Teacher's Pet

I wanted to come clean to Clarity about Libby, but all I got the chance to do was wash dishes. Clarity worked beside me, polite but quiet.

"So how did those candied yams stack up?" Patrick asked. He put the last of the dishes on the counter next to me. "I suppose nothing can be as good as the food in your memories."

"Better," I said. "Thank you."

A rosy hue touched the top of Clarity's cheeks. "No problem."

"Oh, darn, I bet there are more empty glasses in the living room," Patrick left again.

I nudged Clarity. "It was really sweet of you to make those especially for me."

"I didn't, I mean, I did, but I was trying to …" Clarity puffed out a flustered breath and tried again. "You're welcome."

I looked at her from the corner of my eye and had to smile. "You're blushing," I whispered.

Clarity's cheeks burned brighter, but she nudged me back. We pressed back and forth

in a playful skirmish, and my heart soared. Whatever strict lines she had drawn for herself shifted whenever we were together. The thought of freeing her from all her restrictions, seeing her shake off her inhibitions, was all-consuming.

I wanted Clarity, all of her.

"Careful, you're dripping soap on your shoes," Clarity whispered with one more flirtatious nudge.

I flicked the soap off my hands and leaned on the counter so I could study her pretty face. Her wide, emerald eyes flickered with nerves, but she didn't step back or look away. The look between us crackled with electricity.

"I really am sorry for outing your writing. You came to me in strictest confidence."

She smiled. "It's alright, you were nice enough to give me feedback."

"So you didn't mind coming up to my office to, ah, discuss your short story?" I asked then held my breath.

"Not at all," Clarity said. Her voice was like velvet. "Especially since you were so nice to walk me home under the maple trees."

"I hope you'll let me read your writing again sometime," I said. I reached out to brush the soft hair from her neck and froze.

Her father strode back in to the kitchen. "I'm so glad you convinced Clarity to start writing again. She used to write fairy tales and mysteries and all kinds of stories when she was a little girl, and I loved every single one of them," he said with a proud smile.

Clarity straightened up and stepped away. She kept her back to her father and scrubbed at the next stack of plates. "That was back when I was a little kid, Dad. I'm twenty-two now, an adult."

Her eyes flickered to mine, and the heat went straight to my core. I tore my gaze away from her and cleared my throat. "I'm sure it's hard for you to see, Patrick, but your daughter is a very mature woman."

Patrick chuckled. "A fact that worries me every day. I wish she could go back to being that carefree child making up stories for fun. She stopped writing after her mother left, and it was such a shame."

A plate slipped from Clarity's hand and disappeared back into the soapy sink. She plunged her hand into get it, and I reached in to give her hand a hidden squeeze.

Patrick puttered around the kitchen without noticing his daughter's sudden quiet. I spoke up to fill the void. "There's still a lot on that behemoth of a turkey. Any chance of leftovers for a starving, single professor?" I asked.

Clarity gave me a grateful glance and pulled her hands from the soapy water. She grabbed a dish towel and dried them. "I'll pack up leftovers for you. We have more of everything, including your candied yams."

"Excellent," Patrick said. "I'll go find a bag; I have a bunch leftover from the Landsman College food drive."

He disappeared down the hallway to his office. I dried my hands and caught Clarity as she flitted back and forth, scooping up leftovers. "You know I wasn't just being nice, right?"

"What?" she blinked up at me.

"About your writing. It shows real talent. Wait, what did you think I meant?" I asked. I was suddenly aware of her silken skin underneath my fingers and the taut flex of her slender arm. Before I could think better of it, I pulled her closer.

Clarity didn't resist, she looked at my lips and wetted her own. “Nothing. I just can't quite believe that you liked my writing that much."