Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sound was high-pitched, barely perceptible within the realm of human hearing, and it would have given Flora a migraine if it didn’t leave her head spinning for an entirely different reason. 

“I don’t know how to tell you, but that’s a date!” Muffy shrieked, unable to contain her giddiness. 

They were simple words but an unimaginable sentiment.

“It’s not a date,” Flora said, hoping her defensiveness would be mistaken for cool incredulity. 

“Mm-hm.” Muffy did not sound convinced. 

Celia tapped the handle of her steaming teacup. “He is a bit older than you, no?” she asked. Unlike Muffy, whose hopeless romantic tendencies applied not only to herself but also manifested in her desires for everyone else, Celia’s tone belied genuine concern. “He’s a professor.”

Flora brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “He’s a little gray, but not that old.”

“A little gray?” Muffy exclaimed with bright eyes. “Ooh, Flora. You hit the jackpot!”

“It’s not a date!”

“He asked you for coffee!”

“To discuss a paper I’ve been editing for him.”

Muffy’s coworker Rock, who had been, until then, handling customers from behind the counter on his own, called out to her for backup. Muffy shook her head, putting him on the proverbial backburner. “What do you think, Celia? Is our girl here about to get railed by a hot older man or what?”

Celia gave a nervous smile. Flora couldn’t tell if it was because she agreed with her or with Muffy. “I mean, couldn’t he have done this in his office?”

“Celia,” Flora blurted out in disbelief. 

“When was the last time anyway?”

“Muffy!”

“Your freshman year? That guy Derek?”

Flora closed her eyes, too exasperated to speak.

“C’mon girl,” Muffy said, hand finding her shoulder. “This is the big leagues. And! You should wear a skirt.”

“It could be fun,” Celia said.

“Muffy!” Rock called out again, literally throwing a dish towel down in defeat. 

“One second!”

Flora stood abruptly, taking one last sip of tea before setting down her mug on Muffy’s tray. “Fine. But just so you know, we aren’t coming here.”

Muffy smiled, watching Flora collect her laptop and flee. “You better tell us how it goes!”

Flora tore open the door and stepped onto the threshold, grateful for the crisp autumn air on her face. 

*

There was a text message from Celia waiting for Flora when she arrived at her apartment.

You ok?  

Flora couldn’t help but feel bad. It wasn’t like her to have outbursts, to abandon her friends in a moment of tension, even if one of those friends was in the middle of a shift and the other was studying for a botany exam. 

I know Muffy comes on strong sometimes, Celia added. 

Everything’s fine. Just stressed about school. Being a TA is hard. :(

Flora returned the phone to her bag before withdrawing the key to her building. Once inside her place, she set everything down on a rolling cart which had been serving as a kitchen island since she moved in. There wasn’t much counter space, and where there was, countless houseplants made their home. They were even surprisingly green in spite of the neglect they received. 

She checked her phone once more. 

Sorry :( We’re here for you.

Thanks, Flora typed. 

As soon as she hit SEND, an incoming call took over the screen: Prof .

Her fingers trembled as she accepted the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Flora, it’s Carter Naville.”

“Yes, professor?”

“Is everything all right?” He asked, unexpectedly. Perhaps her hands weren’t the only thing shaking. 

Flora tried to quickly compose herself with a deep but quiet breath. “Yes, sir. Sorry, I just came back from—a run.” What a stupid thing to say. She had already won his favor enough to be selected as his assistant; why did she feel the need to lie to this man? 

“Oh, that’s good.”

Flora sighed in relief. 

“Listen, Flora, I’m sorry to bother you on your day off, but I have a favor to ask.”

Flora stood now, at attention, as if he could see her through the phone. “Not a problem! Anything you need.” God, she was such a sycophant. 

“The papers you’ve been reading for me, they’re due to the journal in two weeks.”

“Yes,” she said. She already knew that. 

“I just found that notebook I told you about—the one with my field notes from Pallania. There’s not much in there, but I thought perhaps you and I could sift through those as well. See what’s worth adding to the draft before we send it off.”

“Of course, professor. When?”

“Let’s stick to our plans for Thursday. But if we need more time—“ Carter began, and Flora waited with baited breath. “My office on Friday afternoon? After class.”

“Yes, that’s fine, sir. I’ll see you on Thursday!”

Was that too chipper? Too eager? Too—

“See you soon,” he said.

Flora glanced around the apartment in silence, to her discarded jacket and bag, to the planner left on her desk since last class. 

She considered adding this meeting to her calendar but opted not to. There was no way in the world she would miss it. 

*

Hes cute!!, Samantha said in response to a selfie Muffy shared with her “favorite customer” this week. He had bleached dreadlocks and tattoos, and the slightest, tiniest smile. 

His name is cody.

Wait, Chris said. Ur a barista and hes an artist? Sounds like some kind of a setup :P

Flora couldn’t help but smile at that. She’s right!

Muffy replied with the “blowing a kiss emoji,” before adding, anyone wanna go out Friday? i work late today and tomorrow but i wanna have fun and meet more cute boys.

yeah lets go, said Samantha.

i have a date with wally. we’re going to a baseball game, said Chris.

Celia was taking her exam, so she would not be able to respond for at least a half an hour. 

Flora???, Muffy asked.

She wasn’t a partier at all, but luckily Muffy’s idea of going out was usually getting dinner, drinking wine, and getting an Uber home. To be honest, it didn’t sound like the worst way to spend an evening. Except—

Uh not sure. I have a meeting that afternoon and it might run late.

with your hot professor?

Flora rolled her eyes.

oooooooh, said Chris.

Samantha simply sent the eyes emoji. 

It IS with my professor if you care to know.

A date?? Flora!!!!!!, Samantha said. She loved anything that could be even tangentially related to scandal, so that must have made her day. 

It’s not a date! We’re working on a paper.

You haven’t had your 1st date and he already asked you for a second?? girl he wants you, Muffy said. 

Chris replied, i love this.

1st date?? tell us more, said Samantha. 

Flora wanted to chuck her phone far, far away. This was just ridiculous. 

My professor and I are getting coffee tomorrow and doing work. Then more work Friday. It’s really not that hot, I promise.

Muffy sent a winking emoji, followed by hearts from Chris and Samantha. It was at that point that Flora decided to put her phone down and watch Netflix. She didn’t want to star in the romance novel Muffy was penning in her head. 

*

That night, her dreams were fuzzy. Hard to remember when she woke up. 

A flash of salt and pepper hair, however, stuck out in her mind. 

*

Despite her best efforts to be more laid back, Flora was the type who was early to being early. 

She had spent a few hours grading papers for Carter at home, but decided she was too nervous to eat lunch so she headed to the coffee shop early. She worked with him every Tuesday, and Friday—why was she so nervous? And why did she choose, of all the things in her closet, a lavender skirt? It hit a few inches above the knees, but still.

As promised with a friendly degree of spite, their meeting did not take place at Café Ruby, where Muffy worked. Instead, they met at the Coffee’s Pot, which was a bit further from Flora's apartment but closer to campus. The ambiance there was more relaxed, too; there was a frenetic energy at Ruby, which, thanks to the entrepreneurship of Rock, attracted a trendier crowd for its specialty, seasonal drinks and Instagram-worthy photo wall. Both shops had their pros and cons, but Flora couldn’t bear to hold this meeting under Muffy’s prying eyes, so the Coffee’s Pot was the best choice for now. 

Flora had found a quiet seat up in the mezzanine, beside a bookshelf. She thought it would be secluded enough that they would not disturb or be disturbed by any other patrons, and for no other reason whatsoever. 

Being that she was tucked away, and she did not want Carter to think she had forgotten their meeting, her head snapped up every single time the entrance bell chimed. After the fifth or sixth time, it was beginning to give her whiplash. Fortunately it paid off after the twentieth-or-so jingle. 

Carter entered wearing a tweed jacket and a button up, conveniently unbuttoned just a bit, and simple dark trousers. Under his arm, he carried a leather bound folder, seemingly expecting Flora to have brought the majority of the papers they needed, which she had. 

He looked around, pushing up his glasses, before he caught sight of her waving from the upper level. 

He ascended the steps with a jauntiness usually reserved for his most exciting lectures. “Looks like you got started without me,” he remarked, gesturing to the papers and pens Flora had set up for his arrival. “Did you order anything?”

Flora shook her head. “Oh, no I didn’t. I was waiting for you.”

Carter smiled. “I’ll take care of it. What do you take with your coffee: milk, cream, sugar?”

Why did all of those things have to sound like euphemisms?

“Cream and sugar, please.” She was way more mortified to say that than she should have been.

“Sure,” he said, already beginning to descend the stairs again. “Anything else?”

In truth, Flora had been eying some of the pastries on her way in, but she didn’t want to seem like a glutton. Luckily, when Carter returned, he did so with two steaming cups of coffee and a warm cheese danish on its way. “You can share some with me, if you’d like.”

Her stomach was rumbling, so yes, she would take him up on that offer.

The two of them were surprisingly productive together. Flora proofread and fixed his citations, offering feedback here and there to tweak his wording when necessary. And Carter was no insecure navel gazer—he valued her input and made changes accordingly. 

After two cups of coffee and a pastry between the two, it was time to take a short break. 

“Thank you for all your help,” Carter said. 

Flora felt her face heat up. There was a warmth to his voice, a softness he didn’t have when he lectured. Being alone together, outside of school, no matter how professional their meeting was, felt so strangely intimate she could hardly wrap her head around it all.

“Of course, sir. I’m happy to help,” she admitted. 

“You know,” he began, shifting a bit in his seat and neatening the wrinkles in his jacket. “If you’re looking for a thesis advisor at some point down the road, I’d be more than happy to do that.”

“Wow,” was all she could manage in her surprise. Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. 

He shrugged. “You’ve done so much for me, truly. It’s the least I could do.”

She looked up at him. He was smiling, but was he trying to avoid her eyes? She didn’t want him to look away; she needed his attention. She needed to do something to get his attention. Of its own volition, her hand found his forearm—a kind pat, totally platonic. She withdrew it quickly, not wanting to make the moment strange, but she got what she wanted. He met her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

Carter cleared his throat, not speaking for a moment. Was that too far?

“So, you’re a runner?” He finally offered, no awkwardness to be found in either his tone or visage. What a relief.

A runner? Oh.

She let out a nervous laugh. “I run sometimes, to stay active. But I’m not very good.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement when she spoke, and the awkwardness of the previous moment subsided. “Honestly, my mile is abysmal.”

“I’m the same way. I can’t run much, so,” he paused, perhaps to build suspense, “I do tai chi.”

Flora had never heard those four words strung together by anyone in real life. She liked to watch him lecture, but perhaps he really was just as interesting outside of class as in it. “Really?”

“It’s not necessarily cardio, but it takes a lot of muscle control and patience. That’s where the real challenge comes from. It’s a good workout.”

“Wow,” she said, genuinely, trying not to look too starry-eyed as she thought about his superior muscle control and immense patience. Flora was not this kind of girl! And yet…

Carter peeked at his watch. “Well, I suppose we should be getting back to work. I don’t want to keep you out too late.”

She shook her head. “That’s not a problem at all.”

They remained on task for the rest of the evening, but stayed so long that one of the bus boys had to kindly inform them the shop was closing soon.

*

By the time she returned to the apartment, Flora found a text from Muffy waiting for her.

Hey. :)

So it begins again, doesn’t it?

Hi there.

Less than five seconds passed before Muffy responded, how was your night?

We got a lot of work done. I’m tired though.

Its late, huh? Before Flora could reply, Muffy sent a quick follow up. Did he keep you busy ;)

Flora groaned, taking a moment to kick off her shoes and comb out her hair with her fingers. 

Did Cody come back? You need someone to help keep YOU busy. Two could play matchmaker.

No :( that’s why i must live through you.

Flora exhaled an amused huff. All frustrations aside, she loved Muffy, and none of this really bothered her that much. It was validating, perhaps. 

Validating what, though?

*

On her way to class the next day, Flora bumped into a student, a young guy named Brent who usually sat somewhere in the middle tiers of the lecture hall. He was eager to participate in discussions even though his writing wasn’t great. Flora liked him.

“Hey!” He said, holding open the door for her. “How’s it going?”

She nodded appreciatively before walking inside the building. “I’m doing well, thanks. How are you?”

The two began to walk to the classroom together. 

“Good, good! I bet you and Professor Naville have something good planned today, huh?”

For a second, she was confused. 

“Yeah, I saw you two at Coffee’s Pot last night. I was studying with some friends there. But you guys seemed like you were there for a long time!”

She felt embarrassed. “Oh,” she managed, but not before nearly bumping into a custodian who was mopping up a spill. “He’s in the process of submitting something to a journal. I’ve been—er—helping him get it finished.”

“No way!” Brent said. “That’s so cool.”

He held the door for her again, this time to the lecture hall. 

She gave him one last smile before retreating to the desk and setting up for the day. 

She hoped with every fiber of her being that she did not seem as frantic as she felt, skirt swishing with her quick steps and getting all tangled up between her legs. 

*

Class was normal. Completely, regrettably so. 

Flora took care of attendance, contributed a few times to the class discussion—at Carter’s prompting—and when it was over, stayed behind to answer a few questions. 

Once the last of the students exited, Carter piped up, “I have a few phone calls to make this afternoon. But you’re welcome to sit in.” He gestured, open-palmed, from her feet to her head, “I don’t want you to have to walk a long way and come back.”

Maybe Muffy was right. Maybe he did really notice her skirt and her dainty flats and the cashmere blouse she got for the holidays and seldom wore because it needed to be dry cleaned. But why, oh why, did she want to look good for him—her professor?

“Oh, thank you. Would you like me to get you anything in the meantime? I can pick up coffee at the Student Center.”

He nodded. “Sure, that sounds great. A splash of milk for me.”

“Of course!” She said, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “I’ll see you back at your office.”

“Thank you, Flora.”

She was beaming even though her head felt like it could explode.

*

Carter’s office was in the same building as their class, just up on the third floor. Baumgarten Hall was an historic stone building, one of the first established on campus. Its halls were narrow, with plaster walls and creaky, wood floors. The lighting—wrought iron wall sconces—carried an intense, yellow hue that made the place feel spooky when there was no one else around, not helped in the slightest by the fact that they often flickered, especially when it rained. 

When Flora arrived, she found that Carter’s door had been left ajar. 

His deep, rumbling voice carried down the hall, joyful and enthusiastic. “It’s all going very well,” he said into the phone. “Been in the process of adding and subtracting a few things, but it should be ready to publish within a few days, knock on wood.” She heard two distinct knocks on his desk for emphasis. “If you’re interested in reading it, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” 

He had invited her in for these calls, but it felt wrong to barge in in the middle of one. Even more so when she heard him say, “Yes, my assistant, she’s been tremendous. Very bright.”

Her breath caught in her throat. But though she wished to stand outside and hear him spill every good thought he ever had about her, the passing of another faculty member—one of her own former instructors—to whom she forced an abrupt but pleasant smile, was a shock enough to the system. And so, she rapped on the open door.

Carter looked up, making eye contact through the sliver in the doorway. One ear to the phone still, he waved her in with a quick curl of his hand. 

“She just arrived, actually. So, I’ll let you go.” He silently pointed to a chair across from his desk, which Flora took without a hint of hesitation after setting down his drink. She had been to his office countless times, but she never behaved like she owned the place. “We’ll talk soon. Thank you, Rooney. Bye.”

Flora smiled, eager to make conversation when he hung up the phone. 

“You came at just the right time,” he said.

“That’s good."

“That was one of my mentors, Scott Rooney. He publishes under S. R. Rooney, if you’ve ever seen his work.”

Of course she had! Carter had made one of his books required reading for the introductory archaeology class. It was a little dry, but informative no less.

“He can be a bit dry,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “But he’s one of the best I know.” She watched as Carter raised the paper coffee cup to his lips, waiting patiently to be sure nothing was wrong with it. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

“Not a problem, sir. So,” she trailed off, glancing around the room as if with new eyes. Something about what she just overheard made her feel like an alien, like she was floating ten feet outside herself. “He’s looking forward to your paper?”

Carter slid his chair in, smiling. “I think at this point, it’s fair to call it our paper, don’t you think? But yes.”

She couldn’t help but shake her head. “Our paper? Oh, no, sir. That wouldn’t be right.”

He raised his hand. “I insist. Really. If anyone has put blood, sweat, and tears into this thing, it’s you.”

Flora blinked, dumbfounded. She had never had her name published in anything. There was a long paper she tried to send in to a student journal at another school before she finished undergrad, but she never heard back from their submissions contact. But this—this —was huge. Possibly life changing. A dream come true.

He was cool as a cucumber, cracking into the notebook he had mentioned on the phone to her two days prior. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

*

“Oh my god.”

It slipped out before Flora could stop herself. But the damage was done, face burning up with humiliation, made worse by the sudden snap of Carter’s head toward her. His hands hovered, mid-thought, above the keyboard. 

“What?”

With shaking fingertips, Flora traced the soft arch of her left eyebrow—a nervous habit she had forever apparently, but was only recently pointed out by a friend. She hoped the movement could conceal, if only for a moment, her flushed cheeks, or that she could hide behind her forearm and pretend she never exclaimed anything in the first place. 

But he kept looking, rather expectantly, perhaps worried by her delayed reply. 

It was hard, truly, to articulate what she had uncovered in these old notes, in his steady cursive on yellowing pages. 

“Uh,” she began dumbly, searching for the most diplomatic way to say what she needed to say. “It seems like the women in Pallania kept themselves busy.”

Carter released a sudden huff of amusement, like he knew exactly what she had rediscovered in the book. It didn’t stop him from saying, without a hint of irony, “The stone phalluses?”

Flora swallowed thickly, unable to meet his eyes as she nodded. 

“A local there theorized they were some kind of weapon or maybe a pestle—but we found it alongside things in the bed chamber, one of which was a small urn with traces of oil inside. And well, it was my best guess.”

There was a faded polaroid of the object, too, tucked into the crease of the pages. It seemed, from visuals alone, that Carter’s inference seemed plausible. 

She nodded. That was all she could manage in affirmation. 

He must have thought she was such an ingénue. Or a prude. But to his credit, he resumed work with nary a quip or comment, tapping away on his keyboard while she longed to crawl up under the chair beneath her. Maybe she was both. It had been five years since the last time she saw Derek, and he wasn’t much of a Casanova. 

But, she could never tell Muffy. She’d have a field day with this one. 

*

“How do you feel about Chinese takeout?” Carter asked suddenly. “We’ve been at this for so long. You must be starving.”

Having skipped lunch and subsisted on nothing but an orange juice from the dining hall since then, Flora was on the verge of dizziness. Since the ancient dildo incident, things had calmed down, but she had no real reason to get up and move from the notebook in her lap. If she had, it was highly likely she would have face-planted into the floorboards. 

And so, while she typically preferred to suffer than inconvenience anyone else, she had no choice but to say, “That sounds great.”

Carter pulled out one of his drawers, noisily shuffling its contents until he withdrew a trifold pamphlet. He held it out for her. “Have you ever had Scarlet Lotus?”

“Actually no,” she replied, flipping open the menu and scanning its contents for a few of her favorites. “I usually choose Home Kitchen. It’s right around the corner from my place.” In truth, Scarlet Lotus was in the ritzy downtown district, and Flora was always afraid to see their prices. 

None the wiser, Carter hummed in response. “Would you rather go there to eat? The Scarlet Lotus, I mean. To get out of this room for a change. They have a nice dining room and their black tea is superb.”

If coffee to work on a paper was not a date, could this possibly be? There was no pretense of reading this or editing that—just two people, a fancy restaurant, and pork dumplings. There was nothing substantive to distract them from conversation. Or, the undeniable intimacy of the situation. 

“I don’t have a car,” Flora blurted out stupidly, a weak excuse. It was true; she took the bus everywhere. Being that she lived in subsidized school housing, she was never far from campus or public transport. But, perhaps there was a more elegant way to say that, and one that didn’t make her sound like such a child. 

“That’s all right,” he soothed, standing up and snatching his car keys from on top of a side cabinet. “I can drive us.”

She stood, much less composure in her slumped shoulders and small frame. “OK.”

“Bring your stuff. I’ll drive you home, too. I think we made a valiant effort today, and you deserve your weekend.”

She obeyed, gathering everything into her bag and following him out the door. He turned back, reaching one arm in the office to flip the lights out, and in the tightness of the doorway, Flora suddenly became aware of just how close he was standing. And that gave way to all sorts of intrusive thoughts—how the warps and wefts of his tweed jacket might feel under her fingertips, perhaps how the door jamb might feel on the back of her head if he crowded her against it. 

A hot flush rose across Flora’s skin, leaving her no choice but to scurry behind Carter as they continued outside. 

If he had noticed anything was amiss, he didn’t show it. Perhaps the dreadful, yellow hue in Baumgarten Hall had done her a favor after all. 

*

Carter was parked in a reserved space for faculty—obviously—and drove a black car which smelled clean and new. He popped the passenger door for her, pulling it open and closing it behind her once she had taken a seat. 

Maybe he was just polite! Despite the gray hairs on his head, he couldn’t have been that much older than her, but perhaps he was just chivalrous and old-fashioned. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that. 

“The buses,” he began as he sat beside her and rammed the key into the ignition, “do they run to campus on Friday nights?”

She didn’t really want to talk about the bus while sitting in his nice car, something she could never afford until she was ever up for tenure somewhere in who knows how many years. It was a humiliating prospect, but a friendly question nonetheless. 

“Not all the usual stops. I always walk up to Mountain Terrace after hours, which is fine, just a little out of the way.”

Carter exited the parking space, cruising out of the lot with practiced ease. If she had a car of her own, she probably would be a much more self-conscious driver on campus, though it must have helped that the rest of the spaces were deserted by that day and time.

“Well, today you won’t have to worry about that,” he said, only one hand maneuvering the wheel. One time, during movie night at Chris’s place, Samantha declared that driving like that was extremely attractive. Especially when he rolls his sleeves up!, she had squealed, oohing and ahhing over some beefy movie star. Flora hadn’t agreed at the time, but that standpoint was under re-evaluation now. 

Carter’s other hand rested on his thigh. She found herself strangely drawn to that sight, to the spread of his legs against the leather seat. At what point did a stare become a leer? Most definitely by the point you realize you’ve been doing it too long. Eventually Flora dragged her eyes away, focusing instead on the tableau of streaky lights and streakier pedestrians as they passed by the window. 

After a short while, Carter broke the silence. 

“I didn’t plan to call Rooney today, but I had been thinking of him. He actually called me, funny enough.”

Flora smiled. “It’s always interesting when that kind of thing happens.” Then, she remembered the comment she overheard upon her arrival to his office, buttery sweet. It begged the question, “Was there a reason in particular that he called?”

“It’s his wife’s birthday today and he was stepping out soon for dinner. She always liked me, and apparently had a question to ask. And then, of course, he and I got to talking.”

Flora felt a twinge of jealousy, but thought the better of it when she recalled that Rooney himself was Carter’s senior, so perhaps his wife was an older woman herself.

“Apparently one of my former classmates was her neighbor growing up. Across the country. He recently passed, and she saw his alma mater in the obituary. I never knew him well, but she used to babysit for their family. ”

She didn’t know whether condolences were in order, but Carter seemed unperturbed, so she opted against it. 

“Really? That’s an interesting coincidence,” she offered instead.

Carter hummed in acknowledgment. “I never thought I was a spiritual man, but more and more, little things like that have been happening to me.”

“Huh,” Flora replied absently. She was interested, but she didn’t know what to say. On one hand, it felt too personal to hear. On the other, she didn’t want anything she said to discourage him from saying more.

He continued. “Small things, like thinking about the mailman and then he shows up, even when it’s not the normal delivery time. Or thinking of a cardinal and seeing one in a tree not even twenty minutes later!” He seemed, at once, in awe and exasperated. It was completely and utterly endearing. 

“I’ve experienced things like that before, but usually now and again,” Flora said, trying to empathize. “Sporadically.”

“It’s been happening to me almost every day.” Carter’s shoulders slumped, as if dragged by the weight of the world. He gave a small laugh, aware his next words sounded a little fantastical. “It’s almost like my ancestors are pulling strings—trying to send some kind of message.”

“Like what, professor?”

“I don’t know. But it feels important.”

Flora was not even a little bit superstitious, but his pure conviction was enough to enrapture her, even more than any lecture he had ever given. 

*

There were candles on each table, flickering lights dancing across embroidered tablecloths. With that detail alone, the Scarlet Lotus was easily the nicest Chinese restaurant Flora had ever been to, and probably the nicest of any restaurant, period. 

Most of the patrons were dressed in business casual attire at worst, which made Flora glad she had decided to follow Muffy’s fashion advice. Fortunately, no one was quite as fancy as black-tie, so she didn’t feel underdressed either. 

Once they were seated, the host set down a wine menu. Flora couldn’t help but notice—most Chinese food places she had known were BYOB. It also made her think of Muffy and their other friends and the outing they were on, too, on the other side of town. 

“I’m sorry,” Carter said unexpectedly, flippantly gesturing at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize there would be mood lighting.” He punctuated the last two words with air quotes. 

Flora smiled, if only to comfort him and not to dwell on the implication for too long. “No, it’s fine. Soft on the eyes!”

Carter shrugged. It seemed as if he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue instead. 

“Is everything OK, professor?”

Before he could answer, the waiter returned with a tray of ice water in crystal glasses, and the moment was forgotten. Nevertheless, the conversation remained pleasant and their food was delivered before long. 

Carter had such an easy way with words, and when he asked Flora about the inception of her interest in archaeology, she felt content to participate. There wasn’t much to say about her fascination with dinosaurs as a young child, but rewatching documentaries about ancient Mesopotamia on repeat to the point of memorization was slightly more unusual. Carter nodded along, and Flora kept talking.  

“I taught myself cuneiform one summer in middle school,” she admitted sheepishly, clumsily operating her chopsticks. 

Carter exhaled a laugh, nearly choking on the food in his mouth. He coughed politely, then swallowed. “Really? How’d you manage that?”

She shrugged. “It’s amazing how much progress you can make when you have literally nothing else going on.”

“Shy kid?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Carter reached for his wine glass. “I wish I had been. Would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Would you have chosen this career if you’d been shy?” She asked. 

His head tipped back as if to ponder her question. “I do talk an awful lot, I suppose. But,” he paused, long enough to catch her attention. “You’re here too. You took a chance.”

“That’s true.”

“Well,” Carter began, not deterred in the slightest by her brevity. He raised his wine now to meet hers in a toast. “I think we make a good team.”

The lights were dim in the restaurant, but she could still detect a sparkle in his eye as the glasses clinked together. 

*

It had begun to rain by the time he brought her home, her breath condensing into a soft cloud with each exhale. And though it was barely more than a drizzle, Carter had offered to walk her to the door with an umbrella. Of course, she said yes.

As they walked side-by-side up the concrete path, their shoulders brushed; Flora now stood closer than she had to any man—anyone—since she had landed in bed with Derek a few years ago. And for the first time that day, as he held up the umbrella right by her face, she could detect a handsome, musky scent on his wrist, probably dabbed just under his wristwatch. It was like firewood and ginger, and perhaps the barest hint of peppermint. Had he always worn cologne, or was she finally in a position to notice it?

In all her rumination, Flora had forgotten to pull out her key as they approached the building. Now, he stood on the step in front of her as she riffled through her tote bag. 

“Sorry. It’s usually in this side pocket here.” 

“Take your time.” A true gentleman, there was not an ounce of urgency in his words. “This is a beautiful building,” he marveled, staring up at its red brick facade. “It’s original in town?”

Flora frantically opened and closed zippers, unaware her bag ever had so many. “I don’t know, actually. I think so. Probably built not long after the University.”

“The floors creak like Baumgarten?”

“All night.”

He didn’t say anything, nor did she look up at him, but, somehow it felt like he was smiling at her. 

“It’s a little scary,” she added. “I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, but it’s hard not to when you hear strange noises in the linen closet at 2 a.m.”

Glinting softly, the key finally came into view beneath one of her notebooks in the main compartment of the bag. She yanked out the keychain, something with wooden beads and macrame that her mother had given as a stocking stuffer a few years prior. “Here it is.” She brandished the key as proof. 

“Oh, that’s disappointing,” Carter said. She could finally see that he was actually smiling. With a playful shrug, he added, “I wanted to hear more about those ghosts.”

“Sorry, Professor. I think I’ve already wasted enough of your time.”

He waved his hand flippantly, water droplets shaking off his umbrella with the motion. “Nonsense. Time spent in the pursuit of intellectual discovery is never wasted!”

She couldn’t help but laugh. She loved her job, loved academia, but had never heard something so flagrantly false. More often than not, her work was an exercise in futility, but if Carter had a different experience, then his scholarly reputation was more than deserved. “I’ll try to keep that in mind when I’m grading those papers.”

“I’ll send you an energy boost through the astral plane. Keep you motivated with the help of my enlightened chakra.” This man was as baffling as he was captivating. 

She played along. “How will I know it’s you?”

“Well,” he said, cocking his head. “I maybe had a little too much, so I’ll make it smell like orange chicken.”

Flora smiled. “I’m not sure I should look forward to it, or…” she trailed off, the turning of the key making the door pop open. 

She glanced at him once more over her shoulder. His eyes were calm, dark and warm, but didn’t quite meet hers. She chalked it up to the late hour, exhaustion setting in from a long day. 

“Good night, Flora,” he said with a nod.

“Good night, Professor.”

When she finally entered her apartment unit, locking the door and setting down her belongings, she could have sworn there was a faint aroma of poultry and citrus in the room. 

Perhaps it had just been stuck to her clothes.

*

Flora dragged her feet all the way to the bus stop, then all the way down the block to Café Ruby. 

Wired from the night before, she barely slept more than a few hours. With most of Flora’s friends hanging out together in person, the group chat was unsurprisingly quiet that night, so she occupied her waking hours by browsing social media and attempting a hard sudoku puzzle. And despite her best efforts to go back to bed in the morning, there was too much light streaming in through the window, leaving her no choice but to surrender and to reluctantly start the day. It was a blessing in disguise, really—she was more than a little behind on her grad school work, and the sooner she rose, the sooner she could rest later. 

Rock was the only employee behind the counter, and though that was typical for a Saturday morning, Flora felt sorry for him because he seemed hungover. Before he even served her cappuccino and croissant, she was tossing a few extra dollars into the tip jar. Then, she proceeded to an open table by the window to get to work. 

Despite running on fumes, Flora had been more productive than she expected when she slid out of bed that day. She didn’t love the teaching aspect of scholarship—too shy and in her own head to present confidently to students less than a decade her junior—but the research assignment she was working on made it all worthwhile. Reading, highlighting, annotating, and drafting sometimes felt like a drug. And she was lulled into a peaceful rhythm, at least until a particularly grating jangle of the shop’s entry bell brought her back to her senses.

Muffy hadn’t noticed her at first, but her unusually harried expression provoked Flora into coming over on her own. 

“Hey,” she said, waving as Muffy tied up her apron. “You OK?”

The sleepy air that surrounded Muffy quickly disappeared, transformed into one of manic excitement. “Oh my god, Flora! Guess who we saw last night!”

Flora smiled, happy to play along. “Uh, who?”

Muffy leaned across the counter and huddled in close, though the reedy pitch of her voice betrayed her secret. “Cody! He was out at the bar. And he was wearing a leather jacket.”

“I thought you guys were getting dinner.”

Muffy shrugged. “Well, we may have seen him walking into Blue’s, and suddenly we all decided bar food sounded better than Italian.”

“Hmm,” was the only sound Flora made. Muffy’s enthusiasm was contagious, and she was starting to want to hear more, even if this sounded like a silly preteen crush. 

“He seemed to be there with the musician—a hippie-looking guy playing guitar. I was totally gonna go over and say hi but the music was too loud. They had, like, extra mics set up to capture the sound.”

Flora cocked her head inquisitively. “What's your plan for a follow-up?”

“Well, Guitar Guy did say that he would be performing regularly for the next few weeks now that the semester is back on, so if Cody’s his hype-man, I’ll know where to find him.” Muffy smiled triumphantly, the threads of her elaborate scheme finally coming together.

“He’s an artist; he’s friends with musicians,” Flora began whimsically, hand waving like a maestro. “You’re living a dream life.”

“Which reminds me!” Muffy remarked suddenly, slamming down her fist. “How was your date?”

She squinted playfully. “Not a date.”

“OK, OK,” Muffy conceded, if only for a moment. “How was your, uh, whatever-you-call-it-when-two-hot-people-hang-out-long-into-the night.” Flora was about to respond when Muffy tacked on, “And don’t pretend you weren’t out until after 10 p.m.! At a restaurant. I stalked your location from Blue’s.”

“Remind me to turn off Find My Friends,” Flora mused. 

“So, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady? Huh? You said you were working. On a paper, no less!” Muffy tied up her hair and began washing her hands. “What is that, some kind of new sex position the kids are into these days?”

That made Flora laugh, genuinely and out loud, so much so that Rock shouted, “Don’t enable her!” despite his migraine. 

Rather than wave him off as she often did, Muffy tugged on Rock’s sleeve. “C’mere.”

Even Flora had no idea where she was going with this. 

“Rock, you’re a man.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Flora snickered. 

Muffy didn’t give Rock any time to argue. “Weigh in on this, will you?” She pointed across the counter. “She can’t tell if her hot professor is flirting. But! He took her out to dinner last night and paid for the whole thing.”

“How do you know he paid for it?” Flora blurted out, but was quickly interrupted.

“What kind of dinner?” Rock asked. He took the next customer’s order and passed the slip to Muffy to make. “Are we talking McDonalds, or lobster?”

Flora felt strangely embarrassed to admit it was the Scarlet Lotus, and her fears were doubled when Muffy’s jaw dropped and Rock slammed his palms on the countertop. 

“Flora!” Muffy exclaimed.

“Shit,” Rock said. “That’s like, big money.”

“I mean it’s nice, but—“

“Flora,” Muffy began, handing off an Americano to the next waiting customer. “I’m pretty sure there’s literally a picture of that place on Kim Kardashian’s Instagram.”

Flora crossed her arms. “Now, why would a celebrity like that come to a Chinese restaurant in a random college town?”

Rock offered, instead, “Why would a professor take out a student anywhere if he didn’t want to smash?”

Flora’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“He does have a point,” Muffy said. 

“Well,” Flora began, trying to save face. “When you say it like that it sounds kind of creepy. He is a professor, but he’s not my professor. We work together.”

She was happy to see that Rock nodded, seemingly following her train of thought.

 “So, he wants to bang his coworker.”

Never mind. 

“No, Rock, it’s just—“

Muffy nodded along, waiting for something good. 

But, “I don’t know!” was all she could muster. That, and a deep, deep sigh.

“Well, it sounds to me like he probably does like you,” Rock said, absentmindedly shaking the tip jar to get a read on how much was in there. “And I guess if he’s hot and not creepy, then you gotta go get laid.”

Muffy patted him hard on the shoulder. “Thank you, Rock. That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“But…”

“But what?” Muffy asked. “Do you actually care about his age? Or does he dress funny or something? ‘Cuz one of those you can change.”

“No, I…”

Flora really didn’t know what she wanted to say. In response, Muffy’s expression softened, and even Rock got the hint, busying himself with wiping down a surface on the other end of the room. “What is it?” 

She glanced at the ceiling—the knotty, wooden beams there. She traced them with her eyes, then across the eclectic collection of colorful wall art opposite the counter. Eventually, she said, “We’re colleagues. We’re—we’re publishing something together, and what if we try something and it goes completely, horribly wrong?”

“Look at it this way: if you give it a shot,” Muffy began. As if drawing out some grand plan, she traced a few cursive strokes across her palm. “Maybe it won’t be the last document you have with your names printed together.” Flora knew she meant a marriage license. 

Muffy may have been a hopeless romantic, but she could also be a wise sage, even if she jumped over a few key relationship milestones on the way there. The sentiment was valid. 

“Now,” she pointed back at Flora’s table, to the coffee that had long since cooled and the books left wedged open with pens and highlighters. “Get back to work so you can show your man what you’ve been up to.”

Flora couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Muffy.”

Before she made it back to her table, Muffy called out, “This means you agree to be my wing-woman, right? Blue’s next week?”

Flora responded with a criminally sincere thumbs up. “You got it.”

*

By the time Monday rolled around, Flora was eager to get back to work. It had been a productive weekend, surely, but she was also feeling a bit frantic after having spent the better part of Saturday and all of Sunday holed up in her apartment cranking out assignments for grad school. She also crammed in the first half the student essays, all of which needed to be graded and turned back by the next class on Tuesday. 

Although it was rather biting, the fresh air that filled her nostrils when she stepped outside was a welcome relief. And she felt good. Happy, even. 

As far as her course load was concerned, Mondays were easily the busiest. As it happened, the only way to fit the program’s required seminars into her schedule was to pack both of them together that day—all six, glorious hours of them—back to back. It was brutal. The only reprieve she felt was the fifteen minutes between classes when she took a breather outside, stretched her legs a bit, and inhaled her lunch—cold and still in its Tupperware—as fast as possible without choking. 

And on that particular Monday came another respite, one that was not terribly uncommon. It came as no surprise when Flora spotted Carter approaching the entrance of Baumgarten Hall, briefcase in hand and a rather determined set in his gaze. It would be nice to say hello. 

“Professor!” She smiled and waved. 

He must have been in a hurry, for all she got in response was a curt nod and the squeak of the door hinges. There was also the rather harsh thud, his knee colliding with the door's metal frame as it swung open, but before Flora could inquire about his well-being, he had already disappeared. 

Well, so much for that. 

*

The next day, Carter strode in right at the start of class. His entrance immediately quelled the dull chatter of students, each of them ready for him to begin the lecture. The stakes were especially high that day, as Carter would explain the directions for the midterm paper, due in exactly one week. 

Flora was just surprised that he didn’t forewarn her about exactly what the assignment entailed. Since she would grade at least half of them, she would have liked to understand the end goal in advance. But alas, Carter’s lateness that day—or rather punctuality—left no time for the two to confer before class began. 

And unfortunately, he absconded from the lecture hall as soon as he announced their meeting’s end. Worse yet, they had not agreed on a meeting time for the week to discuss their paper. She would have to iron that out once she arrived home. 

Though she considered texting him, Flora simply typed up a quick email instead. He was much more likely on his computer than his phone anyway.

Carter’s response came about an hour later. 

That was unexpected, but Flora could make do on her own. 

*

A few precocious students were already standing outside Carter’s office before 2 p.m. when Flora arrived on Thursday, though his door was suspiciously closed. There were no lights on inside either. 

“Hey everyone,” Flora greeted, setting her bag down on the floor, propped up against his doorframe. She knew Carter would recognize it as hers. “I’m not sure where Professor Naville is, but I’d be happy to answer your questions if I can. Here, let’s get set up in the workroom for now.”

The last door on the left was a small conference room. She herded the students inside and around its central table. There was just enough room for everyone to set down their bags and arrange their computers and notebooks for Flora’s feedback.

Before too long, Carter appeared in the doorway. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he announced. “I got into a bit of a fender-bender in the parking lot.”

Flora gasped.

“Oh no!” One of the students exclaimed. She was a sweet girl. Super friendly, too. “Are you OK?”

Carter waved dismissively. “It was a low speed collision; there wasn’t even a scratch on either car. But we still had to file a report with campus police. I wanted to make sure they had it in writing that the kid backed into me.”

“Kid?” One of the other students asked. “He was in the staff lot?”

Carter nodded, crossing his arms. “Yep. Pretty sure they wrote him a ticket for that.”

“At least you’re OK,” Flora said. 

Carter nodded, tight-lipped. 

“So,” he said a moment later, voice more than boisterous enough for his audience of four in what was once a supply closet. “Is there anything anyone needs help with?”

*

Friday was rainy, but Flora certainly felt sorry to see Carter’s rain-soaked clothing as he entered the classroom, this time close to ten minutes late. Fortunately, his ego seemed barely deflated, since students were again preoccupied with the upcoming midterm paper. He deftly fielded their questions, but Flora couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t turn around to acknowledge her until he bid adieu to the class—and her—and disappeared. 

Flora didn’t want to take it personally, but she couldn’t help but think it odd that Carter was in such a hurry all of a sudden. 

*

“Have you spoken to Celia?” Muffy asked over the rim of her sparkling beverage. And though she was talking to Flora, she was perched on the edge of her seat with her neck stuck out and eyes trained on the bar’s entrance.  

Flora didn’t typically drink cocktails, but she opted for a lychee martini on their night out. After a nonstop week of grad classes, her teaching practicum, grading papers, editing for Carter, and in-depth independent research for her own degree, she was grateful for a girl’s night out. 

“She texted me a few times,” Flora answered. “I know she’s busy with her labs, but she said she would have liked to come out tonight. She did say she was feeling a bit run-down, though.”

“I can’t blame her. But it would be nice to have a few more eyes on the Cody Situation.” Muffy glanced over her shoulder as if Cody and his musician friend may have snuck in through a back door since the last time she scanned the periphery. 

Flora glared, completely without malice. “You do know he’s like, over six feet tall, huge, and tattooed all over, right? I may be almost blind without my glasses, but I think we got it covered between the two of us.”

Muffy clicked her teeth. “See, Celia’s got a one-track mind. When the situation calls for it, she’s all business.” She took a sip, fanning herself a little with the drink menu. “I figure you might be a little preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?”

“With your own romantic endeavors. Hot Professor.”

“It’s funny you mention that,” Flora began. She fiddled with the tiny toothpick in her cocktail, swirling it in wide circles around the shallow glass and washing the ripples created by the two fat lychees impaled there.  

“Yeah?” Muffy asked, eyes twinkling. She was, for a moment, completely sidetracked from their night’s original goal. 

“Don’t get too excited. I think I did something to… I don’t know. Upset him, I guess. He’s barely said anything to me this week.”

“What do you mean? What could you have possibly done? You’re like Mother Theresa. Except way less of a bitch.”

“I really don’t know. I mean, maybe I’m reading into things. It’s just—he’s been super short and more—uh… aloof than I’m used to.”

Muffy leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, drinking glass cradled against her shoulder. “Huh,” she mused. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Flora rubbed her eyes with heels of her palms, pressing hard to stave off the headache that threatened to emerge if they stayed on the topic of Carter for much longer. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Maybe I can pay you back for tonight by doing a little espionage. See what Hot Professor is up to on his off-time,” Muffy offered.

“No, thanks. I’m worried I might find out something I don’t want to know.”

Muffy touched her shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. If this doesn’t work out, there’s at least a few more handsome daddies out there in the deep blue sea.”

Flora groaned, purposely exaggerated so as to not reveal too much devastation, even if she wasn’t sure how she really felt inside at that moment. “I love you, but I think you’re mixing metaphors. And as much as I appreciate it—“

Suddenly, a voice chimed in, one Flora didn’t recognize, but she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The way Muffy’s face lit up in an instant gave it all away. And, fortunately, rerouted Flora’s mind back to the night’s true mission.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but,” Cody began, eyes cast to the floor in a way that was both humble and endearing. Flora could see why Muffy’s crush had bloomed into full-blown infatuation—this guy was a textbook Sensitive Bad Boy. He was also cuter than he looked in pictures. 

“No, Cody, don’t worry!” Muffy soothed, waving her hands. She was smiling so hard that the apples of her cheeks, pink and round, threatened to burst under the strain.

Cody bowed his head. “It’s just… nice to see that they let you out after your work day, that’s all.” He raised a hand to Flora by way of greeting. “Sorry.”

Flora smiled. “Don’t worry about it!”

“Cody, this is my friend Flora. She’s a grad student at FMNU.”

Perfectly friendly, Cody raised his heavy brows. “What do you study?”

“Archaeology,” she said, somewhat proud of her confidence. In truth, she wanted to make a good impression for Muffy’s sake, and the face Cody made seemed to suggest she had done just that. 

Though Flora was quiet herself, Cody seemed even more reserved. It was for that reason that, in the back of her mind, she thought he and Muffy could be a good couple. The whole opposites attract thing certainly had its charm, and no one could stay sad in Muffy’s company for too long. But, Flora didn’t want to scare him away by knowing too much about him, so she politely asked, “What do you do?”

“I’m an artist. Mostly metal work, but occasionally wood carving if I have to.”

The way Muffy’s eyes glittered made Flora’s heart burst, and when Cody lingered for another moment, Flora sprang to her feet. Muffy stood as well, but Flora held up her hands. “You know what, it’s really stuffy in here. I’m gonna go outside for some fresh air.”

Muffy shot her a look of relief and appreciation. “OK. But stay close!” 

“I will. And Cody,” she nodded, unsure if it was appropriate to shake his hand. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

By the time she made it outside, the rain was barely more than a fine mist, blooming around the streetlights like an orb of fire. And though it was cold, Flora appreciated the serenity the outdoors had to offer.

Though far from quiet on a busy Friday night, Main Street buzzed with an energy that seemed comfortable rather than disquieting. Nearly every storefront along the road was alive, patrons milling about bookstores, drinking coffee, and dining in restaurants both fancy and quaint. It was—ironically—peaceful, and Flora found herself guided down the street by an unseen force—an invisible thread that welcomed her into the splendor of a beautiful autumn night in a picturesque college town. 

She figured there was no harm in walking up and down the street, since it was well-lit and well-traveled. As a courtesy, though, she shot a quick text to Muffy before making her way through the first crosswalk. In all likelihood, Muffy wouldn’t even notice the text, and Flora didn’t want it any other way—Muffy was a great friend; she deserved this moment with Cody.

Flora took a deep breath, head tilting back so she could appreciate the stars. Only a few were visible behind the cloud-cover, but she could make out Betelgeuse and what she thought was Cassiopeia, and that was enough to satisfy her curiosity. 

She continued down the sidewalk, glancing in the windows and studying the faces of passersby beside her, some of them bundled in scarves and coats, and others—mostly college-aged boys—dressed in basketball shorts and flip flops. Sometimes, she wished she had their fortitude. Then a forceful gust of wind swept the street, and Flora was grateful again for full-length pants and weather-ready boots. 

The honk of a car tugged Flora’s attention to the street, though there was not more to see then a frustrated motorist lamenting someone’s double-parking job. At least, that was true at first, until Flora’s eyes locked onto a face on the other side of the restaurant window, a Cuban place located between a tailor and a floral shop. 

Seated against the wall was none other than Carter, head nodding in pleasant conversation with the balding man across from him, perhaps a friend or coworker.

Something possessed Flora in that moment. It wasn’t quite a seething rage, but a bitter unease in her stomach that made her face flush and set all her nerve endings on fire. Here was a man who barely said ten words to her during the entire week—with approximately a week left until their piece was to be submitted to the journal and a midterm due date closing in—enjoying a leisurely meal in good company. And she couldn’t explain why, but she crossed the street as fast as she could, jaywalking and fortuitously dodging any passing cars before rapping on the window of the restaurant until Carter looked up and processed that it was her. 

At first, he simply waved, putting on a tight smile. But no, that wasn’t enough. 

She stood there, staring, until he got the hint. 

He laid down his napkin and excused himself, his cohort appearing nonplussed and using it as an excuse to use the restroom, before meeting her outside.

“What’s going on?” was all he said.

Rather than hyperfixate on what seemed to be a dismissive tone of voice, Flora was confronted with the more pressing reality that she had nothing planned to say. She opened and closed her lips but no sound came out.

“Flora?” If the slope of his brows was any indication, he seemed mildly alarmed.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s just—Professor. I… did I do something to upset you?”

He huffed a sound that resembled a laugh, but the way he cast his eyes gave cause for concern. “Well, I was in the middle of dinner with a friend of mine—“

“No—I mean,” Flora trailed off. He waited patiently, jaw set in hard line. “These last few days, I’ve barely heard from you at all. I guess since last Friday, you’ve gone all but radio silent.”

“I’ve been quite busy—“

“So have I!” She said desperately, a levy breaking within her. All at once, her fears and doubts rushed forward, swirling around the both of them in an unstoppable tide. “With your class. And our paper! And I couldn’t even get a word in before you disappeared from the building. What the hell did I do? Please tell me.” The pitch of her voice raised embarrassingly high. “Please.”

Carter dug his hands in his pockets. He still refused to look at her, opting instead to check if his friend had returned to the table. He hadn’t. Not yet.

“Flora,” he began, voice deep and heavy, in a way that made it sound like a loaded word. He waited for a sizable group of students to pass by before he continued. “I’m sorry, but… I realize I misstepped last week. My conduct was unprofessional and the right thing to do is to take a step back.”

Flora blinked. “Unprofessional?”

Carter clenched, then unclenched his jaw. “Taking you to dinner,” he said simply. “It’s not appropriate for someone in my position. I crossed the line, but it won’t happen again.”

She was speechless.

“Going forward, I would like to maintain a more appropriate… uh, relationship. As colleagues. I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t. I don’t understand.”

“Listen, Flora,” he said softly, even tenderly. “I’m sorry. We will keep in touch until the paper is finished, but outside of class, we should keep things strictly professional.”

Flora tried to swallow the lump in her throat, its bitter taste impossible to wash away. And she realized, then, things were about to get a lot uglier if she didn’t walk away. So, without another word, Flora stormed back up the street toward Blue’s, not turning around once to see Carter’s face before he went back inside. 

The walk back to the bar was simultaneously a long slog and a foot race. She felt numb, like all the sensation drained from her face, feet dragging along the pavement.

Flora didn’t know what to do once she found herself standing outside the bar’s entrance, and she wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she left, either. Glancing at her phone, she noticed no reply from Muffy. From the door, she could see the two lovebirds in the thick of an engaging conversation. With that, she found herself falling to the curb and dialing Celia. 

“Hey,” she said shakily, willing the tears in her eyes not to fall. “Sorry, but… do you have a minute?”

Fortunately, Celia did, because it was then that the floodgates crumbled with a broken, wretched sob.

*

She felt guilty, having sucked all of the fun out of the night when Muffy came outside the bar to find her face puffy and her eyes red. 

But Muffy, bless her heart, squeezed Flora tight and paid the fare and tip on the Uber ride home.

In the morning, through crusty, dry eyes, Flora texted about Muffy’s night with Cody, but she could barely keep up with the group chat and soon gave up trying.

*

The next time she saw Carter, he was a few minutes early to class. Though that was more normal for him, he remained distant. He greeted her, sure, but soon busied himself with scribbling notes on the blackboard rather than make conversation.

Admittedly, it hurt. It hurt really bad worse than her breakup with Derek, which was funny, in a cruel, cruel way. 

Derek was dry like sawdust. He was simultaneously a pushover and overbearing to the point of irritation, and he was a terrible kisser. He had some redeeming qualities, too of course. He was studying pre-med and doing pretty damn well, and he played polo like a bona fide trust-fund-baby. But he lacked the creativity and warmth that made Flora’s heart race. And he certainly never made her feel like the world might end if she never saw him again. 

Even when a pile of printed midterm essays appeared in front of her, Flora couldn’t comprehend that she had daydreamed the class away, like perhaps many of the students had. She realized only when the noisy students had filed out, leaving her and Carter behind.

But not for long.

Carter finished erasing the board, then rubbed the chalk dust off his hands. He moved to gather his belongings, creating as much noise as possible in the process. “I’ll let you know when I can meet this week,” he remarked simply before leaving, a modest stack of books and papers in his arms. “Have a good day.”

She sat for a few moments then scooped up the essays and flicked off the lights on her way out.

*

Part of Flora wished he had invited her to some neutral meeting ground—like a library workroom or even the coffee shop again—instead of his office. But why would he? Anywhere besides there required more than the minimum of coordination to organize and risked the visibility of more witnesses. No, his office would have to suffice.

Flora was afraid to knock on the door frame, though she was grateful to find it had been left wide open for her. A forced cough was enough to capture his attention, and he gestured to welcome her inside.

She took her usual spot across from him, the plush cushioned chair shifted slightly farther back than it had been when she used it last. She scooted it back to her preferred spot, even if that meant nudging closer to him, so she wouldn’t have to stretch out her arms too far. Now preoccupied with his computer, Carter didn’t seem to notice.

And though they settled into their routine with a sense of familiarity, there was now a thickness in the air between them—a foreboding that put Flora on edge but that she couldn’t put into words.

Every subtle move Carter made, she found her eyes flicking to watch him, not out of fascination like before but perhaps, this time, caution. 

And every time she looked back to her own notes or laptop screen, she felt the hot press of his inquisitive, dark eyes, staring like she was some kind of dusty artifact he wished to study closer. But, every time she glanced up, he was looking away.

In the quiet that followed, the fear and spite that had pulled her into his office in the first place washed away, and Flora felt a wave of peace settle over her. It was hardly a pardon. Rather, for the moment, it was a truce. Given the relaxed posture that Carter settled into, typing with one hand and leaning back in his chair with one foot resting on his opposite knee, it seemed Carter had come to feel the same way. 

It was in the solemn lull between paragraphs that Flora peeked up, tracing the shape of Carter’s profile like she had too many times before—the lovely curls of his salt-and-pepper hair; his brows, dark and expressive; the bump of his handsome, bony nose, like that of many Greco-Roman heroes of old; his thin but wide mouth; the jut of his distinguished jaw, lightly dusted with stubble he would undoubtedly shave in the morning. 

She wanted to be mad at him, but even she agreed—reluctantly—that what occurred that last Friday was not malicious. It was, she was loath to admit, the opposite.

Carter was a good man.

And so, her attention snapped back to her work and the click-click-clack of their keyboards.

He invited her back the next afternoon, the metaphorical finish line in sight. She politely accepted, but did not overstay her welcome with small talk once they finished for the day.

*

Finally feeling a little more herself, Flora skimmed the group chat for the updates she had missed, then shot off a text to Muffy.

Hey!! Has Cody texted you yet?

It was not long before, Muffy replied.

Hey girlie! I hope ur doing ok! Yes we’ve basically been talking nonstop :)

Flora legitimately smiled. Awww! I’m so happy to hear that.

He’s so sweet flora. Like just looking at him you might not think so but i can tell already he has a big heart.

She didn’t exactly know how to respond, but luckily Muffy continued with an attached photo.

Thats a pendant he’s working on for his mom’s birthday.

It was sweet, yes, but also impressive. Even without technical knowledge, Flora could appreciate the neatness and detail of his work. Cody was definitely talented.

Whoa! Then, playing into her friend’s excitement, she added gleefully, Maybe he will make your wedding ring someday ;)

Muffy replied, NOW YOU UNDERSTAND ♡

Yes, maybe Flora did. It was fun to dream about fairytale love, and even more fun to hype up her best friend. 

Muffy was one of the nicest people Flora ever met. She was also pretty, funny, and outgoing, so it always struck Flora as surprising that she was so unlucky in love.

But, she had a good feeling about Cody. 

Just make me a bridesmaid!!

Duhhh u will be my maid of honor! :)

Flora set down her phone for the moment, but she couldn’t stop smiling on Muffy’s behalf.

*

The next morning came with an unexpected chill, but Flora had overslept and didn’t check the weather until she was standing at the bus stop and cursing under her breath at her phone. 

She had, inexplicably, picked out another skirt to wear that day, but didn’t realize until it was too late to change. It was heavier than a wispy chiffon and slightly more structured, but still lacked the coziness of a tightly woven tweed, and Flora’s lack of stockings beneath certainly didn’t help. At least she had had the foresight to pick out a sweater, something hearty and cable knit, once she finally cracked into her fall wardrobe. And her camel trench coat layered on top, which Samantha assured her looked super classy and elegant when she urged her to buy it on-sale at the outlet mall, provided a tiny cushion from the crispness of the air.

Once she reached Baumgarten Hall, though, the climate inside was perfectly tolerable. And it helped that Carter welcomed her with slightly more warmth than the previous day—the flash of a smile before he returned to his desk.

Realistically, that day should have been the final day they needed for their article. As it was, they already devoted far more time than most other tenured professors working at moderately-selective private universities, but Carter hoped for a sabbatical soon, and he wanted to impress his department chair. Or, at least, that’s what he had told her right at the beginning of this process, a few weeks ago, when Carter prepared her for the worst. Little did he know at the time that the research and editing wasn’t even half of it.

Still, much like the tail end of the previous day, Thursday morning bled into Thursday afternoon with nary a complication, though a few of Carter’s colleagues poked their heads in and made jokes that did nothing to steer him away from relentless professionalism. 

In fact, both of them were so focused on completing their article that they missed multiple warnings about an impending snow, first about the flurries dusting the lawn outside and then about the blanket of white that settled over just about everything by just shy of three o’clock.

“Shit,” Carter remarked, leaning back far enough to see out the window. It looked as if a light box had been pressed right against the panes. He made his way to the window, only confirming the unfortunate truth that it was snowing, and snowing hard.

“What?” Flora said, though as soon as the word left her lips, her brain put the pieces together. 

“We should go home.” He began to pack up his belongings, stacking them rather haphazardly before slinging on his coat. “Our homes,” he clarified, for some reason.

Flora agreed, following suit.

On their way out of the building, which by that time had fewer signs of life than the snow-covered campus, they exchanged no more words between them. But once outside, once Carter took his first few steps toward the staff parking lot to the left of Baumgarten Hall, and once Flora took her first few steps down the slushy sidewalk, Carter called out for her suddenly. 

His cheeks were red, brows pinched in concern. “You can’t—gah—you can’t wait for the bus like that.” 

Flora stopped, glancing down at her bare legs. At that moment, a particularly blistering gust of wind sent snow whipping into her skin, and she curled her arms around herself in a fruitless grab for warmth. Her teeth actually chattered. 

“Let me… uh, I’ll drive you home,” he offered quickly. “Drop you off on my way.”

Under these exceptional circumstances, any normal person would have said yes. And Flora certainly favored herself to be quite pragmatic. 

So, she swallowed the last of her pride and walked alongside him to his car.

*

The drive was harrowing to say the least. 

There were a few stubborn commuters who stayed out just a bit too late after the snowfall started, and it made for a tense crawl home in traffic, no one creeping above 30 miles per hour lest their car skid and spin out. 

Carter stayed surprisingly cool through the chaos, though Flora couldn’t help but notice the way he white-knuckled the steering wheel the whole ride back to her place. And that was no small feat, as what was at most a 10-minute drive had been more than quintupled.

In that time, the storm only intensified. Visibility was impossible through the sheets of falling snow, and the winds had picked up significantly, pelting cars and buildings with shards of ice.

It was for that reason that, as Carter pulled up to what he thought was the curb in front of her building—snow crunching under his tires—Flora blurted out, “You can’t drive home in this.”

He furrowed his brows, not taking a moment to entertain that comment. “I’ll be fine.”

But, she persisted. “It’s too dangerous. As it is, we already had at least a handful of near-misses.”

Before Carter could protest, Flora simply said, “Please. You can sleep on my couch.” Though perhaps a posthumous publication gave them the best chance of an acceptance to the journal, she really couldn’t have her dead professor on her conscience.

He grunted something under his breath, shoving open the car door before trudging around to the trunk. 

Flora followed, still unsure what he said. “Professor?”

Carter dragged out what appeared to be a duffle bag before slamming the trunk shut. “I can’t sleep in this.” He gestured to his clothes. “I’ve got to have something in my gym bag.”

“Oh. OK,” she conceded. 

She led him up the front steps, now heavily dusted with ice melt, hardly believing what had just transpired. 

Her friends would be squealing at the impropriety of it all. 

Once inside, the march up to her door was uneasy. Somehow, it took longer to ascend the stairs than it did when lugging two or three bags of groceries—canvas bags digging into her shoulders and threatening to burst at the seams. And it didn’t help that she felt Carter’s presence in her shadow—at a respectable distance, of course, and perhaps more like a man being led to the gallows. In the back of her mind Flora mused that it would have been even worse if her old building had an elevator, for them to be further confined in such close proximity.

The apartment was small, but it would be just big enough for the two of them to find space during their unplanned overnight visit.

Flora got right to pulling out fresh sheets and a pillow for Carter to borrow, setting them down in a pile on the leather pouf under the window. In the meantime, Carter stood in the center of the living space like a cactus, rigid and prickly. 

“Are you OK?” Flora asked. She knew the situation was far from ideal, but Carter seemed pretty put-out. Prior to last Friday, he seemed the spontaneous type. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, then shouldered his bag once more. “Is it alright if I use your washing machine? It would help to have fresh clothes for tomorrow.”

“Of course. But, they’re in the basement. I can show you there in a second.”

“And where is the bathroom?” 

It was very gracious for him to ask since there were only a handful of doors in the whole apartment. 

In a few minutes’ time, Carter emerged dressed like she had never seen him: black sweatpants and a college crew neck, hair tousled and glasses askew from taking his shirt off and on.

He looked cute, but for both their sakes, she tried not to dwell on the sight for too long.

“Let’s go,” she said, leading him out the door with a bottle of detergent in hand.

*

The basement was exactly what one would expect from an old building: renovated only once in the last fifty years to update the lighting—installing ghastly fluorescents—and to slap on a layer of paint—a drab sea-foam that showed off every ding and scratch the drywall had sustained over the years. There were some leaky pipes and suspicious odors, too, which were probably deemed too cost-prohibitive for management to tackle. As it was, only three-quarters of the washers and dryers in the basement actually worked, so the landlord couldn’t pretend to care about frivolous aesthetics.

There were, at least, a few benches and tables downstairs, as well as an old TV and a radio, both of the latter likely dragged in by a resident who couldn’t stand to stare at the wall any longer while he waited for his laundry to finish. And so, the two of them had plenty of room to spread out and no excuses not to.

Flora took a seat by the TV, flipping it on to find the reception was fuzzy and it only had the basic channels. Meanwhile, Carter began to load the machine.

“Damn it,” he huffed. 

It was audible enough that Flora turned her head. “Something wrong?”

Carter slapped his palm on the top of the machine. “I’m one quarter short.”

Flora wasn’t the type to carry spare change, but she did know about the secret aluminum can stashed behind the last washer on the left. There was an unstated understanding amongst the residents that the jar was a last ditch resort—only to be used in good faith and only on the understanding that its latest user would deposit a few extra coins of his own in the not too distant future for the next person.

Plucking the vessel from its hiding spot, Flora discovered not more than a single quarter stowed inside. She shook it out into her palm.

“Here you go.”

As she dropped the coin into Carter’s open hand, she noticed an inscrutable expression on his face but returned to her spot by the TV rather than draw attention to it. 

Carter was her reluctant companion. There was no sense torturing the man.

Sitting on the farthest possible bench from her and hiking up his leg to tie his shoe, Carter asked, “How long is the wash cycle?”

“Just over 30 minutes. We can go back upstairs if you want.”

He shook his head, and she couldn’t blame him. Whether they waited in her apartment or where they were, it would be just as awkward.

What Carter didn’t account for was the presence of any other residents joining them. One of Flora’s neighbors from the first floor, a sweet old woman named Nina, hobbled purposefully into the basement with an empty laundry basket bracketed against her hip. 

“Oh, hello, Flora!” Nina waved, approaching one of the dryers. 

“Hello,” she replied in her most cloying tone of voice, overcorrecting for the deep discomfort that she felt now that she and Carter had an audience for their unplanned rendezvous. 

Nina extracted her load of white laundry and deposited the basket on one of the tables. As she began to fold its contents—socks, t-shirts, sheets—she piped up. “Who is this nice young man?”

Nina didn’t mean to be a nosy neighbor, but she couldn’t help but be observant. She and her husband took many leisurely walks around the building when the weather got too cold to go outside, so she had come to know of everyone who lived there. 

Both Carter and Flora’s heads snapped up, mirrored looks of abject horror on their faces, but for only a split second so as not to offend. Nina’s poor eyesight ensured their success.

“This is—uh—one of my colleagues from the university. We work together.” Flora admitted. And thought it was completely true, the words felt strange on her tongue. They no doubt sounded stranger.

“Carter,” he introduced himself. 

Nina clicked her teeth, but nodded nonetheless as she tucked a folded pillow case into the bottom of her basket. “That’s nice. It’s a good thing you’re safe in here and not out there in the storm. It’s no fun to be stranded without a companion.”

“Yes,” Carter replied, clipped but polite.

“My name is Nina. My husband Galen and I are up in unit 1-H if you ever need anything.”

Flora’s face was on fire. If Carter was just visiting, he definitely didn’t need a neighborly invitation from Nina to borrow eggs or sugar. 

“Thank you, miss.” Carter said, turning to face the TV.

“Do you study anthropology, too?”

“Uh—archaeology.” Carter corrected with a pained smile. 

“That’s right, that’s right,” Nina mused. “Are you one of those PhD candidates I hear about in the paper all the time?”

“No, miss. I…” Carter trailed off, presumably searching for the most diplomatic way to explain that he was boarding with his teaching assistant for the night, and no, it wasn’t inappropriate. “I teach there.”

“I see.” Fortunately, there seemed not to be any judgment in Nina’s tone. “When I was Flora’s age, girls only went to college to find a husband, but I always got the impression the best professors were the ones who weren’t so… anti-social. They made friends with everyone, you see.”

“Of course.”

Nina hummed quietly to herself, perhaps finally satisfied with her gentle inquisition. “Would you turn up the television, dear?”

“Of course,” Carter repeated, stretching over so he could reach the remote.

Flora had long since ducked out of the conservation hoping that she would fade into the metaphorical wallpaper if she stayed quiet enough. But, as Nina later made her way out, full basket in hand, she paused to whisper something to Flora.

She gestured at Carter, who remained exceptionally focused on the drawstring of his sweatpants and definitely not the comment Nina was about to make. “He watches you just like my Galen did when we were young.” With a nudge and a smile, Nina proceeded on her way.

For the remaining wash cycle and the entire duration of the dry cycle, Flora could be certain Carter kept his eyes to himself. 

*

“I can make us something to eat,” Flora announced from the kitchen. She wasn’t used to cooking for anyone but herself, but she certainly couldn’t let him starve. And she had the home field advantage, so although she wasn’t planning to entertain a guest, she didn’t feel out of place like he must have.

Carter had taken to the couch with his small pile of clothes, folding the outfit he had worn just two hours before. He tucked it into his duffle bag and wedged it against the wall and end table so it would be out of the way of foot traffic. “Sure,” he said. 

Flora began to rifle through the cabinets for anything that somewhat resembled food. She settled on roasted chickpeas and spaghetti, something she could whip together quickly and with very little room for error.

“If you want, you can watch something. I’m subscribed to a few of the streaming services.”

“OK. Sure,” Carter said. 

He eventually settled on some app that played live news that Flora didn’t even know she had installed, but it made for pleasant background noise as she got to work on dinner.

The coffee table was really the only surface to eat on in the whole apartment—something which would have embarrassed Flora if she was still trying to impress Carter—

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t stopped mulling over Nina’s parting words, wondering if he really was staring at her like some kind of lovesick puppy. It didn’t help her internal monologue that he was exceptionally handsome and stuck in her apartment for the night—

So she tried to play it cool. 

“I know tables and chairs are hard to come by out in the field,” she began, sitting down with her plate and crossing her legs. Carter followed suit. “So, you can see I’ve been practicing.”

Carter made a sound that may have indicated amusement, but quickly caught himself by taking a sip of water. “Thank you for cooking and for giving me safe lodgings,” he said perfunctorily. His words were gracious, but his tone was strictly businesslike.

“Sure,” Flora replied, eyes silently tracing the creases at his brows as he stared down at his plate. He seemed more harried than usual, though she could certainly understand why.

After the meal, Carter volunteered to wash the dishes, but since he didn’t know where to return them in the cabinets, Flora offered to tag-team, dish towel in hand. 

No words were exchanged during the process, but Flora shifted the brain power normally allotted to conversation to kinesthetic awareness instead, paying careful attention not to make contact with his skin as he passed off the wet bowls and cups. 

Before long, everything was clean and put away, and the rest of the night was spent trying not to sit too close to Carter on the couch. 

*

Though she typically fell right to sleep most nights, Flora laid awake for a long time in disbelief that on the other side of the wall, Carter was stretched out on her couch. Part of her wondered if he was as preoccupied with their unlikely circumstances as she was. 

Indeed, he had kept his distance earlier—both physically and emotionally, having offered no commentary on the news or conversation afterward. During his lectures, he earnestly espoused his views and fielded critique from his students with aptitude and excitement, never fear.

Before bed, he had been well mannered in bidding her good night, but not friendly, face tight and expressionless. 

*

Flora wasn't sure what time it was when she blinked awake, taken with the sudden urge to use the restroom. 

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she slid on her slippers and meandered out into the hallway. In the fog of sleep, she had temporarily forgotten that Carter was a sleeping houseguest, but she was quickly reminded when she heard a husky voice coming from the corner of the living room.

"Flora?"

The apartment was still pitch black, and the noise spooked her at first. There was an alluring quality to the sound, one she had never heard from him before. A gruffness, from sleep. If she had been more awake, it was the kind that might have made her hot under the collar, imagining what it might sound like pressed to the hollow of her ear. 

"Yes, professor?"

"Power's out."

Impulsively, Flora reached for the light switch inside the bathroom door. It didn't work. And then, another realization hit: the apartment was colder than it should have been.

"The radiator doesn't work when there's no power. Do you need any more blankets?"

"No, no. Thank you, though."

"It's not keeping you up, is it—the cold?"

"Really, I'm fine," Carter said. "I'm usually up in the middle of the night for a while. It's just the way I've always been."

Actually, that did ring a bell. Weeks ago, Carter had mentioned something about his habit of biphasic sleep during one of his lectures, leading to shouts of disbelief from his sleep-deprived college students when he claimed it was exceptionally normal before the advent of electricity. 

Flora nodded before making her way into the kitchen. "Let me get you a flashlight or something."

Miraculously, the old lantern she found under the counter had a working battery, and it bloomed with a warm glow when Flora turned the knob on its base. 

"This good?" she asked, setting it on the coffee table.

"Yes, thank you." 

After Flora returned from the bathroom, she noticed that Carter had set about studying her bookshelves. There were some silly romance novels here and there, but most of them consisted of her old college textbooks that she opted to buy (used) for posterity, rather than rent. That, and some board games and other knickknacks. The high fantasy and poetry books she read sat on the small shelf in her bedroom, so Carter was only getting half of the full picture of what Flora enjoyed reading in her free time.

But it didn't matter, as he ended up plucking a pack of playing cards instead. "Did I ever tell you? I can make a mean house of cards," Carter said. Without her glasses, Flora couldn't make it out, but she was sure she heard a smile in his voice.

The unexpectedness of it all made her laugh. "No." She watched as he sat cross-legged under the lantern's light before extracting the deck from its case. "How does one come to possess such a skill?"

Carter quickly got to work. "My first real expedition, I was out by myself in the jungle, and I needed a way to pass the time."

"This was before your doctorate?"

He hummed an affirmation, eyes focused on setting up the cards. "Yes, and overall, it was a miserable failure. I even questioned my career path—I thought I should quit it all and become an actuary."

Flora wasn't sure if she should join him on the floor, but she figured that if he wasn't currently standoffish, he probably wouldn't mind the company. He didn't protest when she knelt across the table from him.

"I hear they make a lot of money."

"Yes, but they sell their souls," Carter teased, setting another card in place.

Flora was entranced by the ease with which he worked. He was already finished with the second level, which seemed to have plenty of structural integrity. "I'm starting to think you may have done something like that here. A deal with the devil."

"Not for this talent," he assured with a smile. "No, like I said, this was all the product of boredom.”

"How long were you out there?"

"Just under four months. I never caught malaria, so there was nothing else exciting to occupy myself besides stuff like this. That, and I guess my excavation," he finished sheepishly. “Though, it doesn’t compare to your adventures in cuneiform.”

Flora blinked, surprised. Had he really remembered that silly story? The notion made her blush. 

“One summer?” He continued, thoughtfully pressing the corner of one of the cards to his lip. “That’s impressive.”

It wasn’t the first time he had complimented her hard work—far from it. For one thing, it had hardly been a few days since she overheard his phone call with Professor Rooney, but this was the first time since their chat on Main Street left Flora in disarray. 

Had they turned a page?

"Can I ask you something?" she said, confidence bursting by the possibility.

He set the next card, carefully drawing back his hand and picking up another two. "Sure."

"Do you miss field work? Maybe not in the jungle, but somewhere else."

His hand twitched suddenly, sending the house of cards tumbling down. For reasons unknown to her, Flora was struck with guilt.

"Sorry!" 

Carter glanced at her cautiously, eyes peering over the rim of his glasses. "It's… fine."

So much for the ice thawing between them.

"No, er—“ he continued. His hand was now splayed atop the fallen cards, fingers parted to reveal a red ace, though Flora could not tell if it was a heart or diamond. "Actually, I have." There was something soft about his voice.

"Yeah? You'd ditch the teaching life? The—the prestige of it all?" Flora was half-joking, but felt like she was wading into somewhere dangerous.

She watched as he collected the cards into a neat stack before slipping them back into their tattered box. 

"It was one of the things I talked to Rooney about,” he said. “And the man you saw me dining with, too. I used to work with him."

A brutal chill struck Flora, followed by a wave of embarrassment. She had been, that night on Main Street, a little melodramatic. 

Carter trudged forward. "Cal Parikh. He accidentally invented some new kind of adhesive. Turns out it has some useful medical applications, and is starting to replace traditional stitches in some contexts. He sold the patent to a pharma company for some unfathomable sum and retired from the University a few years back."

"Did you pioneer some… new technology?"

It was the type of comment that might have, in the past, evoked a chuckle from Carter. Yet he was somber. 

"No.” He blinked a few times, gathering his thoughts. The next statement seemed like a nonsequitor:“Have you ever read Monica Tellerman?"

She had… and the bookshelf in her childhood bedroom showed the hard proof.

Tellerman was a popular fiction author with a penchant for writing about prehistoric mysteries and she, as Carter would share, had recently passed away. Her estate had established a fund to disburse royalties to eligible scholars 'in perpetuity, in pursuit of ancient truths.' It was a lofty mission, Carter's best chance of returning to the field, and an unbeatable prospect if one could stomach the detractors who lobbed critiques of “selling out.”

Still, the possibility frightened Flora. If he took the opportunity, she might never see him again. She straightened her spine, then flexed her fingers nervously. "Did you… apply for the grant?" 

Their eyes met in the glimmer of the lantern’s light, before he ducked his head, thick brows casting a shadow on his face. There was something unusually timid about him, something Flora had seldom seen. Truly, it wasn’t until the last week or so that his impeccable facade had changed—not for the worse, but into something more human. Here, he was vulnerable, hesitant. He was clearly deep in thought, unseen cogs whirring in his mind. 

After a weighty pause, he said, “Should I?"

Flora would not have the chance to answer. When the hall light flashed on suddenly, it was like the divine closing of a book, a chapter that could never be revised. With the renewed buzz of the radiator and any other appliances that had been left on at bedtime, it felt fitting that the question would be lost to time. 

Seizing the opportunity, Flora excused herself to bed. As selfish as it sounded, it would be too painful to contemplate such a reality without him. 

Carter didn’t push. 

*

After the snowfall, the sky was a soft, matte gray, yet luminous to a degree that left Flora bleary-eyed when she woke in the morning. Only a breath passed before she remembered Carter’s presence next door, and a second before their nighttime conversation flooded back to her. 

He may have been her unwilling houseguest, but he was the one who had Flora in a chokehold. She was afraid to face him, should he pose any more impossible questions. Worse than that, she recognized how pathetic it was to hold him hostage to such a thing. If he wanted to leave Forget-Me-Not University, it was his right. And certainly, it was something he had already considered, or he wouldn’t have floated it by Rooney or Parikh. 

But he asked her. Why would he ask her, too?

Through the adjoining wall, the pipes roared with water. Carter must have taken it upon himself to hop in the shower. If she wasn’t so down in the dumps, the concept of her naked professor in such close proximity would have made her head explode. 

(Muffy’s too, if she ever found out.)

The thought reminded Flora to check her phone, something she hadn’t done in over twelve hours. It was not unlike her to put it aside for so long, but she had never had such a compelling reason. 

Everyone in the group chat was sounding off about their blizzard ordeal, with Chris lamenting that Wally woke before dawn to shovel the driveway outside her parents’ place and still opted for an hour workout in their garage. Samantha reminded her that she wanted a hot, muscular gym rat, and Muffy sprinkled heart emojis like confetti until Chris sent a voice memo of a sad, pitiful groan.

You alright Flora? Celia asked. 

Yeah, you didn’t freeze did you? Samantha added. 

Flora sat up against the headboard. She should say something. She should. About what, she wasn’t sure. 

A fresh cup of coffee might do the trick. For mental clarity, she thought. 

On the sofa, Carter’s blanket was folded neatly atop the pillow, whose case had been stripped along with the last night’s sheets. The zipper of his gym bag was open; he must have brought his change of clothes into the bathroom. 

Flora started the kettle for a few pour-overs only to find a mug had been laid for her on the island, grounds and filter ready for a second pass. Another mug, which Carter seemingly used earlier, was turned over on the drying rack beside the sink. 

Was he really so eager to leave? Flora guessed she couldn’t blame him. 

There were no cleaned plates or utensils, and no missing fruit in the bowl, so Carter must not have taken anything for breakfast. It would be rude to send him along without a meal, so she popped a few freezer bagels in the toaster and rummaged around the fridge for cream cheese and jam.

The creak of the bathroom door startled Flora, but she composed herself behind her coffee cup as Carter stepped into the living room, hair damp and skin smelling fresh. He used her fruity soap and shampoo, a concept that was almost too charming to bear.

“Good morning,” he said simply. Something about Carter looked too big for the space. His shoulders were scrunched up like he couldn’t wait to flee if afforded the chance, 

“Morning. I made you a little something,” she said, gesturing to his plate on the coffee table. 

“Thank you.”

“There’s more coffee if you want some. The kettle should still be hot.”

He nodded fiercely. “Great, great.” 

She watched as he flitted about the kitchen like he was afraid to break something. When he joined her at the table on the floor, he crossed his legs like someone who’d never done it before. Like a fawn discovering its footing. 

They hadn’t slept together—hadn’t even come close —so why did everything feel so awkward?

“You’re eating your bagel dry?” Flora asked in disbelief. The fixings, which Flora had set out each with their own utensils, had been left untouched as he took his first bite. 

Carter wiped his mouth with a napkin before taking a sip of coffee and dabbing his lips again. “Frankly, I just need something in my stomach.” 

Flora shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He inhaled his next bite. “Did you sleep OK?” She almost mentioned the power outage, but stopped herself in case it sparked any other talking points from last night. 

“Yes, very much.”

Flora glanced at the couch behind her, and noted mentally that that was hard to fathom. Whenever she fell asleep on that thing, she woke up with a crick in her neck or back so bad, it ached for days and could only be smoothed out with a hot iron. But, to each his own. 

“I didn’t look outside,” she admitted casually. “How much did it snow?”

Carter hummed around the rim of his mug. “At least a foot. But your super’s got it under control.” That was hardly surprising, as Mr. Takakura was pragmatic enough for half the town. “They’ve even shoveled out my car. And the roads got at least one pass of the plow.”

Ah , so that’s why he’s so frantic to leave: he can. A cynical part of Flora wondered if he would have snuck out if she hadn’t woken up in time, just to drive home the one-night-stand of it all. But perhaps she was just being unfair. 

Before long, Carter was on his feet, running hot water on his plate in the kitchen. 

“I can handle that,” she said, “if you’d like to get out of here.” A sappy part inside of her whispered, please don’t go . She shut down that traitorous knave by zipping her lips and joining him at the sink with her own dishes. 

Standing side by side between the counter and island cart, Flora was keenly aware just how small her kitchen was for two. It didn’t help that he looked broad-shouldered and handsome in yesterday’s button-up, laundered but wrinkled from the wash. She was still in her pajamas and hadn’t brushed her teeth, but weirdly, the realization didn’t cross her mind. There was a thickness in the air that preoccupied her. And for the first time since he emerged from the shower, Carter seemed willing to savor the quiet, too. 

It didn’t last. It was her fault, though, as she tugged the plate from his soapy grip. 

“Really, I got it.” 

Just like that, the spell was broken. 

“OK, sure. Yeah.” Carter snuck out around the island and made a beeline for his bag. 

It felt rude not to see him out, so together they descended the stairs and exited the lobby. Salt crunched under their shoes as they stepped out onto the front stoop, and delicate crystals of snow tickled their skin, carried by a soft breeze. 

“Thank you again, Flora.” It seemed genuine despite his rush to leave. “You saved my hide last night.”

Flora blinked, brushing aside a strand of hair that got caught on her eyelash thanks to the wind. “Happy to help.” 

That much was true, at least. She might be racked by an indescribable bitterness at the impossibility of her greatest hopes and dreams, but she couldn’t bear the thought of his frostbitten corpse in a snowbank somewhere. Something had to give somewhere.

“I’ll send you the—the thing!” He said inelegantly. “The final draft. If you have any more notes before I send it off.”

It’s funny how that whole thing—their weeks of labor—seemed so far away all of a sudden. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

Now, why did that make her even sadder than the notion of Carter leaving the university? And that they didn’t even celebrate, or savor it. And now he was leaving, bag slung over his shoulder like a transient worker about to board a train, stoic like he was going away for a long, long time. She wasn’t ready to see him go. 

As he proceeded to his car, Flora caught a blur of red coming up the path to her building, swerving around Carter, but not before slowing down to take a good look at him. 

It was Muffy, bundled in her coat and scarf, mouth and eyes gaping in utter stupefaction. Flora’s stomach sank. 

As Carter’s car pulled away from the curb, Muffy was stomping up the steps and gesticulating wildly. 

“You! Oh my god, Flora, what the fuck ?” Her voice was dripping with mirth. “That’s Hot Professor!”

“Muffy, wait.”

Muffy’s mittenedhands moved to Flora’s face. “Let me see your after-sex glow.”

Flora shook her head, stepping back. Her skin was burning up. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m heading to work, and you stopped replying to our texts,” she said matter-of-factly. “What is he doing here, huh? That’s a better question.” Muffy’s eyes positively sparkled with mischief. 

“They’re open on a day like this?” It was futile to try to steer the conversation away, but she had to try. 

Muffy was too smart for that. “The roads aren’t that bad now. Though I take it he’d still be inside if they were.”

Ignoring the waggle of Muffy’s brow, Flora took right to defending herself. “It’s not like that, OK? We didn’t—nothing happened!” 

“Yeah, sure, no. My professors stop over all the time. And I spend time with them in my PJs!”

“Muffy, he stayed over—“

“—He stayed over ?—“

“—Because of the blizzard, OK!”

“Flora!” Muffy said, her voice dulling to a whisper. It was not that she tried to spare Flora’s reputation, but rather, for dramatic effect. “He’s been here since last night?”

“Well, yeah! We were working on campus, and then it started snowing, and I didn’t want him to die in a car crash! OK, Muffy? Is that not a good enough reason?” 

Flora knew she sounded desperate, but Muffy was a good friend. 

“You mean nothing happened? Really?”

“No! He slept on my couch. That’s all.”

Muffy shuffled back on her heels, disappointed on Flora’s behalf. “Well, that sucks. Having seen him in person now—“ she paused, scratching her chin. “I totally get the hype.”

Flora laughed despite herself. “What hype?”

“He’s obviously hot!” Muffy said. “And smart. And established!“

Hot? Yes, but Flora didn’t have to dwell on that. Smart? Obviously. Established? In light of last night’s conversation about field work, Flora was not sure how to answer that one. 

Muffy stared at her expectantly. “You’re allowed to like him!”

If she could see herself in that moment, Flora would know she had the doleful eyes of a deer in headlights. Strange that five simple words could have such an effect. “I—I know.” 

But Flora caught herself before her fantasies ran away on her. “But it doesn’t really matter, ultimately! Because he clearly doesn’t see me like that.”

“Oh, yeah? Clearly? Come on, Flora.”

Flora crossed her arms. “I’m serious. He was super uncomfortable all night, and why wouldn’t he be? We work together.”

“It’s funny that you think he’s uncomfortable because he doesn’t like you, and not because he’s crazy about you.”

Huh. Well that’s an interesting thought. 

“Anyway,” Muffy said, throwing up her hands before going in for a hug. “I gotta get to the shop. Glad you’re okay.”

Despite Muffy’s inopportune arrival, Flora was truly grateful to have a friend like her. She didn’t have to go out of her way for Flora, but she did, and without complaint. 

“Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course. And keep me updated on Hot Professor.” Muffy began to descend the path, but stopped before she reached the street. “My guess?” She called out, hand cupped next to her mouth to amplify the sound. “Now that he’s got a taste of you, he won’t be able to stay gone for long!”

Flora winced but smiled. “Yeah, thanks. Thanks for that.”

“Love you!” Muffy waved. 

When Flora stepped back into the lobby, her head was positively spinning. 

*

It was 2 o’clock in the morning when the email arrived from Carter. She didn’t see it until the morning, but in light of the night before, it was no surprise that Carter was quite the night owl. 

What she didn’t anticipate was just how sick the message would make her feel. 

Flora closed her laptop and laid her head down against it with a sigh. 

She would check the document after she made some progress on her grad school work and get back to him before Monday. 

*

On Sunday night, after 8 o’clock, Flora sent off her reply, though not before weighing the pros and cons of never hitting send. 

*

Tuesday’s lecture was about the works of a controversial archaeologist, someone the students were assigned to read following their previous paper. The piece was entertaining, surely—which is why Carter broke up the monotony of the syllabus with something that might get the class discussion flowing—but Carter loathed the man, and pulled no punches when some students offered their ill-informed defenses of him. 

And Carter was never rude in his replies, just passionate. It was spellbinding—the ardent defense of his professional philosophies—so much so that Flora almost forgot that Carter was actually a few minutes late that day. It was only after class, when all the students filed out, that she caught him. 

“Was everything OK this morning, Professor?” She asked, not judgmental, but genuinely curious. “Tardiness is not like you.”

He laughed to himself in a way that made her cock her head. An apprehensive sound. Maybe there was cause to worry. 

“I guess you could say it was a kind of experiment.”

“Experiment? How do you mean?”

Carter leaned against the lectern, hands splayed across the notes he had not yet filed back into his leather-bound folder. She couldn’t help but notice the way he fiddled with the corners of one of the sheets, a piece of legal-sized paper on which he planned out the gist of his lesson. 

“I don’t want to show you,” he began, turning out his leg and patting his knee. “But I tripped on the way to my car this morning. Going down the driveway I’ve walked every day for close to six years.”

Flora flinched in sympathy. “I hope it’s not bad, is it?”

“No,” he said with a crooked smile. “A few scrapes I washed out with hydrogen peroxide. But—“ 

It was a long time before he spoke again. 

“This is going to sound crazy.”

Flora let out a huff of amusement. 

“I mean it. I—I’ve been aloof. To you, I know.”

She nodded, not sure where he was going with this, and frankly surprised to hear such an admission. She was beginning to fear she was only imagining his detachment. 

“Ever since that night on Main Street, yes—but before that. After the Scarlet Lotus.

“I was worried about professional boundaries. And in light of what happened during the blizzard—well, we both know some lines have been crossed.”

Flora almost interjected with something defensive, but the uneasy whimsy with which he spoke was too fascinating to interrupt. 

“But since that night at the restaurant, I—I think,” he shook his head modestly. “I think I’ve been the victim of some kind of karmic retribution.”

“From me?” She asked, voice quiet. 

“No! No! It’s—of course not. It’s my—I know it’s odd, but I think it’s a message from my ancestors.”

It wasn’t so strange for him to go down this line of reasoning. At the Scarlet Lotus, he had said something almost exactly the same about spiritual intervention.  

“What kind of ‘retribution’ are they… putting you through?”

Carter leaned his chin in his hand. “Ever since I put this distance between you and me, I’ve been hit with these little signs, again and again, telling me that I made a mistake.”

“What kinds of ‘signs?’”

He tipped his head back and gazed up, as if sifting through a mental rolodex of some sort. “Fender benders, puddles, bumps on the head. Scrapes,” he said, pointing to his knee. “But, every time I allowed myself to get close to you, everything—everything was harmonious again.”

Flora felt something akin to lightheadedness, so she propped herself against the chalkboard so as not to pass out. 

“The—the washing machine, for example! The coins, just the right amount of change was waiting for us in there. Exactly one quarter.”

Flora shrugged. “I don’t know. We were just lucky. I mean, that’s what that cup is for.”

“And the lights came on, the power, after I allowed myself to have an honest conversation with you.”

Her face was on fire. “That could have happened at any point. I’m sure the power company anticipated outages—“

“Flora,” he said obstinately, capturing her focus. “The scrapes, the bruises, the—the hang nails for God’s sake—they all disappeared the next morning. Every last one.”

“W-what?”

“Like I said, it’s crazy. It’s—“ 

He didn’t say anything more after trailing off, affording her a chance to parse out some meaning from an otherwise unbelievable tangent. 

In hindsight, the change at the laundromat was strange. It was also farfetched for a snowstorm to catch two highly educated academics off guard the way it did. And not that he heard it, but Nina’s comments in the basement and the unwavering support of Muffy and the others—it all felt like multiple tracks converging on one inevitable stop.

Carter had once said he wasn’t superstitious; Flora believed the same thing about herself. She was a healthy skeptic, and the notion of long-dead relatives meddling in the present was beyond unfeasible. If she had died and could somehow communicate with the living, would she really care what her great-great-great-great-grandchild was up to, enough to actively interfere in the form of small inconveniences that could be easily mistaken for something else? It simply made no sense.

Yet, the grave air around Carter was all she needed. If she didn’t believe him, she could certainly humor him. And if he was right about the afterlife, she would hate to be so confidently wrong.

Dragging her teeth over her bottom lip pensively, she asked, “Are you—are you going to apply for that grant?”

Carter’s breath was slow and labored, but something about his expression suggested surprise. He came around the lectern, leaving no obstacle between them. 

“I—“ he paused, arranging his words carefully. “I already did, yes. I’m sorry.”

Even though the question was hers, Flora wasn’t ready to hear the answer. She turned away, lip quivering and eyes welling up. 

He reached out, his palm a solid weight, warm and steady, on her forearm. If she wanted, she could have shaken him off, but…

“Flora! Wait.” 

Maybe she needed to hear this. 

Carter mussed a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses. 

There was more than a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw—he was never so scruffy. There was also a snag on his sweater that he clearly tried to smooth over to no avail. Carter was the type who’d take his clothing for dry cleaning and mending, but he clearly hadn’t the time. 

“I sent the application to Tellerman’s estate late on Saturday, and I’ve already received a response. Nothing is finalized, but the woman I spoke with was extremely enthusiastic to have me. Especially in light of our manuscript.”

Oh great. Flora couldn’t help but feel she signed her own death certificate here. 

“It’s unpublished, sure, but it’s damn good, and it won’t be long until it’s in the pages of Rao-Perez. At least as far as these things go.”

Maybe that was his way of trying to make her feel better. 

“But, Flora, I just couldn’t—everything was telling me I was just delaying the best course of action. My destiny is the field.”

Flora wasn’t surprised by that admission, not nearly as much as she was to see the heart-wrenching expression of guilt, sadness—or something else—across Carter’s features. 

“I’m glad for you,” she lied. “Really. This is a great opportunity.”

“No, no. Let me—I need to make myself clear.”

After a short pause and a deep breath, Carter began to explain himself. “The night of the blizzard, I asked for a sign that I was doing the right thing—putting the University behind me. And it’s not that I don’t love my position here, or teaching, or research—it’s just. There are complications with my job, my title.   

“But as I closed my eyes for bed, I meditated. I saw myself sitting by a waterfall, a long river, and this great sense of peace just washed over me. I must have drifted off to sleep, only to wake up a few hours later to discover the blackout. Mixed messages, that’s all I could think. But, then you woke up. And you sat with me. And we had an honest conversation—the first since the Scarlet Lotus. And we talked about the field, the Tellerman grant. And the lights came on, and it’s wild, but I just knew.”

“What does all of this have to do with your little misfortunes?”

Carter blinked. “Everything. I needed to know I was wrong to cut you out. But if I go back to the field, I can—“

Softly, incredulously, Flora asked, “How am I the sign you’re looking for?”

“I can’t—Flora, I can’t be your superior and—university policy.”

It was almost like he was speaking some arcane, forgotten dialect. “Can’t what? Policy on what?” The air was sharp on Flora’s next inhale, like it hurt to inflate her lungs. Like her body was readying itself for some fight or flight response. But part of her already knew what he was going to say, she just couldn’t believe it. 

“Fraternization.” It sounded so clinical, like that. 

Flora felt her hands begin to tremble. Fraternization. She repeated the word back to him, voice thick with disbelief. 

“But it needs to come from you, Flora. I can’t be the one.”

The door opened with a jostle, revealing an apologetic custodian. In the midst of Carter’s assurance that the man’s intrusion wasn’t unwelcome, Flora let her legs carry her out of the room, across campus, and to the bus stop. 

The whole time, she didn’t allow herself to stop, to turn around to see the horrified look on Carter’s face. 

*

Again, Flora found herself fixated on Carter's comment about karmic retribution. She was never one to believe the trite “everything happens for a reason,” but there was an undeniable comfort in the premise of one’s ancestors paving the way. But did these ancestors really concern themselves with the ‘fraternization’ undertaken by their descendants?

Flora’s feet carried her to Café Ruby of their own volition, the discordant jingle of the doorbell pulling her from her thoughts as she walked inside, brushing past wannabe influencers posing in front of a wall of neon signs.

Muffy looked up with a smile, but immediately detected Flora’s distress. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I need to talk to you,” she said breathlessly. “In private.”

Without missing a beat Muffy called Rock over to relieve her position, despite his protestations. Muffy barked something about picking up one of his Friday shifts, and Rock’s complaints ceased.

Unlike the Coffee’s Pot, there was no book-lined mezzanine on which to chat, but the back room provided a suitable shelter. So, once the door clicked shut, dispelling the café’s full chatter, Flora spilled everything she could. 

“Flora,” Muffy said graciously, patiently. “Why are you so bent out of shape? It sounds like he… like he really likes you. If you can’t be his TA and be in a relationship with him, it sounds like he’s taking matters into his own hands.”

Flora panted. “Really?”

“Yeah. Like he’s opening the only door he can, and hoping you’ll walk through.”

Flora’s blood ran cold. “And instead, I ran away.”

Muffy reached out to touch her shoulder. “Flora, it’s not too late.”

Flora shook her head, arms wrapping tightly around herself. Her head was starting to ache, a sharp stab behind her forehead. She felt paralyzed.

Muffy wouldn’t allow it. “Call him! Better yet—“ she pulled her phone from her apron pocket, “it’s not even five o’clock. He’s probably still in his office. Go! Talk to him.”

“But what if I’m wrong?”

“You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

Muffy pursed her lips in a self-satisfied way. “Because I was right about Cody.”

Whoa. That definitely warranted a follow up, but Flora was so caught up in her own whirlwind that she struggled to form the words. 

“And,” Muffy continued, a saving grace, “you can ask me all about it later, after you have a chat with Hot Professor.”

Flora nodded. 

“And you want to know how else I know? Because I saw the way he looked at you, outside your apartment. For a second, I saw it. Before he drove off in his car. Like he was torn up about leaving.”

It took a moment for Flora to return to her senses. “OK. Yes. I’ll go.”

Borrowing from Carter’s parlance, Muffy said, “If he’s in there, that’s your sign.”

“OK.”

And so she hopped on the bus and took it back to campus, putting all her faith in the unseen forces of the universe. 

*

It got dark early this time of year, but the orange hue of Carter’s window blazed in the twilight like the beacon of a lighthouse. From the ground floor, it was impossible to tell if he was actually in his office, but Flora carried with her what could only be described as blind conviction. 

On her way up to the third floor, she heard the jostling wheels of a garbage can being pushed into the elevator. The evening custodian must have been working his way down the building. Other than that, it seemed quiet in Baumgarten Hall. Perhaps Carter’s colleagues were all in lecture or went home early. It was a thought that worried her. 

Fora had taken this exact route countless times—sometimes at odd hours, especially in the process of working with Carter on their paper—but never before had her footsteps sounded so resonant, so pronounced in the silence. 

Unquestionably, the shades on the glass panel in Carter’s door were drawn, but a traitorous strip of light shone through the crack on the floor. 

So, Flora took one last breath before steeling herself to knock. 

There was a soft flutter of paper, followed by an unmistakable sigh. “One moment,” he said politely, chair rolling back with a whoosh. But, when he opened the door, it was clear from his face that he was expecting literally anyone else on the other side.  

He looked harried, even though she had only seen him about two hours prior and in nowhere near the same harried state. 

Flora swallowed, studying his face before summoning the courage she marched with to campus. “Can I come in?” When a flash of doubt flickered in his eyes, she added, “Please, Professor.”

There was a tempestuous look in his eyes. But he stepped back, and Flora crossed the threshold like she was some kind of unwanted beast, her mere presence making him cower. 

“I need to talk to you.”

He tensed at her words, but she was light-footed, like a zookeeper to a frightened animal, as she closed the door. 

His words from earlier swirled in her mind. It needs to come from you. Clearly, there was no world in which Carter would be steering this conversation. Flora needed to take the reins. 

“Earlier today, you said…” she began, eyes casting to the ground in supplication, “you said the move back to the field—Tellerman—was motivated in part by university policy on—on fraternization.”

He was silent, alert, but she could swear she heard him clench his jaw. 

“I know what you mean by that. And I thought I was misreading things—everything!—but I talked to my good friend about it.”

“Flora, I’m so sorry.” Carter’s tone was so penitent, so genuine, that Flora couldn’t help but meet his eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have said anything. It was inappropriate. A complete disregard for your trust, and my position, and—“

She couldn’t bear to hear his lamentations any longer, yet in the span of time between the office and coffee shop, she still couldn’t articulate her feelings—her desires—into words. So, she acted on impulse instead. 

Crossing what seemed like a cavernous space between them, Flora took hold of his wrist with both of her hands and yanked him forward. At her insistence, his open palm came to press against her thumping heartbeat, the base of his hand—molten against her skin—grazed the top of her breast, wrist nestled against the open collar of her blouse. And she held him there, panting through parted lips as she searched his face for affirmation.

Time slowed to a laggard crawl. Carter swallowed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he could seemingly utter anything. He took no action to shake her off, to disentangle his hand, yet he remained frozen like a statue. 

Flora’s own apprehension began to simmer, viscous and dangerous. Her pulse pounded in her ears, something Carter could undoubtedly feel from its naissance in her rib cage. 

Unable to decipher the meaning of the haze in his dark eyes, nor able to bear the silence any longer, she gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. “Is it OK?” she murmured. 

If he said no, that would have been it—she would have dropped his hands like a tripped wire. Yes, it would have been a devastating, potentially even soul-crushing, outcome. Weeks of active lusting, preceded by a few years of subconscious desire for Carter, would have to be abandoned wholecloth if her feelings were unrequited—there was simply no other way after overstepping, as Flora had just done impulsively, into physical contact. 

But that didn’t happen. 

Instead, Flora found herself tugged forward by a large hand on her face, long fingers curling over the soft hinge of her jaw. Carter came to rest his forehead against hers, eyes screwed shut, as if he did so with great physical distress. His breaths were slow and ragged. This close, Carter’s face was a blur in Flora’s vision, made worse by the frames of their glasses bumping between them. But Carter’s free hand, the one he used to touch her cheek, held firm. 

Flora ducked her head, pulling back so there was a tiny space between them. Again she squeezed his wrist, tugging it even harder against her chest. Where their skin met was a blazing heat that threatened to consume them both. 

He opened his eyes, dusky and unfocused. 

“Please kiss me, Professor,” she said. 

Carter blinked slowly, one final consideration. His brows knitted together, a deep crease carved between them. There was some kind of tug-of-war happening in his mind, and he needed encouragement to bolster his next move. 

Summoning every molecule of allure within her, Flora tilted her chin up and rolled her shoulders back, neck long and slender, and asked again.

“Please.”

She had barely a moment to register the firm press of his lips against the corner of her open mouth before he dove in for another kiss, full on this time, and searing in such a way that it stole the air from her lungs with a sharp gasp. The fervor in the first kiss alone was enough to send her stumbling back into the bookshelf—the second made her claw the soft wool of his sweater in search of anything that could turn her world right side-up again. 

The solid weight of his other hand—freed now from her grasp in the commotion—settled on the nape of her neck. And a sound, more filthy than it had any right to be, slipped its way past her lips, muffled but not silenced by his mouth. 

Yet, she felt no shame. There was only a burning desire to touch, and to kiss, and to feel everything with Carter. 

The realization was dizzying, Flora’s knees knocking together in something of a swoon, which Carter tempered before she hurt herself with the steadying presence of the bookshelf behind her. 

“You’re all right?” He asked. 

Flora gnawed on her lip, brain too foggy to back out.

“I’ve thought about this,” she admitted. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. There was no sense in pretending any longer that she wasn’t on the verge of lunacy thanks to him. “Not exactly this , but if that’s what this is …” she trailed off, swallowing her nerves. “I want you, Professor.”

Carter took a long, steadying breath. His nostrils flared, lips tight and contemplative.

He then reached forward. Flora watched, head afflurry, as he reached for her face again. Everything around them took on a soft haze, this time, as Carter reverently folded her glasses and stashed them away on the sideboard. He slid off his own glasses, too, before capturing her in another kiss. 

It was sizzling in Flora’s skull. 

“Here,” Carter said, spinning them both around and guiding her to the surface of his desk. The movement was fluid; perhaps his training in tai chi had prepared him for such effortless grace after all. “Sit down.”

Flora allowed herself to be moved, and Carter’s tidy L-shaped desk had plenty of space on which to sit. What she didn’t anticipate was the ardor with which she watched him step between her knees, excited for whatever was in store. After so much anticipation, Flora didn’t expect she’d fall so hard so fast. 

It wasn't until that moment that Flora realized she had, yet again, picked out a skirt that morning—this one a thick, forest green tartan. Was it a coincidence, or divine intervention? Either way, it proved its efficacy as Carter’s hand hovered between her legs.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, pupils dilated. No small part of Flora was expecting him to burst right out of his skin at the prospect, but boy, did she bask in it. 

Nodding slowly, softly, she said, “Yes.”

In a million years, she could have never expected his next move would be to bring his hand up to his face so that he could swipe his tongue over the tips of a few fingers, intensely boring into her eyes the entire time—and continuing to do so—as he lowered them to the lace trim of her panties. 

Flora’s brows pinched together in a mix of arousal and worry. What underwear did she pick out that morning—something cute?

Evidently, they were not matronly enough to deter Carter, as he ducked his hand inside, flat hand rubbing lazy circles over her clitoris, the dampness of saliva on his fingertips easing the slip. 

Carter’s forehead came to rest against hers again, eyes closed, but still intensely focused on the literal task at hand. Flora let herself relax, a soft sigh easing past her lips. 

“Is it OK?” Carter asked softly, matching her words from before. Nothing about his tone suggested trepidation, just a genuine desire to make her feel good. Soon, he applied more pressure, catching the slickness of her arousal and spreading it with every subsequent motion. She nodded wordlessly—albeit a little frantically—dragging her bottom lip between her teeth to suppress any compromising sounds. 

“Can I,” he began, tapping the waistband of her underwear with his free hand, “take these off?”

She almost didn’t hear him at first, too caught up in the sensation—and a smidge of disbelief—before her brain worked out what he meant. “Oh. Sure, sure,” Flora acquiesced. 

Both his thumbs slipped around the curve of her backside and dragged her panties down with them. They disappeared somewhere, but for the time being, the more important fact was that Carter was moving down to his knees and softly urging her to lay back. 

There was a span between when her spine met the tabletop and his tongue first came to touch her that the world decelerated to a slow, gooey crawl. Her breaths were heavy and clumsy through her nose, fingernails clawing fruitlessly against the desk’s shellacked surface and finding no satisfying distraction in the friction. Her nerves, from scalp to toes, tingled in anticipation. 

Yet, she was still caught off guard when the warm, wet press of his tongue enveloped her. 

“Shh,” he soothed seconds later. It was funny because Flora wasn’t even aware she made a sound. Though comforting, it was also a potent reminder that they were still in his office at the university, the building wasn’t empty, and this was dangerous. 

“Sorry.”

Maybe that was part of the appeal, really. It certainly was the cause of the flare within her when Brent mentioned he saw them at the Coffee’s Pot together that time. There was something forbidden about this situation—besides the obvious—to account for Muffy’s unstoppable fascination, too. And maybe, just maybe, Flora was thrilled by the notion that the hot professor at FMNU that she was head-over-heels for wanted her back just as much. 

“Can I use my fingers?” He asked, mouth ghosting over her hip bone.

“Mm-hm,” Flora panted. God, what did she do to earn such a conscientious lover? That gnome Derek never even made sure she was wet.

The whimper that tore out of her at the feeling of his fingers easing inside—she heard it clearly that time and reflexively covered her mouth in shame. 

“Careful,” he said. She couldn’t see him, but it sounded like he was smiling. It certainly felt like he was when his lips came to back her clitoris, complementing the devilish work of his hand. And he knew exactly what to do.

The wet sound between her legs might have been mortifying if not for the fact that Carter was equally satisfied as she was, twisting and teasing with his nimble fingers and humming appreciatively as he devoured her.

Flora’s fingers came to slot between the locks of his thick, curly hair. She had stared at it dreamily for so long, during lectures or across from her at the desk she now lay upon. Now she could touch it. Her eyes blinked open. The sheen of silver at his temples—a quality still fascinating to the point of madness—shone in stark contrast to the delicate blush of her knees on either side of his head. If the feeling of everything wasn’t already so engrossing, the vision alone of her legs thrown over his broad shoulders—albeit blurry without her glasses—could have just as easily sent her spiraling. 

But Carter’s free hand came to cover hers there on his head. Grounding her.

It didn’t last long as he hooked his two fingers, curling and uncurling as he dragged them within her. It took every ounce of her self control not to scream. Instead, her thighs, which had now tightened around him, trembled with the unreleased tension. Every muscle within her was strained to exhaustion as he glided over that precious spot within her.

Evidently, this did not trouble Carter, as he had taken to applying a bit of suction to her clitoris in addition to ramping up the speed of his fingers and no—no. Flora was not going to last much longer. 

Even though it came from her, she almost didn’t recognize the voice that desperately moaned, “Professor.” Her legs involuntarily squeezed around his head, but not enough to slow his movements; Carter was determined not to stop until she gave over to building pressure in her abdomen. Eyes open but unfocused, Flora gazed at the ceiling, allowing herself to savor the tingling sensations that coursed through her from crown to curled toes. The slick sounds of Carter’s mouth and fingers, the burn of his stubble against her inner thigh, the perspiration clinging to her shoulder blades—everything building on the last and reverberating within her head until she had no choice but to surrender. 

Vision whiting out, Flora climaxed so forcefully she was unsure whether she came with a scream or complete silence. 

Coming to after a while, and after her aftershocks settled down, she reached for him, clumsily sitting up and curling in on herself so she could hide against his chest. She needed a moment to compose herself, to catch her breath—his sturdy presence provided the shelter she desperately needed. 

She had never felt so vulnerable, yet so fulfilled. 

“Flora,” he said, voice edged with a bit of the sheepishness it had before their encounter. His hand rested gently on her back, soothing gentle circles, but clearly belying a deeper worry within him. 

And sure, she understood his hesitation. They had just hooked up in his office—where both of them worked, where Flora was currently matriculated for a graduate degree. 

But no, there could be no question any longer about the harmonious order of the universe, or Carter’s ancestors, or some other unseen force, tying all the threads around them—at this precise moment—in a nice bow. Flora’s college acceptance letter, Muffy stumbling on them the morning after the blizzard, hell—the stone phalluses discovered in the old field notebook—they carved out the path, then paved the way for this inevitability. 

Not an accident or coincidence. 

Synchronicity. A plan followed to its logical conclusion. 

A warmth settled over Flora as she inhaled deeply against his chest. She tipped her head back so she could see the full picture of his handsome, flushed face as he stood before her. 

No more doubts, she thought, before pulling him down for a kiss. 

*

As Carter’s nice, black car hugged the curb in front of her apartment, Flora toyed with the idea of never, ever getting out. 

It was dark, the path illuminated only by a flickering streetlight and a small lamp above the building’s doorbell. There was some blanket of privacy, even though at this point, it was purely for the benefit of others. 

Gesturing a thumb toward the front door, she figured now was as good a time as any. “Do you wanna… come inside? I can make you some coffee.”

“Oh? Well—“

“Please,” she amended, touching his hand. “Please come inside.”

Carter exhaled, almost relieved. “OK. Sure.”

*

All good? Muffy had texted sometime in the middle of the night, followed by a heart emoji, but Flora had been far too occupied to notice until daybreak. 

She hadn’t planned the bed would be big enough for two, but they slept comfortably and lingered under the covers languidly for a Wednesday morning. 

One of them needed to have the good sense to stir, and it turned out to be Carter. It was still early, maybe about seven, but it was a workday for him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, words soft with sleep. “I should get back to my place.”

Flora frowned performatively which, endearingly, made Carter brush her hair behind her ear before kissing her forehead. 

Satisfied with the affection, she didn’t stop him from excusing himself to the restroom, using the break as a moment to reply to Muffy’s message. 

He, uh… spent the night again.

To dispel any ambiguities, she added, For real this time . And she couldn’t help herself but tap the eggplant icon. 

In seconds: OMGOD HOLY SHIT!!!!! I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING AND I MEAN EVERYTHING!!

Flora smiled. Maybe a few things were best kept to herself, but at the right time, she could spare a few things that wouldn’t embarrass anyone. 

First you tell me about Cody ;)

Immediately, Muffy replied, DEAL.

*

There were just a few more days until the final exam. There was something bittersweet about this point in the semester, saying goodbye to another crop of students and anxiously awaiting the next. But Flora couldn’t dwell on it for long.

As the last of the students filed out—their onslaught of questions about study guides and Blue Books answered mostly to satisfaction—Carter caught Flora with a tap on the shoulder.

“I missed a call during the lecture.”

He poked around on the screen of his phone until a staticky voicemail played over the speaker. “Hi, Professor Naville, it’s Jackie Tellerman. I spoke with my brothers—and in light of your impressive body of work and pending manuscript with Rao-Perez Institute on the Pallanian civilization, we are elated to offer you a full award—" Carter dropped his hand, the sound of the phone now muffled against his woolen pant leg. 

Flora’s eyes welled up, but she wore a hopeful smile. “Really?” she said aloud, mostly to herself.

Carter opened and closed his mouth a few times, eyes wild with excitement. Then he said, “I guess I’ll be putting in my resignation.”

It was a statement that would have once filled her with dread, but now, she felt only elation. And something came over her that she could not temper or explain with logic: she sprung toward him with vigor and jumped into his arms. 

And Carter, somehow ready for the sudden move, wrapped his arms around her, chin pressing against her shoulder as he squeezed her tightly.

In all things, there were few certainties.

But here, there was no coincidence.