Noah
I pull Mia into the empty classroom at the end of the hall, closing the door behind us. The click echoes in the silence.
The classroom smells like chalk dust and old textbooks. Afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, casting shadows across the empty desks.
"We need to talk."
She wraps her arms around herself. "I know. This is ... God, this is so awkward."
"Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it." I run my hand through my hair. "Mia, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea you'd be working here. If I had known—“
"How could you have?" She trails off, her cheeks flushing. She looks away, and I force myself to focus on the Shakespeare quote poster on the wall. "To thine own self be true." The irony isn't lost on me.
"I just need you to know that I would never have put you in this position if I'd known we'd be colleagues."
"I didn't know either." Her voice is quiet. "And ... well ... what we did ..." She takes a deep breath, her cheeks pinkening. "I don't usually do that. Actually, I never have before ... you." Her voice fades off and she quickly looks at her feet.
I lean against one of the desks, gripping the edge.
I need to keep some distance even though the classroom suddenly feels very small.
"Look, I know this is complicated. But I want you to know that I can be professional about this.
We can pretend that night never happened. Clean slate. Whatever you need."
The words taste like lies. Because I can't pretend. Not when she's standing five feet away and I'm remembering everything about that night.
Relief floods her features. "Really? You'd be okay with that?"
"Of course. We're adults. We can handle this." Even as I say it, I'm not sure I believe it.
"Thank you," she says softly. "I was so worried you'd think I make a habit of this kind of thing. Going home with strangers. I don't. I really don't."
"I know you don't. You don't have to explain yourself to me, Mia."
But she continues anyway. "I've never done anything like that before. Never. But that night, I just ... I needed ..."
"An escape," I finish gently. "I know."
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and I can see the question in her eyes.
"I could tell that night that something was wrong. That you were dealing with something." I study her face, seeing the same sadness I glimpsed at the bar. "You seemed like you needed an escape. I got the sense that you were dealing with something heavy."
Her eyes widen slightly, surprised that I noticed.
"My father," she says after a pause, and her voice cracks. "He's sick. That's why I came back to Riverside. After swearing I'd never come back."
"I'm sorry. Is it serious?”
She nods, and for a moment I think she might cry. But she blinks rapidly, forcing the tears back. "Cancer. Stage four. The doctors say it's just a matter of time now. Six months at best.”
My chest tightens. I want to cross the space between us, to pull her into my arms. But I can't. We've just agreed to be professional.
"God, Mia. I'm so sorry."
"I haven't seen him in nearly ten years." She finally looks at me, and the raw pain in her eyes nearly undoes me. "I left without saying goodbye and we haven't spoken since."
I don't know what to say to that. The weight of it hangs between us, heavy and complicated. Ten years is a long time to carry that kind of silence.
"That must be incredibly hard," I say finally. "Coming back now, under these circumstances."
She nods, her throat working. "It is. But I couldn't not come back. Not when he's dying."
We stand in silence for a moment. The afternoon light shifts across the classroom floor. Outside, I can hear the faint sounds of the parking lot, cars starting, teachers heading home.
"Mia," I say, and something in my voice makes her look up. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay," she says cautiously.
"I don't regret that night. Not for a second."
She blinks, caught completely off guard. "What?"
"I know we just said we'd pretend it never happened. And we will, if that's what you need. But I wanted you to know the truth. That night wasn't a mistake. You weren't a mistake. And I'm glad it was me."
Her lips part slightly. I can see her processing this, see the conflict playing across her face.
Before she can respond, there's a knock on the door.
"Everything okay in there?" Blake's voice comes through.
I clear my throat. "Yeah, we're good. Just discussing curriculum coordination between the English and History departments. Thought we could align some of our units, do some cross-disciplinary work."
"Oh, that's great," Blake says. "Really great idea. I'm heading out. See you tomorrow."
"See you," I call back.
We wait until his footsteps fade down the hallway. When I look at Mia again, the moment has shifted. Her walls are back up, but I can see the conflict still there in her eyes.
"We should probably grab coffee sometime," I say carefully. "As colleagues. Just to start fresh, you know? Get to know each other in a professional context."
She hesitates, and I can see her weighing the risks. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Probably not," I admit. "But I think it might help. For both of us."
She takes a breath. "Okay. Coffee. As colleagues."
"As colleagues," I agree, even though the word feels inadequate for what I'm actually feeling.
She leaves shortly after, and I'm left alone with the realization that I'm far more interested in Mia Wilson than I should be. More interested than is wise. More interested than makes sense given the complications.
I gather my things and head down the hallway toward the parking lot. As I pass the administrative wing, I glance up toward the offices. Jack is standing at his window, looking down at the hallway. His expression is unreadable, but something about the way he's watching makes my stomach tighten.
I look away and keep walking.
She nods, and for a moment I think she might cry. But she blinks rapidly, forcing the tears back. "Cancer. Stage four. The doctors say it's just a matter of time now. Weeks, maybe. A month or two if we're lucky."
My chest tightens. I want to cross the space between us, to pull her into my arms. But I can't. We've just agreed to be professional.
"God, Mia. I'm so sorry."
"I haven't seen him in nearly ten years." She finally looks at me, and the raw pain in her eyes nearly undoes me. "I ... well, I left without saying goodbye and we haven't spoken since."
I don't know what to say to that. The weight of it hangs between us, heavy and complicated. Ten years is a long time to carry that kind of silence.
"That must be incredibly hard," I say finally. "Coming back now, under these circumstances."
She nods, her throat working. "It is. But I couldn't not come back. Not when he's dying."
We stand in silence for a moment. The afternoon light shifts across the classroom floor. Outside, I can hear the faint sounds of parking lot activity: engines starting up as teachers start their cars, ready to head home.
"Mia," I say, and something in my voice makes her look up. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay," she says cautiously.
"I don't regret that night. Not for a second."
She blinks, caught completely off guard. "What?"
"I know we just said we'd pretend it never happened. And we will, if that's what you need. But I wanted you to know the truth. That night wasn't a mistake. You weren't a mistake. And I'm glad it was me."
Her lips part slightly. I can see her processing this, see the conflict playing across her face.
Before she can respond, there's a knock on the door.
"Everything okay in there?" Blake's voice comes through as he opens the door.
I clear my throat. "Yeah, we're good. Just discussing curriculum coordination between the English and History departments. Thought we could align some of our units, do some cross-disciplinary work."
"Oh, that's great," Blake says. "Really great idea. I'm heading out. See you tomorrow."
"See you," I call back. Mia waves, her smile hesitant but sincere.
We wait until his footsteps fade down the hallway. When I look at Mia again, the moment has shifted. Her walls are back up, but I can see the conflict still there in her eyes.
"We should probably grab coffee sometime," I say carefully. "As colleagues. Just to start fresh, you know? Get to know each other in a professional context."
She hesitates, and I can see her weighing the risks. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Probably not," I admit with a grin.
She takes a breath. "Okay. Coffee. As colleagues."
"As colleagues," I agree.
She leaves shortly after, and I'm left alone with the realization that I'm far more interested in Mia Wilson than I should be. More interested than is wise, especially since we work together. And especially with what she's going through with her sick father.
I gather my things and head down the hallway toward the parking lot. As I pass the administrative wing, I glance up toward the offices. Jack is standing at his window, looking down at the hallway. His expression is unreadable, but something about the way he's watching makes my stomach tighten.
I look away and keep walking.