For Shelley
Kimberley could feel the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine seep through the windows and flow through the soft cotton of her pale yellow summer dress. Warm weather like this wasn't unusual for late May, but it had come unexpectedly and she had had to dig deep in her closet to find something light enough to be comfortable. She looked south into the courtyard of the elementary school, her school, and her home away from home. The sunflowers that her kindergartners had planted several weeks ago were sprouting up nicely, but her thoughts were far from the flowers and her students.
All she could think of was the man she would be meeting in a few minutes, the father of one of her students, the man whose dark eyes and gentle hands kept her trembling with anticipation. But it was a sad anticipation since he was older with growing children and a house, and a full time job, and would never have time for her. She brushed her long auburn hair back from her face and wished she had taken the time to put it up since it was so hot this day. Her hand drifted down her soft warm cheek and neck to her chest, pausing on her breast that felt warm and full and heavy. Her nipple grew taut and pressed against her palm through the thin lace of her bra and the soft cotton of her dress. Her fingertips flirted with the open neckline, teasing the soft pale flesh beneath. Although she had undone the top button earlier because of the heat, the cut of the dress was modest enough for her to appear prim and proper on the outside when on the inside she was aflame with desire.
Her fingertips lingered in the warm valley between her breasts as she thought of this man. From the first time she had seen him in the fall through months that followed she had grown attached to him, hardly able to wait until she could see him the next time. It had been so long since she had felt this way about anyone, and of course with her luck it would have to be a nearly impossible situation. But he would soon be here in her neat tidy room with the brightly decorated bulletin boards, and the miniature tables and chairs, and the freshly cleaned chalkboard. She was determined to make the most of this last chance, not like the other times when he had been close enough to her that she could feel his breath and sense his heartbeat and her mind had grown dumb and her lips had fallen mute. She closed her bright green eyes for a moment and was quickly lost in a mystical reverie.
It was back in the early fall, just after the start of the school year. Kimberley had gotten her students in and seated at their tables and was just easing into the reading lesson when there was a knock at the door. She wasn't sure whom to expect since it was too early for attendance sheets. When she opened the door, standing outside was a tall man dressed in an expensive golf shirt and crisp khaki slacks. His head was bowed, almost like one of her students who had been caught doing something bad. But when he raised his head, his dark hair and dark eyes startled her. He had the most interesting face, nice-looking but not in a pretty boy fashion, more Harrison Ford than Tom Cruise.
"I'm sorry we're so late," he said, his deep voice dripping with apology. "But we had a little trouble over breakfast this morning."
Standing beside him was little Martin Rousseau, one of her students, whom she hadn't even noticed was missing.
"Why that's okay," she replied, waving her hand to invite Martin inside. "You must be Martin's father."
"Guilty as charged," he replied with a most disarming smile that sent a warm shiver down her spine. "And you must be Miss Maguire." He held out his hand, perhaps out of habit. As she placed her hand in his, he squeezed it ever so gently. "I'm Paul Rousseau. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," she said unable to let go of his hand or to let her eyes drift away from the warm look in his. "Very nice to meet you."
Martin scampered in to hang up his backpack and join his friends as Kimberley lingered at the doorway shaking hands with the most striking man she had met in ages.
"Well, I, uh," he said, with the most incredible smile as he tried to retrieve his hand. "I had better be going."
"Oh, yes," she replied, finally letting her hand slip away. "Well, have a very nice day!"
She couldn't take her eyes from him as he nodded, turned and started down the hall. Tall and broad shouldered with a narrow waist and hips and the cutest buns she had ever seen wiggle by in a pair of khakis. She took a deep breath and felt her heart hammering away. Jesus Christ! Have a nice day? God, is that all you can say Kimberley Ann, she said to herself. Have a nice fucking day? A loud crash from the classroom brought her back to reality just as he disappeared through the double doors. Although she threw herself back into the classroom to get things back on track, she found herself pausing several times during the day, remembering the dark hair with the errant lock that curled over his forehead, the deep dark eyes that kept shining her way, the soft warm handshake, the very thought of which sent another round of shivers through her body.
Later in the fall came their first real face-to-face meeting when he was scheduled for a parent teacher conference. She remembered being so excited when the handwritten note arrived via Martin requesting a late appointment. The strong definitive handwriting would have to be his. She made sure to give him his preference even if it meant asking three other parents to shift their times.
"Hello," came the voice and a little knock on the door.
Relax, Kimberley Ann, she repeated to herself again and again. Be cool, be smooth, and remember that you're the one in charge. She looked up toward the door and saw him leaning in, a sweet little boy smile on his face. He shook the rain off the collar of his overcoat and stepped inside. He was wearing a dark suit with a finely tailored blue shirt and a bright tastefully patterned tie.
"Mr. Rousseau, you're here!" she said.
"Yeah, I'm not late am I?"
"No, not really. Come in and have a seat."
He looked awkward sitting in the chair beside her desk since it was smaller than the typical office chair.
"Well, first of all, let me say what a pleasure it is to have you in my class everyday," she began.
"Beg your pardon?" he said with a confused look on his face.
"Oh, Martin. To have Martin in my classroom every day. I'm sorry. You two bear a strong resemblance."
"Chip off the old block they say," he replied with that disarming smile that Kimberley was finding a definite distraction.
"Anyway, I've prepared a chart for you that shows Martin's progress and how he has been doing lately."
She watched as he took the chart and looked it over intently, his dark eyes drinking up every detail.
"He does really well with numbers and science topics. He does need some extra work in English and handwriting. He seems to be lagging behind some of the others in those subjects."
"Is there anything I can do?" Paul asked, his eyes gazing into hers for the answer.
"Oh, yes there is so much that you can do," Kimberley answered slowly, distracted by the look in his eyes. "For Martin. Yes, for Martin. He's a very charming boy and a joy to have in class. He loves to laugh and play and is very popular with his classmates."
She sat looking at the father who looked back to the progress chart. She began to have strange thoughts about this man, strange, wonderful thoughts. She felt the need to say something, but paused before she told him what she was actually thinking, about how she wanted to throw herself across the desk and into his arms. Instead she tried to concentrate on young Martin.
"I would suggest that you spend some extra time reading to him, perhaps practicing his writing. Maybe try to get him to write complete words instead of just the same letter over and over. Simple words, words that he knows and uses frequently so that he begins to link the letters with how they form words."
He broke into another great smile.
"Finding extra time is hard to do, Miss Maguire," he said. "You're probably not aware of our situation. As a single parent it's hard to keep everything together. With his older sister and a business to run there isn't a lot of spare time to spend."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ... ," she said feeling dumb, but he raised a hand up and interrupted.
"But I'm committed to doing whatever needs to be done. You don't need to apologize, Miss Maguire. I've kind of thought that Marty needed some extra attention in his studies. His sister tries to help, but I've suspected that there's more I could do. I couldn't manage preschool for him so this has been a big step for him. I'll work closer with him."
Kimberley didn't know what to say in return. There was something about him that was driving her crazy. Her body was quivering with every syllable from his deep voice. And when he smiled, she thought her heart would melt. Relax, Kimberley, she thought. This is your turf. You're the one in charge.
"I have a nice little booklet that I can send home with you if you'd like," she said. When he nodded, she got up and stepped over to her filing cabinet. She was quite aware of his eyes following her movements. As she bent over slightly to pull the middle drawer open, she remembered that her dress had a little slit up the back and figured that she was probably giving him a nice glimpse of her legs. So she took a few extra moments looking for the booklet that was right in front of her. But then with my luck he'll be a boob man, she thought, and when she pulled out the booklet and turned around, she realized that he wasn't even looking in her direction.
"Here you go," she said handing him the parent's guide. "I think you'll find some nice suggestions for things that you can try at home."
"Thank you," he said taking the book and flipping thorough the pages. "This will help a lot. Thanks."
She paused standing beside him, her pulse racing. She wanted to say something to him. She wanted to confess how she had picked out this dress especially because her friends had all told her how terrific she looked in it and because she knew that he would be coming to see her today. She wanted to tell him how she felt when he looked her way. There were other things that she wanted to say to him, things that she had never told anyone before. But she didn't. She could only stand beside him and smile and wait for a sign from him. Hell, she would have let him take her right there, right then if he had tried, the thought of which produced a dampness between her legs.
"Well then," he said. "Is there anything else?"
"No, nothing special. Nothing else really."
He stood up beside her, very close to her, and took her hand in his. Her hand felt so small inside his.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Rousseau. If you ever need to contact me, my phone number and email are in the school directory we sent home last week."
"I'll be sure to do that," he replied.
