Read Online Winter Jacket by Eliza Lentzski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eliza Lentzski
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at first, but you insist. She reluctantly agrees, but only if you'll allow her to buy you a coffee after lunch."
"You're crazy. Why would she do that?"
"Because she obviously wants you to see her as an equal," Nikole said as if it were the most obvious explanation. "Anyway," she said, continuing, "after lunch she reminds you about her offer of coffee. You suggest going off-campus instead of getting coffee at that horrid cafe in the student center. You tell her about this adorable little place where you often go to grade papers."
"Del Sol?" I supplied, letting myself become complicit in Nikole's fantasy tale. If I’d thought only her girlfriend was the talented storyteller, I was mistaken.
She nodded and continued. "And you say your car is close by in the faculty lot an d that you could drive. But Hunter points out how nice the weather is and that she doesn't mind walking if you don't. And the sunshine bounces off her hair and you can't help but think about how lovely and carefree she looks."
I cleared my throat. "So we walk to Del Sol and then what?"
"And you talk. And you drink coffee. And you talk some more. And before you know it, it's late and Hunter needs to get home, but you're too nice to let her walk home by herself. So you walk the short distance back to her apartment together. And when you reach her apartment, you both realize what a perfectly lovely afternoon you've shared together. And she worries she's being too forward when she asks you if you want to meet again for coffee at Del Sol's next week."
"She does?"
Nikole nodded. "But she's not being too forward, and you do make plans to have coffee together again."
I whistled lowly. "You've got it all figured out."
A satisfied, smug grin settled on her lips. "And just think. All you would have had to do was postpone lunch with me and have gone to the cafeteria instead."
If Nikole had cautioned me earlier about putting too much emotional stock into daydreams and What-If scenarios, she’d just given me ammunition for the entire summer. When our waitress came by the table to take our drink orders I was thankful for the distraction.
+++++
CHAPTER FOUR
The doorbell rang just as I finished wiping down the kitchen countertops. I smoothed down the front of my dress, a little black cocktail dress I was wearing for the first time, paired with a long string of pearls and black pumps. I felt more at home in a pencil skirt and blouse, my typical teaching outfit, but tonight was a special occasion. At the close of every Spring semester, I opened my home to graduating seniors and my faculty colleagues in the English Department. Because I taught at such a small school, I typically had the same students in my upper-level classes for English majors, and we got to know each other fairly well. It was nice to be able to host the event, and it was the faculty's final opportunity to send off the graduates before the actual ceremony later that week. Plus, it gave us faculty a moment to unwind before our summertime responsibilities kicked in.
When I opened the front door, a platter of cold cuts was thrust under my nose. “Sorry I’m late.”
I took the serving tray, and Tricia, the Departmental Secretary, hustled into my house. She was one of those people who look perpetually harried. Her hair was always a little disheveled, her cheeks flushed. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed she was rushing from one sexual adventure to the next. Actually, maybe she was. I didn’t know much about her even though she sent me about 10 emails a day.
“Where should I put all this?” she asked, looking expectedly unhinged.
I pointed to the kitchen island. “Food can go in the kitchen. I thought we could put the drinks on the buffet in the dining room so not everyone hovers in the kitchen like usual.”
“Good idea,” she remarked, nodding
"You're crazy. Why would she do that?"
"Because she obviously wants you to see her as an equal," Nikole said as if it were the most obvious explanation. "Anyway," she said, continuing, "after lunch she reminds you about her offer of coffee. You suggest going off-campus instead of getting coffee at that horrid cafe in the student center. You tell her about this adorable little place where you often go to grade papers."
"Del Sol?" I supplied, letting myself become complicit in Nikole's fantasy tale. If I’d thought only her girlfriend was the talented storyteller, I was mistaken.
She nodded and continued. "And you say your car is close by in the faculty lot an d that you could drive. But Hunter points out how nice the weather is and that she doesn't mind walking if you don't. And the sunshine bounces off her hair and you can't help but think about how lovely and carefree she looks."
I cleared my throat. "So we walk to Del Sol and then what?"
"And you talk. And you drink coffee. And you talk some more. And before you know it, it's late and Hunter needs to get home, but you're too nice to let her walk home by herself. So you walk the short distance back to her apartment together. And when you reach her apartment, you both realize what a perfectly lovely afternoon you've shared together. And she worries she's being too forward when she asks you if you want to meet again for coffee at Del Sol's next week."
"She does?"
Nikole nodded. "But she's not being too forward, and you do make plans to have coffee together again."
I whistled lowly. "You've got it all figured out."
A satisfied, smug grin settled on her lips. "And just think. All you would have had to do was postpone lunch with me and have gone to the cafeteria instead."
If Nikole had cautioned me earlier about putting too much emotional stock into daydreams and What-If scenarios, she’d just given me ammunition for the entire summer. When our waitress came by the table to take our drink orders I was thankful for the distraction.
+++++
CHAPTER FOUR
The doorbell rang just as I finished wiping down the kitchen countertops. I smoothed down the front of my dress, a little black cocktail dress I was wearing for the first time, paired with a long string of pearls and black pumps. I felt more at home in a pencil skirt and blouse, my typical teaching outfit, but tonight was a special occasion. At the close of every Spring semester, I opened my home to graduating seniors and my faculty colleagues in the English Department. Because I taught at such a small school, I typically had the same students in my upper-level classes for English majors, and we got to know each other fairly well. It was nice to be able to host the event, and it was the faculty's final opportunity to send off the graduates before the actual ceremony later that week. Plus, it gave us faculty a moment to unwind before our summertime responsibilities kicked in.
When I opened the front door, a platter of cold cuts was thrust under my nose. “Sorry I’m late.”
I took the serving tray, and Tricia, the Departmental Secretary, hustled into my house. She was one of those people who look perpetually harried. Her hair was always a little disheveled, her cheeks flushed. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed she was rushing from one sexual adventure to the next. Actually, maybe she was. I didn’t know much about her even though she sent me about 10 emails a day.
“Where should I put all this?” she asked, looking expectedly unhinged.
I pointed to the kitchen island. “Food can go in the kitchen. I thought we could put the drinks on the buffet in the dining room so not everyone hovers in the kitchen like usual.”
“Good idea,” she remarked, nodding
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