40. Nathan
forty
I thinkI’m getting used to having a crush.
My stomach fills with an unfamiliar sensation.
It’s butterflies.
I used to only get them as nervous wing flaps, flittering that churned up nausea as I awaited my brother’s test results. Now, however, these winged creatures inside my chest are light and free, positively alive with anticipation.
That thought alone makes the fluttering turn anxious.
If we have to sneak around to see one another before work, what are we even doing?
She’d asked me that very question from the quiet of my home, where dangers didn’t lurk around every corner. They exist everywhere within these four walls, and a lump forms in my throat. I wonder if I’ve made a grave mistake.
But it is all erased, replaced again with that joyful, excited hope, when Claire’s tires crunch over the gravel as she turns into the River Valley parking lot.
She parks a few spots down from me—to make our meeting less suspicious?—and exits with two Dunkin’ bags and a drink carrier. I notice three beverages nestled there and wonder who else she picked up for.
Thoughtful Claire. Always doing for others.
“Good morning.”
I swear, the sun could stay hidden in the east, and her cheery disposition would do just fine.
“Good morning,” I smile. “Let me take that for you.”
We walk in silence, me carrying the beverages less for the chivalry and more so that I keep my hands to myself in the few minutes that it takes for us to cross the parking lot and key into my office. As soon as I set the cardboard carrier on my desk and turn around, we are charged magnets. She is in my arms before I can so much as reach for her myself.
But she doesn’t kiss me. No, Claire simply wraps herself around my waist, rests her head on my chest, and exhales.
As if simply being in my arms has brought her to a center of peace.
My heart stutters. I shudder an exhale over the top of her head as I wrap my arms around her, my broad hands spanning her back as I hold her tightly to me. We stand there for minutes or seconds, or for all I know it could be hours. I don’t linger on the thought that if I could begin every morning like this, I would be at peace.
“Sorry,” she says, still not letting go, her words pressed to my chest. “I just, um?—”
“Never apologize for this. In fact…” I tighten my embrace, effectively squishing us together. “Two more minutes.”
Her little giggle settles a warm, sated smile on my face, and a contentedness in my soul.
We part, and it takes everything in me not to turn the chaste, simple kiss into a heated thing that picks up where we left off last night—up against my door, my tongue gifting the taste of her pussy to her own as a goodbye present. Instead, I only linger for a moment, just to taste, and gesture for one of the two armchairs in front of my desk. She sits, while I unpack our breakfast sandwiches and she pops the straw into her iced beverage while I revel in the heat of mine.
“It’s winter.” I nod toward her drink, handing her the avocado toast while I reserve the omelet bites for myself. “Iced coffee?
“It could be the middle of a nor’easter, and I’d still have ice in my coffee,” she says with all seriousness. I chuckle and take a seat, spreading my thighs so that my knee presses against hers.
“How was your night with Penelope?”
“Short,” she chuckles, taking a bite of her toast. “I knocked out on the couch and woke up to her coming in late. We’re going to hang out on Wednesday, I think.”
Her gaze flits up to mine beneath the slow bat of her lashes. It takes me a moment to register what she’s asking, but the subtle way she curls her bottom lip between her teeth makes it easy to read between the lines.
“Would you like to come over Friday evening? There’s a new documentary out that I’ve been meaning to watch.”
“I’d love that.”
Her body relaxes, as if she was nervous. With the uncertainty of what we’re doing, I don’t blame her. Truth be told, I don’t know what Claire and I are doing. All I know is, I don’t want it to end anytime soon.
Ever, niggles in my subconscious, but I won’t touch that with a ten foot pole.
“I love your house. It’s so cozy. It has everything I could ever want: the big kitchen, the fireplace, the window seat in the library…”
Her head tilts back as she gazes off, then says, “I’m sorry I can’t invite you over to my place. As if I even have one.”
“You’re exactly where you need to be. Be proud of the moves you’re making, but let yourself rest too. You don’t need to make everything happen overnight.”
Pink flushes up her cheeks. Being able to watch this happen in technicolor tightens my chest. I’m about to tell her to come over tonight, to be greedy and selfish, but a knock at my door interrupts that. We sit stunned and wide-eyed for a moment before she slips from my grasp and tidies what’s left of our breakfast. It takes us half a minute to make it appear more like a work meeting and less like a breakfast date.
Date? Is that what this was?
“Come in,” I say, now standing behind my desk as I clear my throat. Aaron pokes his head into my office, cheerful as always.
“’Morning, boss man! I— Oh! Hey Claire. I didn’t know you two were…”
“Meeting about a student.”
“Rocco,” Claire says, subtly clearing her throat before she continues, “We could use your input, actually.”
Aaron agrees, taking a seat next to Claire in the chair I’d occupied moments ago. It takes us all of five minutes to go over the fabricated issue, the one that Claire presented with quick thinking. When it seems like the conversation has wrapped, she stands.
“I’d better get this to Penelope before the bell rings,” she says, indicating the beverage still left in the takeout container. “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice, Mr. Harding.”
I smooth my tie to quell the ache in my chest at how quickly she was able to snap into formality when not minutes ago, I had her in my arms. At how quickly and easily we had to lie. Not even twenty-four hours in.
“It was my pleasure, Ms. Benson. Please keep me updated on how things go.”
With a nod, she exits.
“What can I help you with this morning, Mr. Russo?”
“Aaron is fine, my man. Unless you’d rather keep things professional.”
I swallow, remembering the grace that was extended by Aaron and Sam that time they invited me to the bar.
“Sorry. I’m still getting used to the personal and professional balance.”
“No worries.” Aaron grins. Maybe I’ll ask if he and Sam would like to go out again soon. “So, I just wanted to go over the agenda for the conference.”
I tilt my head so quickly that it forces my glasses down my nose. “What conference?” I ask, pressing my index finger to the bridge to reposition them.
“The coaching conference,” he says, as if this is something we’re both aware of. When I say nothing in response, he swallows, edging a manila folder across my desk. “The… you know, the one you’re attending… as our administrator?”
Without taking my curious gaze from Aaron, I slide the folder closer to me.
“Don didn’t tell you, did he?”
“No,” I say, opening the folder. “He certainly did not.”
Below is a welcome packet for a three day conference. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday until noon. The day I’d planned to have Claire over at my place for dinner and a documentary. My heart shouldn’t be sinking. This is work. My job. The one that I took on so that I could hold onto the house for Cal.
“So, it’s in the city. They put us up in a hotel. Sam, Drake, and I in a room together, and you’ll have your own…”
Aaron goes over the conference details, but I pay them no mind. The larger issue at hand is the fact that I was completely unaware. I sense foul play, and it heats me. I’m typically one to nod my head and submit in the workplace, but this was out of line. The minute Aaron exits my office, I follow suit. Don is seated behind his computer, finishing his breakfast when I walk in.
“Hey! ‘Mornin’, Nate. What can I do you for?”
“I’ll be frank, Don. What is this about a coaching conference, and why am I only being notified now by Aaron Russo?”
He balks for a moment, then huffs a throaty chuckle, and waves his hand in dismissal.
“Ah, all part of the job. They need an administrator present. I’m golfing in Florida this weekend and am taking off early on Friday, so I figured I’d let you get your feet wet with some of the shitty parts of the job.”
He laughs it off, like this is no big deal. I clench my fists at my sides.
“Were you planning on notifying me that I would be out of the building? Since you’re cutting out early on Friday, do we have a substitute administrator?”
“Nah, don’t worry about that,” he waves me off. “I’ll just have Joe Petersen be the admin on call. And Aaron told you, right? Nothing to worry about. Enjoy your two days off.”
Don wags his brows at me, smiles, and digs back into his McDonald’s breakfast sandwich. He completely missed the point. And for once in my life, I’m not going to stand for it.
“I have meetings planned on Thursday that cannot be rescheduled,” I say, as calmly as I can, though I note the low tone my words have taken on. “Aside from the work I’ll be missing, you should have informed me yourself. Checked my schedule, instead of pawning it off on me.”
A ripple of lightning courses through me. Is this what it felt like when Claire finally stood up to her parents?
Don scoffs. “Nate, it’s all part of the job. Listen, you get two days to sit in a hotel in Boston and eat on the district’s dime wherever the hell you want. Hell, I don’t even care if you take your laptop, sit in your room, and work from there instead of attending the sessions. I just need you to sign off that the guys did what they were supposed to. It’s part of the job. Don’t get your panties twisted.”
He echoes that sentiment to cap his defense, and now I do understand a fraction of what Claire has been going through.
“Regardless, it should have come from you. Not from Aaron Russo. I have three disciplinary meetings with parents on Thursday that have already been rescheduled. You’ll need to take those on, if this is the case.”
Deep lines of aggravation settle on Don’s forehead, coloring with red. He mulls over the predicament he placed himself in for a few moments.
“I’ll take the conference Thursday then. You’ll head out after school, and stay for the Friday and Saturday sessions.”
It isn’t a question, but the compromise is a small victory.
I leave my boss’s office in a mixture of frustration and heavy heartedness. I’ll deal with the aggravation of being walked over another time. Right now, I can’t even fathom the thought of disappointing Claire.
I catch her during her planning period. I close the door behind me and get straight to the point, steamrolling the smile and bright eyes she dons at my presence.
“I have to reschedule our plans. Don signed me up to attend a conference with the coaching staff. I’m sorry.”
Her shoulders fall, and I immediately want to storm into my boss’s office and demand that he reschedules his golf trip, but Claire surprises me.
“That’s okay. What are you doing Saturday night?”
She pulls out her planner, flipping to the weekend spread.
“The girls wanted to get together anyway, since their guys will be gone too. I’ll just tell them that Friday works for me. I’m sorry Don pulled that on you. That’s unfair.”
I slide between Claire and the desk, perching on the edge of it beside her planner. She looks up at me, her hand sliding to my thigh before her gaze wanders to the door. When she sees that I shut it, her big doe eyes blink up at me.
“Hey, it’s okay. Not a big deal. Of course I’m sad that I won’t see you Friday, but plans change. We’ll just go with the flow.”
Her smile lights up my chest, dismissing all of the frustration I’d carried in, melting it like ice cream on a summer sidewalk. I place my hand over the top of hers and squeeze.
“I hate the thought of disappointing you.”
Her head tilts, and where I once feared pity, I now only see deep care. It unsettles something in my chest.
“Of course I’m disappointed, Nathan. But not because of you.” Her gaze slides to the door again, and then she stands. Her hand slides up my chest. We’re almost eye to eye, and that levelness makes my breath catch. “Don being a dick is not your fault. Thank you for communicating with me.”
She cups my face, and I lean in, exhaling the nervous anticipation, leaning into her touch for just a moment.
We make new plans for Saturday, and I reluctantly pull from her grasp, knowing that the door isn’t locked, and that Claire has friends who could walk in on this compromising position at any moment.
I need to be more careful, with my body and my heart.
As I head back to my office, lighter than I was before, her not your fault echoes so steadily within me that it starts to align with the beating of my heart. And that scares me most of all.