.

My father gestured for us all to sit, and Ford slipped into his chair and met my eyes. "It was sent to my office. I believe the owner wanted me to see it, so I could present it to you personally."

A hardened, gray glint flashed through Ford's eyes at the mention of the Wire Communications owner. I didn't understand why he would be so annoyed with having to pass along the letter. Unless he had never intended to come to our Thanksgiving dinner. Unless he was hoping to avoid me in social situations for the rest of my schooling at Landsman College.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" my father asked. His hands paused next to the carving knife, and I knew I was holding up dinner.

I slipped the heavy stock, embossed stationary from the envelope and read out loud. "Ms. Dunkirk: It is our pleasure to announce that you have won the coveted position of Wire Communications Journalist Intern for the coming summer months... How is this even possible?" I asked Ford.

He watched me carefully, an inquisitive squint around his eyes. "They most likely noticed your excellent writing skills and your proven track record of hard work and perseverance," he said.