27. Jo
Chapter 27
Jo
“ A lright my friends, that’s enough material for today.” Still recovering from last night with Carmen, I’m riding—no, driving —the struggle bus. “Please read through chapter six before I see you on Thursday. Have a great day!”
I pull the lecture microphone off my neck and set it into the cradle charger for the next professor. I didn’t even drink that much last night, but boy am I sleep deprived.
Need coffee.
I’m not generally a fan of the faculty lounge coffee pot—honestly, who knows the last time someone actually washed that carafe with soap—but today is just not the day to be picky. The extra layer of concealer under my eyes is not doing me any favors.
I make my way up and out of the classroom, smiling and nodding at students as they pack up their belongings to leave. Tuesday morning means Intro to Research Methods, a course that I’m truly not qualified to teach, but somehow students listen anyway.
Fake it 'til you make it, I suppose.
The post-class buzz in the hallway of the research building settles, and I push open the glass door to the crisp outside air. There’s not much to write home about in the middle of cornfield Illinois, but fall on campus is one of the most beautiful sights to see.
I wrap my sweater a little tighter around my center and approach the office building, passing a few colleagues as I climb the stairway to the second-floor faculty work space.
The coffee pot percolates quietly while I stare out the windowpane overlooking the water fountain on the south lawn of the quad. It’s turned off. It must be too breezy today.
Watching as students walk briskly across the sidewalk to and from their classes, I get lost in my own head. It seems like both yesterday and a million years ago that I was making my way across campus as a fresh-faced medical student. I could never have known what life had in store for me when I started the program.
The door to the faculty lounge opens, startling me out of my reminiscence. I turn to find Isaac entering slowly, guiding the door behind him.
“Dr. Carello.” He smiles his typical cheeky grin, letting the door finally close with a soft click.
“Dr. Britlyn.” I turn from him, busying myself with finding a semi-clean cup in the cabinet of abandoned university coffee mugs.
He approaches from behind, reaching over my head to grab a mug from the top shelf. His mere presence in my personal space has me second-guessing why I even left my bed this morning to begin with.
But he smells so good.
No.
We’re not doing this again. I’ve fallen into his trance every single time he’s come around. I won’t let myself fall again. I’ve successfully avoided his woodsy cologne and intense gaze over the last month, and I will continue to avoid him until he gets the hint and goes away.
He pulls a mug down, taking a step back. I can breathe again, but I guarantee my watch is still clocking these as exercise minutes.
“You left your mug here, Dr. Carello.”
Confused, I turn to look at him. He meets my gaze, again with that damn grin on his face. Gripping the mug by its ceramic handle, he turns it to face me.
World’s Best Teacher is printed in black ink.
“Ha, okay.” I examine another mug, and upon finding no old coffee residue, reach for the carafe. He beats me to it, taking the mug from my hand and setting it on the counter next to him. I watch as he pours the steaming liquid.
“One cream and two sugar packets.” The assorted flavors of creamer singles sit just out of my reach. He remembers exactly how I used to take my coffee.
But I’m different now. We both are.
“Just the creamer, actually. No more sugar packets for me.” I shrug timidly while he eyes me, opening and pouring the french-vanilla flavored creamer into my coffee.
No wedding ring.
He’s not wearing a wedding ring.
Okay, slow down. This means nothing.
But he’s not wearing a ring…
Maybe they just haven’t gotten married yet. Some people have really long engagements. They’re just waiting to find the best venue.
Victoria will make such a beautiful bride.
I’d probably trip down the aisle.
Oh, who am I kidding?
No man would ever want to marry me.
“Ahem,” Isaac clears his throat and snaps me from my spiral, “Dr. Carello?”
“I’ve got class,” I lie, grabbing my coffee cup and high-tailing it out of the faculty lounge, leaving Isaac leaning against the counter.
Get yourself together, woman.