Sweet Dandelion

I jolt when Mr. Taylor sits down beside me.

“That didn’t take you long,” I remark, sniffling again. It’s maybe been five minutes since I should’ve been at his office.

I feel him shrug. “I knew where to look this time.” It’s impossible not to sense his stare. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I don’t know.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I was going to, but I found myself here instead.”

“You’re mad at me.”

I don’t miss how he makes it a statement, not a question.

“No.” And I’m not. Finally, I look at him. His eyes are soft today, but his beard is a little thicker like he hasn’t felt like shaving. “I understand how complicated this is.” I nearly said wrong instead of complicated, but I didn’t want to use that word. The way I see it, how we feel about each other isn’t this evil ugly thing, but the situation is, his position versus mine.

Mr. Taylor exhales a weighted breath. I have to keep reminding myself that’s who he is—Mr. Taylor, not Lachlan. He should never have been Lachlan to me and that tears me up inside.

“I never meant to hurt you, Dani.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, angling my head in his direction. “I don’t think either of us meant for things to get to where they are.” I clasp my hands together. “It just happened.”

His eyes lower. “I’m twenty-nine, almost thirty, I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think age, or maturity is the problem here, we have a connection and it’s made us make some choices that aren’t the best.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And we need to stop making them.”

I bite my lip, wanting to keep my words at bay, but of course, I can’t. “Do you really think that’s possible? A lot has happened in the heat of the moment.”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I’m not … I’m not trying to fight with you, or act like I feel nothing for you.” Those Caribbean blue eyes stare into me, through me. “I could lose my job if someone found out,” he whispers under his breath, and I jolt.

Selfishly, despite understanding that I’m his student, and he’s my counselor, that I’m eighteen and he’s twenty-nine, I never quite grasped that he could potentially lose his job over this. My stomach coils into a tight knot.

“I…”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Dani. But you need to understand how complicated and fucked up this is.”

I lower my head. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what else to say.

He glides his palms over the front of his navy blue slacks. “You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

“But you’re not?”

He shakes his head, rubbing his jaw. “No, I guess that makes me a bastard, but I’m not sorry for liking you.”

I let out a sigh, clasping my hands as I look down at the track. “I miss it so much. I hate that I can never run again.”

Mr. Taylor grows thoughtful. “I think you need to focus less on what you can’t do and more on what you can.”

His words strike a cord.

“You can walk,” he continues, “you can laugh, smile, breathe. There are other forms of exercise besides running, you know.” He playfully knocks his knee into mine.

I know his words are innocent, but I can’t help but mentally picture exactly how I’d like to exercise with him. I’m a menace.

He stands up, holding his hand out to me. “Come on, there are thirty minutes left, let’s go to my office.”

I stare at his hand for a few seconds before I take it, letting him haul me up. He releases my hand, and it’s just in time because the doors open and one of the janitors enters heading for the trash can to empty it.