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“Which one do you want?”
Her chest pressed against your back, her hand resting at your waist in a way that feels far too intimate. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Barbara throwing the two of you a glance that is anything but subtle. Heat rushes to your cheeks.
“Anything,” you answer quickly, wanting to escape that situation. Melissa either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She mutters something about your inability to make a decision before stepping away to order at the counter.
Barbara is standing by the door, still watching you.
You glance at Melissa instead. She picks a chicken sandwich, one of the few things she knows your childishly picky palate will actually approve of, and pays for it along with her coffee. She carries your lunch as she guides you toward the door.
Barbara follows without saying a word.
By the time you’re a block away, the two of them have slipped into a conversation. Their voices blur together, you can’t make out the words. Your attention is occupied elsewhere: the warmth of Melissa’s body at one side, Barbara’s footsteps at the other. You wonder how much Barbara knows, if she knows anything at all. If those looks are understanding or if they are suspicion.
Back at Abbott, they’re still talking. Calm, ordinary things, maybe plans to get their nails done in a couple of days.
Melissa touches you again, and your entire body burns in response. Her hand settles at the small of your back as she steers you into the teachers’ lounge and toward the table.
Melissa never has to tell you what to do.
A brush of her fingers against your hand or a single raised eyebrow is enough to bring you to your knees, figuratively, of course, and make you agree to anything she asks. Melissa always rewards you with a fond smile, with an abundance of love even when it has to remain private, and somehow that is always enough.
The only thing you want is Melissa.
And that is why everything happening around you is so frightening. Would one negative opinion be enough to make her leave?
She sets the sandwich down in front of you, already unwrapped, and you thank her.
You eat in silence while the other teachers drift in and out of the lounge. Your attention catches on Barbara and Melissa’s conversation for a while before wandering to Jacob and Janine instead.
As just an intern, your day at Abbott ends earlier than everyone else’s. You try to make the most of every minute you have there, especially the ones spent with Melissa.
Shortly before the final bell rings, you follow her back to her classroom.
Melissa closes the blinds and locks the door. Butterflies erupt in your stomach.
She sits down.
“Come here.”
As always, you obey.
Melissa pulls you onto her lap, her hands settling at your waist, and you melt instantly. Your arms slide around her neck as you rest your forehead against hers.
“You were quiet today,” she says. “You’re usually bouncing off the walls.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, rubbing your nose against hers like a cat searching for affection. She closes her eyes and smiles.
“No apologies.” A pause. “Are you okay?”
She presses a kiss to your chin and your heart feels seconds away from exploding.
“Yeah.”
Your answer is rewarded with a quick peck on the lips. Maybe Melissa would forget about all of it if you just let her kiss you properly. Just for a few minutes…
Footsteps in the hallway interrupt the thought, and you immediately stiffen in her lap, your head snapping toward the door.
Melissa knows you well enough that the regret is instantaneous. Now she’s aware of the problem.
One of her hands slides up to your jaw, gently but firmly turning your face back toward her.
“What’s wrong?” She wants to hear you say it.
Sometimes the lines blur in this relationship. She speaks to you as if you were a child, as if you were one of her students, and you fear her in much the same way, as though you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have been doing.
You suppose that’s the kind of feeling an age gap carries with it.
With no answers, you kiss her.
No matter where Melissa’s hands rest on your body, her grip is always firm, and she kisses you back without a second thought. Your fingers brush against the nape of her neck, careful not to tangle her hair because there’s no need to have that argument again, and you sigh into the kiss.
It lasts just long enough for the bell to go off.
Melissa lifts her head.
“Smart girl,” she murmurs against your temple before pressing another kiss there and nudging you off her lap.
The blinds are opened. The door is unlocked. She leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed, watching you.
Quietly, you remain standing beside the chair.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
And there she is again: your girlfriend, her voice soft in that way reserved only for you. “Talk to me, okay?”
“Okay,” you say. “But after school.”
Her lips purse, but she nods. You’re afraid of disappointing her.
Before one of the kids can catch you lingering, you walk back over to her and stretch up for one last quick kiss, just to make sure.
Melissa kisses you without question, and the anxiety coiled deep inside your chest eases a little.
Of course Melissa loves you. Of course Barbara wouldn’t criticize your relationship. Of course you’re going to stay together, even if you’re an idiot.
“Coming home with me today?” Melissa whispers.
The question is almost romantic, but it doesn’t fool you. She’s still looking at you with that stern expression only a teacher could manage, like the long forgotten memory of how it was like to be younger and know your mother was going to scold you later.
You love her so much that your answer is immediate: “Obviously.”
“Then we’ll talk later.”
Lunch is over.
You head back to your desk in the office alone, already knowing you’ll finish your work in an hour and spend another three waiting for Melissa to be done as well.
Ava will ask why you’re still there. You’ll lie. She won’t believe you. And you’ll feel sick enough to want to throw up that chicken sandwich.
The routine is worth it, though.