Fair warning, there is anal sex ahead. And a whole lot more!
Thanks to LadyMireille for her suggested revisions.
SSW
***
Watch out for the quiet ones. That's what my mother used to tell us girls. Maybe I should have heeded her advice.
Growing up, I'd had to share my house with three older siblings and a plethora of students who came to see either one of my elder parents, both of whom were professors at the university across the street. My mother would joke that she should have installed a revolving front door instead of a French one when they'd bought the place. And our den wasn't used for entertaining guests but teaching advanced classes three days a week.
For as long as I can remember, my parents also took on two boarders each school year. All were graduate students, and several were in the foreign exchange program. I had always enjoyed talking to them the most. I learned more about different cultures and customs than one could get from textbooks.
With the constant flow of people coming and going on the lower level, which sometimes seemed like a hotel, I took to hiding out at the house next door when I wasn't studying. The little Italian couple, the Bagginis, had no grandchildren and were always welcoming no matter the day or the hour. She was a kindly soul who liked to cook and bake. Her husband restored and resold antiques. Together, they taught me to appreciate both of their hobbies. When arthritis claimed their ability to do the work, I stepped in for them. As a result, Mr. Baggini's customers grew to trust me. The older I became, the better I got and the longer my own list of regular clients grew who would find items for me to fix up for them or have me keep an eye out for special pieces.
After my mother then my father both passed from cancer—during my senior year at the university and then three years later, respectively—I inherited the house since my brothers and sister were already married and had established places of their own. Against my brothers' wishes, I kept up the tradition of renting out the first-floor bedrooms to graduate students. To appease the boys, I made sure at least one of the tenants was female. And my best friend, Mallory, moved in, as well.
My job as a wedding and event planer kept me busy. During the winter months, I continued my hobby of working on the odd restoration projects. And then there was cleaning and upkeep on the house now that I was a homeowner.
The only lawn was a short stretch of grass out front between the flowerbeds and the sidewalk along the street. A neighbor kid mowed it for me at the price of a plate of homemade treats each month. The backyard was a large wooden deck that stepped down to narrow gravel beds on either side of the walk leading to the two-car garage. Other than planting, weeding, and watering the flowers, my main focus was on the majority of the ground floor and all of the second level inside. The four of us shared cleaning the kitchen, but the tenants took care of their two bedrooms and the shared bathroom at the back of the house. Upstairs, I had moved into my parents' suite and converted my old bedroom into a workshop, using my father's office to operate my business. Mallory occupied the third floor bedrooms and my mother's office to do her fashion designing. All-in-all, we were a well-oiled machine.
Regardless of what went on in my life now as an adult, I chose to keep my mother's tradition of Sunday dinners. She had always made a big to-do about having a large meal at noon where we all sat around the table together to recharge before a week of hectic schedules. The graduate students included. My roommate and rotating tenants, who were now my family, agreed to share the load and alternate cooking one weekend each month. It was nice to sit around the table again and catch up, if only for an hour.
With no more classes in the house, it was quieter. The front room had long been returned to its original intent. Sometimes, I sat on the couch in there staring into the empty silence. Seeing only the dust particles dancing in the sunlight while I remembered my father's deep timbre or my mother's lilting voice during their lectures while I would sit on the other side of the closed pocket-doors.
I had no trouble continuing my parents' agreement with the university to board two students. At first, there was a waiting list that required me to sit in the dean's office to vet the applicants each summer. However, the completion of a new dormitory two years ago had changed that. It was specifically designed to house those in the graduate program, provided each resident with their own small suite, and—most importantly—was considered "off campus." My home became an insignificant option in that regard. As a result, my contract was revised to give me the option to board undergraduates, too, but I was hesitant to break tradition.
If I had thought last year's list of applicants was meager, this year's was slim pickings. I considered removing myself from the list of available housing entirely as I didn't need the money. But I enjoyed the company. Or at least the knowledge that there were other people in the house. Especially since Mallory had gotten engaged the previous winter to Joe, her long-term boyfriend, with whom she'd kept the relationship out of the house since he lived alone. She'd given notice this past summer that she would be moving out by mid-November when they were getting married.
A combination of new paperwork and a mix-up with new staff at the housing office sealed my fate. Two students were scheduled to arrive for the fall semester. One boy, one girl. What showed up on my doorstep a week before classes began was one man.
Lachlan had the look of Jon Snow in "Game of Thrones" with his dark eyes and curly, black hair. But his quiet, brooding nature reminded me more of Jude Law in "Gattaca." He was in stark contrast to my own outgoing personality, blue eyes, and long, blonde hair. I was an all-American girl. He said his family was from England, but he didn't have the accent to go along with his British heritage. Such a shame. Still, he had a nice voice and an even better smile.
From our very brief conversations, I gathered that he spent a lot of his time in the library when he wasn't in classes. In the house, he mostly kept to his room. But on the weekends, I would hear him come in late, which convinced me he was probably hitting the bars. I didn't blame him. He would need a way to unwind after studying all week. I half wondered if he had a girlfriend at the university. It wouldn't surprise me. He was easy on the eyes. But if so, he never brought her around.
Mallory was out of the house more often finalizing preparations for the wedding. When she had admitted she was using another planner because she wanted me—her best friend—as her maid of honor and to enjoy myself as a guest, I'd told her there were no hard feelings. So, I was all alone the day my sister Trish was in town and stopped by to get something out of the attic two weeks into the semester.
Trish expressed concern that I was by myself with a strange man in the house. That that there wouldn't be another female living with me in a couple of months. I made her promise not to tell my brothers, who resided out of state. Then I reminded her I was a mature adult and had been doing this for seven years. I assured her that all applicants were strictly vetted, including Lachlan. She had nothing to worry about. If there was trouble, the campus police station was three doors down.
Little did I know, what I would need was the fire department.
For three months, I was able to keep our relationship professional as landlord and tenant. But I had unintentionally mixed up a irresistible pot. I was a successful woman at barely thirty-two who kept in shape. Lachlan was an attractive, younger man of five years with no other authority figures around. Over those twelve weeks, something was definitely brewing.
There were the sidelong glances or seemingly accidental brushes of a hand or arm I'd catch in passing. And sometimes, I had a feeling that I was being watched while moving around the main level. I'd turn to find no one there, but I was sure at least twice that I saw him departing the room.
When he'd first moved in, I'd asked him if he'd like to join the Sunday meals with Mallory and I. He hadn't verbally accepted or rejected the invitation, but he'd shown up at noon the following day. It had been awkward, the three of us sitting there eating in mostly silence except for the brief request to pass a dish. My mind had suddenly gone blank with any topic to broach, and Mallory seemed to be afflicted with the same ailment. It had been one of our shortest meals. When I was alone with her again, she said she had an appointment and was out the door before I could ask her what she thought was up.
Lachlan avoided lunch the following Sunday, and Mallory was busy with her fiancé, so I ate alone. But later in the day, I saw Lachlan sitting on the couch in the living room reading a book. He slowly lifted his gaze to mine when I came in from the kitchen after returning from running errands. I said hello. He tipped his chin and continued to watch me while I crossed over to the stairs, but he remained silent. Then he shifted his gaze to his book.
He did not attend any more meals, though Mallory and I continued to eat together for the most part. Maybe it was for the best. The palpable tension in the air that first Sunday had made the food less enjoyable. At least for me.
Over the next three weeks, there were more strange encounters. I wanted to talk about them, but I didn't know how to approach him. He wasn't doing anything wrong. And I didn't want him to think I was offended, because I wasn't. I was just...confused.
