It was a brisk fall day, the air slightly chilly as it swept through the trees sending bright leaves cascading to the ground. The afternoon sky was clear and bright, the sun shining down on the bustling college campus. It was the first day back from summer break and everyone was getting back into the swing of the educational system.
Claire O'Malley was brimming with excitement, and her creamy, freckled skin was glowing with it and her sharp green eyes were alighted with passion. She loved these moments, when the year was new and promise awaited each student with hope. She new eventually the novelty would wear off and it would become the daily grind, like it had every year since grade school.
As she glanced at her class list she saw a new name in the professor column next to her favorite class, Art History. Then she remembered why. At the end of last semester her professor had announced he was retiring. Her professor had been a sweet, white haired old man, who had a fondness for Irish whiskey and fine Cuban cigars. She was sad to remember him gone and was anxious to meet the new professor.
As she took her seat in the lecture hall she, and the other students present, wondered at the delay in the appearance of their mysterious professor. She heard a couple of freshmen in the seats behind her whispering.
"I hear he's really gorgeous, but I'll believe that when I see it." And with that the door swung open and a man strode purposefully into the classroom. Every eye in the hall took him in. Claire decided that whoever had said he was gorgeous was making a gross understatement. He was wickedly handsome. He was tall and lean, his broad chest and shoulders evoking visions of girlish fingertips trailing over that masculine surface. His hair was black as midnight, thick and curly, the ends brushing his ears and trailing down the nape of his neck. His eyes were like crystalline waters, the kind found deep in the ocean, the bluest of blue. She traced her eyes down his face to his full, sensual mouth, which might have appeared feminine had it not been graced with the strong wideness of the lips, stretching delightfully into a grin that played in his eyes.
Michael Daughton introduced himself and handed out the class syllabus, Claire found it almost difficult to concentrate on much more than the man standing in front of the class. But as he began the lecture she forgot about his amazing face and body and was swept up in the swirl of the new school year. She would not forget for long.
That Friday, Claire found herself at her usual place, the small on-campus café, snuggled into a corner booth with a thick novel and a steamy, pungent mug of tea. She was engrossed with the plot, and barely noticed the shadow that spilled over the pages. She slowly glanced up, and as her eyes left the page they came in contact with a long, lean figure. She raised her face up to his, her emerald eyes meeting his deep sapphire ones. She cocked her head to the side, intrigued by the appearance of her teacher in the café.
Before she could speak, he grinned and spoke first. "I just stopped in to get a cup and I saw you sitting there, curled up with that book and I decided to say hello." She smiled back at him, turned down a corner of the page she had been reading and put down her book.
"Well, Mr. Daughton, its great to see you here. Most of the staff doesn't normally bother with the student haunts. Usually the only people you see in here are caffeine junkies and wannabe beatniks pretending to write good poetry." Daughton threw back his head and laughed heartily, the sound thrilling over her ears.
