By the time the classes are over in the afternoon, the sky is decorated with silvery, bluish-gray snow clouds. The coldness of the breeze permeates my hands. But what the heck, it’s already 6:30! I’ve just arrived at Professor Sebastian’s office.
“Just send me a text when you’re done. I’ll just meet up with the guys for quick practice.” Kristoff’s thumb lightly touches my cheek. The ‘guys’ mean the members of his quartet group, and ‘brief’ can often mean an hour.
“What do you think the professor will say? I’m late.”
“Don’t worry. He already thinks you’re outstanding.” He offers an assured grin.
“If you say so.” I return his smile. I feel somewhat relieved. “Are you still coming over?”
“I really want to, but Lora...”
I laugh. “She’s just messing with you. Let’s watch a movie. I like romcoms.”
“Alright, then.” He kisses my forehead. “Even though I like sci-fi.”
“Go. I’ll text you.”
He winks at me, waves his hand, and walks away.
I knock on Professor Sebastian’s door. “Professor? It’s me. Anya.”
“Come in,” says a distant voice.
I open the door and enter. Almost immediately, I get a faint smell of wood and freshly painted walls. The office is sparsely furnished with a new mahogany desk, an abstract painting, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, a carpeted floor, bright lights, and black curtains. A baby grand piano sits in the corner.
Behind the desk, Professor Sebastian holds a music score and a pencil. “Please have a seat, Ms. Scott.”
I walk over to the chair next to the desk and sit quietly.
He scribbles a note on the music score, folds it up, and then places it on his desk.
“I saw your records, Ms. Scott. You won the composition contest last year. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, professor. I apologize for being late. My last period had just ended,” I reasoned softly, lowering my gaze. Now that he’s close to me again, I smell the intoxicating scent of the perfume he wore during our dance. It’s making me lose my mind.
“And so we meet again, Ms. Scott.”
I jerk my head up. “I... uh... guess?”
He leans back and beams brightly. “How is the rest of your holiday?”
My heart skipped a beat before I could answer. “It was... fun.”
“It doesn’t sound like you had much fun.”
My mouth drops as I stare at him. “Huh?”
He chuckles, causing a funny but pleasant knot in my stomach. “Relax, Ms. Scott. No one’s around.”
“But you’re my professor.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So?”
“So why are you—”
“Why am I asking about your vacation?”
“Yes?”
“Is that so wrong? I even danced with you and Ms. McQueen.”
“I just thought we wouldn’t bring it up again.” I let the tension out of my breath. “But that’s fine. Did you, besides evaluating them, inquire about how everyone else’s holiday went?”
He grins before responding. “That’s much better. I didn’t.”
“What about Lora? I mean Ms. McQueen.”
“Yes, and she appeared to appreciate my question.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. Typical Lora. “Alright, um, I had a great time this holiday. Really. It’s probably one of the best vacations I’ve had in a long time.” My last real one was when my family was still with me.
“That’s fantastic.” He nods, pleased with my response. “As for your earlier performance, you did well.”
“Did you mean my absolute pitch?”
“Yes, and I’m looking forward to seeing what else you can do.”
“I’m terrible at songwriting. You’ll be surprised.” I’m glad I can still talk to him this way because he has a strong, intimidating presence in the class.
“That’s something we can work on.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
My hands are sweating again. “Kristoff told me you had it as well. The absolute pitch.”
“I do.”
I gasp in awe. “What makes it so special?”
“You can compose with your mind and voice, besides not making mistakes in finding your tone in singing and being able to easily learn any instrument. Our vocal cords are, after all, an instrument.”
“Do you make music with your voice?”
“Often. You don’t always carry an instrument with you. You can make music no matter where you are. Do you hear notes in your head?”
I nod. “I assumed that was normal.”
“It’s not because it’s a rare talent. What I heard when you were playing was your improvisation and how you used hard and irregular notes but with beautiful, unique patterns at ease. Not everyone can do or copy what you do, which makes you interesting to... watch.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks again.
Damn. I’m getting into the habit of blushing whenever he speaks to me in this way. I’m not even in high school anymore! I’m a college junior already.
My shoulders drop as I exhale. I suppose it went well. “I’m grateful for your kind words, professor.”
“Great, that’s all for today, Ms. Scott.” He reverts his attention to the music sheet on his desk. It’s my cue to leave his office.
“Okay...” I mumble to myself. I get up and move toward the door, waiting to hear if he has anything else to say, but his office is still completely silent.
As I leave his office, I feel a sudden, firm grip on my wrist. In shock, I stumble over my feet, but Professor Sebastian catches me instantly. I clutch his arms to keep myself steady and feel firm muscles beneath his shirt.
WhoaHe quickly eases me to my feet and asks huskily, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, um... What is it, Professor?” My mouth dries out as I speak, preventing me from inhaling his masculine scent.
“Do you have anything else to do here, Ms. Scott?”
“I’m heading home. I’ll just have to wait for Kristoff.”
“Where is he?”
“He has a rehearsal.”
“When do you think he’ll arrive?”
“I’m not sure, but he’ll text me. Kristoff occasionally loses track of time when he is playing with his friends. But it’s okay —”
“It’s not okay,” he says forcefully, cutting me off. “You’ll freeze here. Hold on.”
He strides back into his office and reaches for a black cashmere scarf that is hanging on his coat rack. He rushes back to me and furls it around my neck. His fingers lightly brush my jaw, and I shiver more than I already do from the cold weather.
This proximity to his body is becoming so normal. I suddenly have this unsettling urge to touch him. It’s wrong of me to feel that way about him. But why did he have to be so gracious?
“Let’s go, Ms. Scott. It’s late, and the sky is pouring wet snow. I’ll give you a ride.”
Oh wow. I’ve never had a professor offer me a ride before. “But you’re busy.”
“It can wait.”
“How about Kristoff?”
He lets out a sigh. “Send him a text. Tell him you’re with me.”
I give up. “Got it.”
I guess Kristoff won’t worry if I tell him. I take my phone out of my pocket and open my inbox. I type a message.
Me: Professor will drive me home because it is snowing.
His response came right away.
Kristoff: Thank God, because I’m stuck here. I was about to text him to tell him to do that.
Me: Are you still coming over?
Kristoff: Yes, but I’ll be late. The guys are still figuring out the final part of our new piece.
Me: Okay. Tell me when it’s over.
Kristoff: Alright, babe. I’ll make it up to you. Would you like me to get you some popcorn? Choose any movie you want.
Me: I will. Good luck there.
Kristoff responded with a kiss emoji.
“I told him,” I say to the professor as I slide the phone back into my pocket.
“And?”
“He’ll be late.”
“Is he always like this?”
“Not really, but it happens.” I scratch the itch on my brow. “The group is important to him. I’ve seen them play, and their performance was breathtaking. I couldn’t stop getting goosebumps. You should see them play,” I reply, sounding incredibly proud of Kristoff.
“I’m sure I will. Shall we?”
I give him a warm smile. “Yes.”
Professor Sebastian lets me walk first while he ambles behind me. On our way, he nods to some professors and students we cross.
The biting wind gushes through my clothes when we step outside the building.
“Whoa!”
The professor appears behind me. “Are you cold?”
I tuck my hands into my jacket. “Just a little.”
He chuckles, his gaze assessing my outfit. “It doesn’t look like a little to me.”
I look out the window and notice a few girls staring swoonily at the gorgeous professor next to me.
“Could we really do this? People are watching.”
“Don’t worry. He should be here.”
Who should be here? Damn. I should’ve worn something thicker. I don’t have my mitts, but I do have a jacket and a scarf to keep me warm.
A minute later, a sleek black Rolls-Royce SUV comes up to the front, and a middle-aged man in a dark suit exits. “Professor Sebastian.”
“Fred,” the professor replies.
Fred opens an umbrella and offers it to me since it’s still snowing. “Good evening, miss.”
“Good evening to you, too, sir.”
Fred offers the professor an umbrella too.
“Fred, this is Anya Scott, my student. Anya, this is Freddie Ward, my chauffeur,” Julian says.
I smile at the chauffeur. “Hello, Mr. Ward.”
The chauffeur returns the gesture with a polite nod.
A minute later, another white Rolls-Royce arrives. The driver steps out, walks over to the professor, and hands him the key.
Of course, we’re not riding together. I mean, how could we? It’s inappropriate.
But wow. Two flashy cars. I’m even wondering whether he has more.
“This way, miss.” Fred ushers me into the black car and helps me settle into the backseat.
“Fred,” the professor calls again, his hand on the door of the white car. “Do you know where?”
“Yes, sir. Le Papillon.”
Le Papillon? It’s Kristoff’s favorite restaurant in Midtown. That’s where we had lunch at Christmas, and we always go when he’s craving French food. I know the maître d’ there!
I want to ask the professor, but he has already left.