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But in the years since her death, summer on my own had proven the toughest to slog through.
For that reason, the first day of classes brought a breath of fresh air regardless of the continued humidity laying over New England like a heavy blanket. My chinos chafed, and my dress shoes pinched. The short-sleeve button-down I’d donned restricted my biceps and neck that had thickened up a bit due to extra hours spent in the gym over the previous couple of months.
Dress-up clothes were my least favorite part of my job.
The best?
Leaning against my desk and watching new students file into my classroom. I’d been a professor for twelve years, and the excitement of the first day hadn’t faded. I offered greetings and smiles to those who glanced my way, attempting to figure out personalities by their body language and where they chose to sit. Some would prove my assumptions about them wrong, but I still got a thrill out of guessing.
A few studious kids—the ones who fulfilled my passion for teaching—went straight to the front row, readying laptops and notebooks. Most took to the center of the room, wanting to maybe hide a bit but needing to be close enough to avoid distraction. I eyed the three who ignored me entirely while slipping into the back row. Perhaps trouble, but definitely the ones I expected would visit my office toward the end of the semester looking for extra credit because they couldn’t be bothered to pay attention during class.
I glanced at my watch, noting the time.
Who would be the student to come rushing in a minute after we got started? There was always one?—
Someone hurried in just as I straightened to officially greet my class, pulling everyone’s attention to my right.
The lopsided smirk caught my eye first, but blue eyes swung toward me and latched onto mine, so bright with life I blinked. His grin widened, a twinkle glinting in his orbs.
“Sorry I’m late, Teach.”
“Professor D’Angelo,” I corrected him, my voice low and firm compared to his flirty tone.
He two-finger saluted me with a wink, and I fought off a smile that caught me by surprise.
His late arrival, the playful…sunshiny attitude radiating from him, promised trouble like those in the back of the room.
I expected him to slink toward them and make himself comfortable, but he waltzed in front of everyone to sit directly opposite my desk. Like the others brave enough to claim that row, he rifled through his bag for his laptop, as though intent on acing whatever I threw his way.
Upon closer inspection, I realized the man wasn’t as young as my other first-year students. While he still had a youthful appearance, he was more seasoned than the eighteen and nineteen-year-olds sitting around him. Mid-twenties, I expected, dressed nice in designer jeans and an ironed button-down. A Rolex was clasped around his left wrist and Ray-Bans tucked into his collar. Nicely trimmed blond scruff lined his strong jawline. Three earrings glinted in his left ear.
Our gazes caught, and I realized I stared, captured by the open…warmth he radiated.
Clearing my throat, I turned my focus off the conundrum of a young man who’d so quickly hopped out of the box I’d initially put him in. “Welcome to Financial Accounting,” I stated my old-as-time spiel about the core course I taught while retrieving the stack of syllabi on the desk beside me. I offered them to the student in the front corner and repeated my name, glancing at the latecomer once more.
Rather than slouching like I’d expected, he sat forward, his attention flitting away from me only when the girl beside him handed over the stack of syllabi. He murmured a thanks, kept one, and turned toward his right to pass them on.
Something about the young man kept pulling my focus his way while I gave my credentials and I went over my expectations for the class. Once finished with discussing the topics we would cover, I asked the students to share a bit about themselves since our class was on the smaller side. Their names, preferred pronouns, where they were from, and their life’s goals and how studying finance would help them achieve their dreams.
While most of my co-workers didn’t do the whole meet-and-greet thing, I’d been encouraged to do so by my own freshman year. I hadn’t known a soul, and finding a handful of close friends because one professor had us go around the room to introduce ourselves had influenced my actions whenever a new group entered my classroom.
We had two kids from Arkansas. A blonde girl from Georgia with a heavy southern twang drew more than one appreciative glance from the men in the room. Another girl hailed from Minnesota. And of course, a handful of students from Massachusetts littered the class, most with heavy Boston accents like mine.
I’d started with the back row, making the potential troublemakers go first, but my awareness lay on the sunshine in my periphery. He fidgeted even though he fought the need. Or perhaps my senses were attuned to his every move, and I didn’t notice others weren’t that interested in learning about their classmates either.
While the girl beside him gave her name and spoke about her hopes for the future, I struggled to keep my attention on her rather than glancing at the man on her right.
His knee bounced, a distracting-as-hell movement, his fingers tapping on his thigh.
“So…yeah?” The girl shrugged—I hadn’t even caught her name. “I guess that’s about it?”
I smiled and nodded, turning toward the one I’d been too damn aware of for the previous fifteen minutes.
His blue eyes ensnared mine again, and I swore the sun’s rays broke through the clouds, caressing my face with heat. I wanted to stand taller to bask in his presence and breathe the life-giving force emanating off him deeper into my lungs.
The strange stirring inside me intensified as his lips quirked up in a knowing grin.
Shifting on my feet, I crossed my arms over my chest, my lips tight, and lifted an eyebrow.
