The door opened with a creak, her pushing bags inside in front of her. Her heels clacking on the tile floor of the laundry room, her bags falling in a heap onto the floor: lesson plans, binders, and papers to grade spilling everywhere. She heard everything tumble out of the bag but she paid no attention, she'd pick it up later. She stepped out of the heels, relishing the feel of carpet under her aching feet.
She usually never wore heels to school but tonight had been conference night and she'd met with 17 parents of her 19 first graders, two hadn't shown for their scheduled time.
Wiggling her toes and stretching her back, she headed towards the kitchen with still aching feet.
She heated up some leftover pasta and poured a glass of wine while texting him. He wasn't her boyfriend and wasn't just her friend... perhaps friends with benefits? No... that seemed too cheap. He was there when she needed him, even at all hours of the day and night.
He said he'd be over in 20 minutes. Just enough time for her to finish her reheated dinner, down the glass of wine, and take a quick shower. She needed to work out some tension she'd had the past few days.
After a too short, but still relaxing shower, he let himself in through the front door, dropping his keys on the hallway table and finding his way into her bathroom where she was towel drying her hair.
"Long day, Ms. Moore?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.
She winked at him as she tossed her head upright, missed droplets of water spraying the mirror, her scar glinting in the light.
After a car accident in her teens, she was left with a scar that ran from mid cheek down to her collarbone on the right side. People often commented that she'd be such a beautiful woman if it weren't for that scar.
He knew it bothered her that they said that... as if they inferred that she wasn't beautiful anymore... but she never spoke about it.
That's why she liked teaching the kids... adults stared even after hearing the story... kids asked but once they knew what happened, they didn't stare again. It was almost as if once the mystery was gone, they didn't care anymore. They didn't think the scar made her ugly.
She'd caught him looking at her scar before and he'd been embarrassed but she never said anything about it, was never self-conscious about it. Her accident could have been worse, she reminded herself. She'd been lucky.
Now, with her wet hair around her shoulders, he admired her scar. It was part of her as much as her freckles. He loved that she didn't try to cover them up with make up and didn't use the scar fading cream that her doctor recommended.
"How's the class looking this year?" he asked as she hung up her towel.
She smiled. "Pretty good! I'm getting excited!"
He grinned. "I'm glad you're ready for a new year, Ms. Moore."
She rolled her eyes, still smiling. He watched her finish up her routine: putting mouse in her still wet hair, running her fingers through it, moisturizing her skin.
He stepped behind her, hands on her shoulders, fingers kneading away at the base of her neck. She hung her head and leaned back into it, sighing.
"Make sure you don't work too hard this year," he teased quietly, a smile on his lips.
His fingers worked along her shoulders, to the front of her neck, tracing her scar with his fingertips.
