Napkins and Other Distractions (Teachers in Love) by M.A. Wardell

Author:M.A. Wardell [Wardell, M.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M.A. Wardell
Published: 2024-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

Sitting at Vincent’s kitchen island, our takeout in front of us, my stomach reminds me it’s late, and after the physical exertion he put me through, I’m ravenous. We both wear plain white T-shirts and gray sweats, all Vincent’s, a bonus for being relatively the same size. He’s about an inch shorter, and I’m several inches wider around the middle, but thankfully, the stretchy material is forgiving. Matching dinner outfits wasn’t part of my first-date re-do plan, but neither was the wine, the water, or the foot job. Oy.

“Are we over pretending we’re just friends?” I ask, motioning to our matching outfits.

“Kent Lester,” Vincent says, a fork in one hand and a napkin in the other, “only you were pretending.”

“Are you teasing me?”

He leans over, wipes the corners of my mouth with his napkin, and then kisses me. His lips brush mine; it’s longer than a peck, but he pulls away before it escalates … only to return for another. He folds his napkin, wipes his mouth, and continues eating, the unique fusion of Mexican and Korean spices creating a cozy aroma.

“Do you think we’ll make the go-live date?” I change the subject as thoughts of Dr. Cutler swirl with her questions and continual obsession over the board. One bonus of being Jewish … anxiety runs like the electric company. It may have occasional outages, but generally, you can count on it being there. “The clock is ticking.”

“For sure,” he says. Watching Vincent’s meticulous use of chopsticks, his luscious lips welcoming them, a small smile meanders across my face. He’s really quite precious.

“Geoff never drops the ball.” His chopsticks pause, and his chin drops to his chest. “That’s my role.”

I reach over and put my finger under his chin, hoping he’s okay with the contact during a meal. He doesn’t recoil, and I gently lift his face until his eyes find mine. I take a deep breath and smile. “Stop beating yourself up all the time.”

“Easier said than done. My whole life, I’ve been the problem.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I say, leaning over and kissing his forehead. “You seem very … unproblematic to me.”

Vincent steps to the sink and faces out the large window. Bathed in the moonlight, he talks into the darkness, his words hanging in the air.

“We were on schedule at the last school in New Hampshire. Geoff had the system tuned and ready for launch. I was working on outlining the needs assessments with teachers, and he called a meeting to look at the summarized data to make some critical decisions.”

I turn to face him, but Vincent continues talking to the window. He rubs the back of his neck, occasionally moving up to take a glide over his head, momentarily blocking the reflection from the moon.

“Even though the data suggested having teachers use their laptops would be more cost-efficient, the anecdotal interviews told me tablets would be more efficient and offset the difference.”

“What happened?” I ask, wanting to go to him. Wrap him in my arms from behind, hold him close, smell his neck, and comfort him through this story.

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