Lesson Learned {Student Teacher Romance}

Chapter 13

When Mr. Benedict's deep blue unexpectedly eyes find mine, I snapped my head down to stare at the desk.

Perhaps he thought I did poorly on my essay because I don't pay attention. 

Well, I'd show him! 

"Um, sorry," Mr. Benedict coughs. "All you will need for this test is a pencil or pen and a piece of paper for the essay questions. Pretty straightforward stuff."

He hands out our tests asking each person to pass a copy along to the next student. 

As Mr. Benedict promised, it was easy. 

Within an hour I was done and checking my work carefully for spelling and grammar mistakes. I figured I'd wait for someone else to finish first, then I could hand in my work before dashing out the door.

Ten excruciating minutes later, a blonde woman with killer wedge boots triumphantly hands in her test. Which is my cue. 

I slipped out of my seat to quietly walk my test up to the front, keeping my eyes on the floor.

Mr. Benedict is reading a paperback book but he looks up as soon as my test hits the yellow tray on his desk. 

A thrill runs through me the moment our eyes lock. I steel my nerves against his lopsided smile and turn to leave.

"I'd still like to discuss your essay, Moira," he whispers.

"I have a bus to catch," I mumble over my shoulder.

"How about tomorrow during my office hours?" He presses softly. "I'm there from noon to two."

"I'm working," I offer an apologetic shrug without really turning around. 

"Oh, that's too bad," he sounds genuinely disheartened.

I jog up the steps and grab my book bag without even giving Keira a look because she's still working. 

I just wanted to get out of there. And I wasn't lying about my work schedule, I'm usually right in the middle of my day shift at the diner when Mr. Benedict has office hours.

On my bus ride home, I finally pull out my essay that I never bothered to look at. 

It's riddled with red in Mr. Benedict's confident penmanship. 

His notes are all about my decision to include other works by Shakespeare in support of my argument, which is contradictory to his assignment. 

I skipped to the end of the essay to find a much more lengthy message from Mr. Benedict.

Moira, you are a very talented writer and you make some excellent points throughout this essay to drive home your overall argument. However, the assignment was to cite Romeo And Juliet, only. I'd love to discuss this with you further because if you are able to rewrite this essay and remove those erroneous citations, I'd be happy to give you the A you deserve.

-Fitzwilliam

I don't know why, but I trace the letters of his note over and over again with my grubby fingernail while digesting his kind words. 

If I'd just bothered to read this, I wouldn't have ended up in such a huff Friday night. 

He wanted to talk to me about revisions. I was just being a baby about the whole thing.

Yeesh.

***

On Tuesday afternoon Mike's diner is a ghost town. 

It's too early for the senior citizens to come in for the Early Bird specials, and it's too late for any lunch crowd stragglers. 

Mike is in the kitchen working on dinner prep and I've wiped down every table, counter, glass, and dish to get us ready. I've even made a new pot of coffee (even though there's no one here to drink it).

So, I pulled up a stool behind the counter and started reading Act Two of Romeo And Juliet with a cup of creamy joe. 

When the front door chimes, I fold down the corner of the page I'm on and look up to see the slender body of a man with carefully mussed hair and a leather satchel.

My jaw nearly hits the floor when I realize that it's Mr. Benedict. 

He's looking around with an appreciative smile as he slides into a booth near the front window until he spots me and offers a friendly wave.

For a few seconds, I forget how to walk and just stare at the beautiful man in the booth (who is also my teacher). 

He pulls a stack of papers and a few pens out of his messenger bag as if he's about to start his office hours right there.

"You gonna help that guy?" Mike leans over the window ledge to peer at Mr. Benedict.

"Sure," I shake off my daze and scuttle away. 

My sneakers squeak against the newly mopped floor while I fiddle with my apron pockets on the way.

"Hello, Moira," Mr. Benedict's compassionate tone resonates in my chest to melt my nerves.

I scan my memory for something, anything, to ask him.

"What are you doing here?" 

So smooth. 

"Well, since you're working," Mr. Benedict chuckles. "And I can take mobile office hours, I thought I'd come in to talk to you about your essay."

"Um, how do you know where I work?" His smile fades at my follow-up question.

"You were wearing a name tag the day I scared you in the library," he chuckles like he's a bit flustered. "So, I Googled Mike's Diner."

The silence that follows should be awkward, but somehow Mr. Benedict's presence is comforting.

"Can I get you anything?" I decide to do my job and ask him.

"Coffee, please," He nods appreciatively. "I've got a lot of tests to get through and I'm going to need caffeine."

"Coming right up," I spin and practically sprint for the safety of the counter.

I want to be flattered that Mr. Benedict showed up at my workplace to talk about my essay, but should I? 

When I return to his table, Mr. Benedict smiles at me like I'm a lifesaver.

"Thank you!" He exclaims as I place his coffee on the table along with a small carafe of milk. "How did you know?" 

"Know what?" I ask as a fiery blush consumes my neck under Mr. Benedict's inscrutable gaze.

"Cream and no sugar," he comments with a look of subdued humor. "That's how I take my coffee."