The Teacher (25 page)

Emma saw the bag of peaches sitting in
the corner.

I should really do something with those,
she thought. Maybe she’d bring them up to Maricella in the morning and let her
have them.

Emma went outside to her private patio
and leaned on the railing catching a view of the lake. There were a few boats
trolling leisurely along. The evening was still warm and she thought about
walking out on the dock. But being out there by herself would only remind her
about how alone she felt.

Instead, she went inside and reached for
her novel, settling back against the mound of pillows. Her eyes crossed the
pages, but the words didn’t stick. After she read the same page, three times
she slammed the book closed. It was no use, she felt depressed.

What would she be doing if she were
home?
Home
, the word made her sad now as she thought about her quaint
little apartment. She would have to give it up at the end of summer there was
no way she could afford it alone. Maybe she should call Stacy and have her
start looking for some possible rentals, but she quickly dismissed the idea.
Talking with Stacy required more energy and amusement than she could fake right
now.

So, back to what she would be doing
right now if she was home, alone and feeling sorry for herself? Baking
something, the idea came to her. Nothing cheered her up like busying her hands
in the kitchen, but she didn’t have a kitchen here and Maricella would probably
have her head if she messed with the inside of her domain.

“Screw it,” Emma said aloud and bounced
off her bed, grabbing her phone and the paper sack full of peaches.

*     *     *

Marcus walked down the stairs to grab
his file from the office adjacent the great room where he’d been working this
morning. Brayden fell asleep before his head hit the pillow and it was good to
see his son welcome sleep tonight rather than fight it like he did most other
nights. The entire day had been one of the best in a long time, except for
Luke’s repeated inquiries about the moonlight dancing.

Marcus heard a cupboard door slam in the
kitchen.
Must be Maricella,
he thought to himself, getting a head start
on the cooking for next weekend when his parents would arrive home. He walked
through the great room and stopped before he reached the office. Another noise
came from the kitchen, music. It was Mozart—his Sonata in C. Maricella never
listened to music when she was in the kitchen. Marcus walked to the door and
pushed it open.

Inside Emma stretched up on her tiptoes to
reach inside a cupboard. He said nothing and when she closed the cupboard door
and saw him, she jumped.

“Oh shit,” she breathed, her hand
fluttering to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said over the music. “I
wasn’t trying to scare you.”

Emma stepped toward him and lowered the
volume on the music. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“What’re you doing in here?” Marcus
asked truly curious. The kitchen wasn’t a room that guests generally entered.

“Therapy,” she replied, picking up a
rolling pin from the counter and putting it in a drawer next to the oven. “How
was the game? Did the Mariners win?”

“No, they lost one-to-three, but it was
still fun.”

“Did Brayden have a good time?” Emma
asked.

“I think so. He really enjoyed his hot
dogs. And I know a guy who works at the stadium. After the game we got to go
down to the locker room and meet a couple of the players.”

“That sounds exciting,” she said in an
almost cheerful voice, but he noticed when she walked to the oven her shoulders
slumped forward and her movements were limp, like a sail that had lost its
wind.

“You doing okay?” Marcus asked with
concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Just
having a little pity party for myself, that’s all.”

“Really? Did something happen today?” He
wondered if her mood had anything to do with her roommate.

“I guess so.” She shrugged and dropped a
measuring cup and two spoons into a drawer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he
asked.

She looked up at him, her golden eyes
peered out from under her eyelashes that caught on her long bangs.

“Oh, you don’t need to listen to me
complain. It’s not a big deal, really.” Her eyes grew misty and she turned away
from him, using a rag to wipe up a circle of flour from the counter. Instead of
pressing her, he decided to change the subject.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No,” she said, wringing her cloth out
in the sink and pulling the drain. “I think I got everything cleaned up and put
back where it belongs. I’m probably going to get in trouble with Maricella for
this aren’t I?” she asked, walking to the oven and watching something through
the glass.

“Well, that depends,” he said and leaned
against the countertop.

“On what?”

“On what you’ve got inside that oven.”

“It’s just a peach pie,” she replied.

“Peach pie, really? What’s the
occasion?” he persisted.

She smiled when she crossed the floor
closing the distance between them. “I already told you. I’m having a little
party.”

“That’s right, your pity party. Well,
here’s the deal. I’ll take the blame for the kitchen invasion if you let me
join your little party and have some of that delicious smelling pie.” He held
out his hand and waited for her to shake it. When she did he didn’t want to let
it go, but after one pump and her affirming nod the timer on the oven sounded.
Pulling the oven door open, Emma withdrew her pie, using a kitchen towel to
protect her hands against the heat of the plate. She set in on the stovetop
before she closed the oven and turned it off.

“It needs to cool for a few minutes
before we cut into it,” she said, folding the towel.

“I can wait,” he said, thinking how much
he enjoyed her company. “So, now that I’ve been invited to the party, can I
know exactly what it is that we pity about you?”

“That’s a bit of a dirty trick, don’t
you think?” She tried to look offended and Marcus just shrugged. Emma leaned
one hip against the counter, facing him, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, let’s just say at the end of the day, I’ve found myself at the top of
the world’s worst aunt list according to my sister and homeless.”

“Homeless? How did that happen?” Marcus
asked truly surprised.

“Seth’s taking a job in Los Angeles and
he’s moving out. So, I’ve got to start looking for a new place as soon as I get
back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered
even though selfishly, he was glad to hear the roommate relationship was
ending. “And why are you such a bad aunt?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “My sister gave me
the riot act about not calling my niece earlier today. It’s her birthday and
she was in bed by the time I called this evening.”

“Well, that sounds a little
unreasonable. I’m sure your niece would be just as happy to talk to you
tomorrow as today.”

“Yeah, probably,” Emma agreed, but didn’t
sound so convinced. Her eyes were distant, like she was thinking about
something else.

“So, why a peach pie?” Marcus asked,
bringing her back to him.

“It reminds me of home,” she said,
staring down at it. “I grew up on a farm and we have a pretty good sized
orchard. This is the first time I haven’t been home in the summer to help with
the harvest.”

“Oh,” Marcus said, seeing the longing in
her eyes. He yearned to reach out and hold her close, but she turned away too
quickly.

“I think we can cut into it now,” she
said and picked up the knife. She gently inserted it into the center of the
latticed top, rocked it back and forth until she reached the edge, and then did
it again, licking the crumbs that had stuck to her thumb. She pulled down two
plates from the cabinet above her. “I think I saw some vanilla ice cream in the
freezer. Do you mind getting it?”

Marcus moved from his spot and found the
ice cream. He set it next to her and rested a hand on her back while he leaned
in and inhaled the aroma of the pie. It was wonderful, but he was more
captivated by the closeness of his body to hers. She didn’t seem to mind him
standing so close as she scooped the ice cream onto his plate. When she turned
to hand him his plate, they were only inches apart and he could feel his heart
jump inside of him.

“Here you go,” she whispered. He used
all of his will power to step back, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss her
softly parted lips. She turned away quickly and put the ice cream back in the
freezer. He sliced into the warm pie with his fork and added some ice cream to
the bite. The peaches dissolved in his mouth and the crust was light and flaky.

“It’s delicious,” he said as he set his
plate down and hopped up on the counter. Emma took up an awkward stance,
leaning against the pantry door, a safe distance away from him. She must have
felt it too, he thought, the attraction between them.

Feeling emboldened he patted the counter
next to him. “There’s plenty of room here,” he offered.

She looked at him and then walked across
the space. He was glad she accepted his invitation and held her plate for her
while she hopped up next to him. There wasn’t as much room between him and the
sink as he had thought and they were sitting so close their thighs touched. The
silence was comfortable and awkward at the same time.

“Have you called your friend, the real
estate agent yet? She might be able to help you find a new apartment.” Marcus
cut into his pie again and turned to look at her feeling his heart pound at
their proximity. He was close enough to catch a whiff of coconut from her skin
and it reminded him of their dance on the pier.

She shook her head and her ponytail
swung like a pendulum, grazing his cheek. “No, not yet. I’ll call her sometime
this week.” She kept her eyes on her pie.

“Why can’t you stay in your apartment,
if you don’t mind my asking? It seems like a great location."

“Yeah, it is,” she said and pushed her
fork into her pie. “But I can’t afford it by myself. Not on my salary.” She
chuckled a little.

He nodded. “What are you saving up for?”

She looked at him this time and their
eyes locked, he could read the confusion in them. “When I offered you this job
you started to say something about saving up some money? What are you saving
for?”

“Oh,” she said, waving her fork over her
plate. “A car.”

“A car? What kind of car?”

“Something sensible and reliable,
nothing like my last one,” she said.

“What did you have before?”

“A nineteen sixty-six Ford Mustang. In a
cool ice blue, with two hundred and twenty-five-horse power under the hood, a
V8 engine, complete with an automatic transmission and a four-barrel
carburetor. Oh, and an eight track deck, too.” She smiled again and looked down
at her plate, swinging her legs in front of her.

“Wow,” Marcus said as he set his empty
plate down in his lap, “I didn’t realize you were such a car buff.”

“I’m not,” Emma said and set her empty plate
in the sink next to her before turning back to Marcus. “I bought the car back
in high school to impress a guy who was really into cars and memorized those
few facts, so I could talk to him about it.”

Marcus laughed, “Did it work?”

“Nope,” she admitted.

“Well,” he said, reaching across her to
set his plate on top of hers. “It sure impressed the hell out of me.” They were
nose to nose again and he was aware that she wasn’t pulling away from him. He
let go of his plate and let his hand rest on her hip. She put a hand on his
chest, but didn’t push him away. They stayed there for a moment and he could
feel her take a deep breath before closing her eyes. Marcus leaned in to brush
his lips across hers when the kitchen door burst open.

“Marcus, you in here?” Luke shouted and
then froze when his brother’s eyes shot to his.

Emma immediately slipped off the
counter. “Hey. Luke,” she said, running her hand over her ponytail. “We were
just having some pie. Do you want some?”

Luke looked at his brother begging him
for an answer. Marcus wanted to tell him to get the hell out of there, but the
mood was ruined.

“It’s really good,” he said.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at
Marcus and Emma.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Eat up. I’m going to
head down to bed anyway. Good night.” She pushed past Luke.

“Emma,” Marcus said before she could
leave. “Thanks for the pie.”

“You’re welcome,” she said and then was
gone.

“Sorry,” Luke said, looking chagrined.
“I didn’t know you were down here making out with Brayden’s teacher.”

“We weren’t making out,” Marcus said.

Luke cocked a brow at him and then cut a
slice of pie. “More pie?” he asked.

“Why not,” Marcus said, extracting his
plate from the sink and passing it to his brother.