Passionate History

by Libby Waterford

  The afternoon had been a blast, catching up with countless friends and acquaintances at her class reunion reception, which had an open bar and surprisingly great food. It had been dizzying to see so many old, familiar faces, most of whom she barely kept up with on Facebook. There were the expected number of engagements and wedding news, and a few pregnant bellies in the crowd. Bree didn’t envy her more settled friends. She was happy for them, but she grew a little tired of trying to explain the last five years of her life in two sentences or less. She finally settled on, “Did a lot of traveling, worked in New Zealand for a while, thinking of going for my master’s in art history.” The summary seemed to satisfy people.

  She’d been swept along to dinner with her freshman hall-mates, and when they’d opted for a bar crawl in town, she’d pleaded exhaustion and decided to walk back to campus and find her car. In a hurry for her morning meeting, she’d ditched her generic sedan in the first free parking space she’d found. Unfortunately, she couldn’t exactly remember where the space had been. But it was bound to be around there, somewhere.

  Earlier in the day, there had been a seminar on Mannerism at the art history building she’d thought about going to. But he probably would have been there. Aidan. The name sounded strange in her mind, let alone on her lips. She was a bit thrown from seeing him the day before. She didn’t want him to think she wanted to see him.

  Which, of course, she had. She’d spent five years being slightly embarrassed by the way she’d behaved in the office that night. She was no prude, but the way she’d asked him, practically ordered him to take her, and then the way he had taken her…it had been undeniably hot. But in retrospect, the episode made her a bit uncomfortable which was probably why she hadn’t contacted him since it happened. Bree Ross, who faced everything head-on, who never shied away from something she wanted, went all squirmy at the idea of Professor Worthy—Aidan—thinking she was some kind of slut who came on to her professors. She wasn’t—well, only when it came to him.

  Seeing him had been good. She’d been able to act normally, professionally even. Maybe she’d be able to move on and grow up a little.

  She just hadn’t counted on his face making her so happy.

  He’d been as adorable as she remembered him, sweet, a bit befuddled. Not like the raging sex god she’d discovered for one night. She liked both sides of him. It didn’t matter. Even if she ended up back on Weston’s campus, he didn’t have anything to do with the graduate program, and she’d never have to see him.

  Unless she wanted to. The thought bloomed in her mind. They wouldn’t be student and teacher anymore.

  No. He obviously didn’t think of her in any sexual way. He’d been dry as a bone in their meeting the day before. He’d obviously forgotten all about it. Which was just what she’d do. As soon as she found her stupid car.

  Aidan pulled into his narrow, cracking-cement driveway outside the dilapidated wood frame house he rented from the university. It sat smack in the middle of so-called Prof Row, with nothing to recommend it except its sensational commute. He could leave his front door and be sitting in his office after a leisurely nine-minute walk. Longer on snowy days.

  After a grueling day of mandatory department socializing and a long and, honestly, boring seminar on Mannerism he’d hosted, he’d escaped into Weston Village for a blessedly solitary meal at the greasiest spoon in town, a dark dive situated beside the train tracks. It reminded him somewhat of the pubs back home, and he’d happily tucked away an overcooked steak, mealy baked potato, and a pint of lager.

  He was due at the green for commencement mid-morning, and between now and then he intended to sleep as much as possible. Unless he was devilishly unlucky, sleep was the only place Bree Ross’s angel face and beguiling sundresses wouldn’t haunt him. He had barely been able to focus on anything since the moment she’d materialized as an unwelcome apparition outside his office. It had taken him weeks, months, to get over the guilt from having sex with her a single time.

  When the haze of his powerful orgasm had worn off, he’d worried he’d ruined her life, the older man in a position of power pushing himself on a student. He’d vowed never to find himself in such a situation. His father, a professor of poetry at University of Edinburgh, was a brilliant man, but he’d never been able to pass up the nubile young things that traipsed through his classroom, offering him more than their minds for molding. His father’s womanizing had led to his parents’ divorce, and Aidan had lost all respect for his father once he realized how he’d used his position to get women into bed with him.

  But eventually, he really examined what had happened that night. Bree had definitely instigated things. It didn’t excuse his actions, but he had to admit she probably wasn’t scarred for life. It stung more to know when faced with such a fantasy come to life, he hadn’t been able to resist, despite all of his moralizing.

  At commencement the following day, Bree had been just another orange-robe-clad graduate. Aidan told himself it would be hell finding her in the crowd, but he’d been nervous, unsure what to say. He’d never heard from her again. It was enough to make a man feel used. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed himself, at the time, if not after. He’d imagined the feel of her breasts when he’d come inside her from behind more times than he cared to admit. He’d finally been able to chalk it up to one of those crazy adventures he’d never gotten up to when he was a student, himself. The fact none of the women he’d dated since had made him feel the same potent mixture of physical passion and mental arousal wasn’t their fault.

  However, as soon as he’d seen Bree again, an old feeling of guilt rose up. He was confused as hell by the fact he still wanted her, perhaps more intensely than before. She’d grown up, her body no longer quite as coltish and slim, her eyes more knowing, her bearing more relaxed. Though he hadn’t seen her in half a decade, he’d have known her anywhere.

  It didn’t matter that he wanted her, that he hated her a little bit for making him do something he had no business doing. She might be at Weston this weekend, but she’d exit his life as effortlessly as she had before and he’d be left alone with his memories for another five years.

  Maybe a drink would bring sleep on faster. He slammed his car door and stopped. A solitary woman was walking along the street, peering into cars parked along the curb. Strange. He pulled out his mobile, thinking to call campus security, when she stepped into the light of a streetlamp about twenty yards away and he frowned.

  Bree? What the hell was she doing?

  He intercepted her outside his neighbor’s Corolla.

  “Can I be of some assistance?” he asked, his voice mild. She jerked up at his words.

  “Professor—Aidan,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

  Good. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to find my rental car. I think I parked it somewhere around here, and I can’t exactly remember what it looks like.”

  “Can’t you click the remote key? If it’s nearby the lights will go off when you unlock it.” There, his brain had produced a sensible suggestion, even as it occupied itself with cataloguing her scent, the tired smudges under her eyes, and the curve of her hips outlined by a flowy skirt.

  “I would, except the only car left on the lot was some micro-budget sedan. I can’t remember the model.” She held her key out to him. “No remote entry.”

  “Can you call the rental car company?”

  “I tried. They’re closed.”

  Aidan stood in the street, staring at her. Bree Ross. Former student. Former lover. It was unbelievably frustrating how much he still desired her. But perhaps this was the universe telling him he had a second chance to be a gentleman.

  “Well, you can’t go around looking in every car on campus. You’ll get arrested. Come on, I can give you a ride.”

  “Oh, no, thanks. I can walk.”

  “It’s pitch black and about to rain. I’m not letting you walk anywhere alone tonight.”

  “I can go to the green, to th
e dance. I can catch a ride with a friend.”

  “Then I’ll walk you to the dance.”

  “That’s all right—”

  “Bree.” His voice was a warning. “Don’t be an idiot. Let me help you.”

  “All right.” She seemed to be holding her tongue, but Aidan felt he’d scored a point, and then another one when rain, as predicted, started to fall from the sky. The water struck their heads, and he was surprised to feel a chill after all the hot, humid weather they’d been having. Bree shivered, and he motioned for her to follow him.

  “I’ll give you a ride, but let me get a coat.” He walked to his house. Its yellow porch light seemed positively cheerful next to the dark wet of the street. He was gratified when she followed him inside. The wood frame was warm and snug, if a bit messy, but he didn’t normally entertain visitors. He was certainly not in the mood to explain his domestic habits to her.

  Thunder rolled, making conversation redundant. He found two raincoats among the other outer gear, hats, and his walking stick hanging from the pegs in the entryway.

  “You like to hike?” she asked, indicating the boots lying on the floor, crusted with dried mud.

  He turned to her, offering her a coat, and his response stuck in his throat. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders and was beaded with moisture, giving her the look of an ethereal fairy. Her lips, soft and full and pink, were parted, as if she was surprised to find out he had a life outside the classroom.

  “I do,” he finally said.

  “Me, too.”

  Thunder interrupted his non-thoughts, giving him an excuse to say what he’d really wanted to all along. “It’s pouring. Stay a while and I’ll take you when it lets up.” He held his breath waiting for her answer.

  “Okay.”

  Okay. What was he going to do with her now?

  The scene would have been cheerily domestic—perhaps even romantic—if she had been there with anyone but Aidan. He’d started a fire in the little white stone fireplace in his tiny living room, and she sat on the edge of the single armchair set before it, her thin summer-weight sweater steaming a little in the heat. Her hands cradled a cup of tea Aidan had fixed for her despite her protestations. He’d gone back to the kitchen, leaving her alone. She was stuck. She could hardly refuse his thoughtful and sensible offer of a ride, and as awkward as prolonging their interaction was, keeping out of the rain was preferable to tramping around the dark streets in her inadequate sandals, looking for a car that might or might not turn up.

  He returned, holding a cut crystal glass with about a finger of amber liquid. She flashed back to the night in his office. ‘Can I have a sip?’ she’d asked. What a cheesy line. Her cheeks burned at the recollection.

  He took a seat on a hard-backed chair, and Bree realized she probably sat where he normally did. The intimacy struck her, and she wanted to bolt up and out of the house, out of Aidan’s life. Good manners were the only thing keeping her in her seat.

  “I thought we were done with fires for the season,” he said.

  “Me, too. I mean, it was so hot today you wouldn’t think…. I’ve been living in Seattle, and it rains all the time, but my apartment doesn’t have a fireplace, so this is a treat.” Oh dear, she was rambling. “Where do you like to hike?”

  He shrugged. “All over. Massachusetts has some of the most beautiful stretches of the Appalachian Trail.”

  “Have you done the AT?”

  “Parts here and there.”

  “I’ve only done a bit of the Shenandoah. Gorgeous.”

  “Indeed.”

  Well. She was fresh out of polite conversation. It struck her, as she watched Aidan brood into his drink, he didn’t seem very happy to be in her company. Yesterday he’d been kind of stiff and overly polite, but she’d chalked it up to awkwardness. Now it seemed as if he didn’t relish being in the same room with her. That didn’t sit right.

  She could be charming when she wanted to. She’d try honey first. “So, five years later I’m still thinking about some of the ideas we talked about in senior seminar. Do you remember the paper you had us write on Bronzino? Whenever I’m at a museum with anything by him, I make a special point of finding his work.” He said nothing. “Maybe not. All your classes must run together after a while.”

  “I remember.” His tone indicated he remembered more than the Bronzino paper. But he didn’t sound pleased about it.

  “I should probably apologize.” She was willing to extend an olive branch.

  “For?”

  “For the way I acted that night. You must think I was such a child.”

  He was silent. Wouldn’t he even acknowledge it had happened?

  “Believe me, I never thought you were a child,” he said tightly.

  Had she offended him further? “I behaved rather immaturely. I’ve always been a bit embarrassed about it.”

  He seemed to be considering her words. “Is that why I never heard from you again until yesterday?”

  “I didn’t know what to say. I guess I didn’t handle the situation very well.” She smiled ruefully. “I didn’t know what to do after getting something I never thought I’d get.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “I’m as much at fault as you. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”

  Bree felt her eyes widen. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. There’s no fault or blame. I wanted to have what happened happen. But I didn’t want you to think I threw myself at my prof—at guys.”

  “I never thought that.” He frowned into his glass, not meeting her gaze. “I thought maybe I’d taken advantage of you somehow. I don’t make a habit of doing…of having…with my students.”

  “You mean I was a special case?”

  “Decidedly an exception. I’ve been scared to death I scarred you for life or something.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Now I do feel bad about not getting in touch. I could have set your mind at ease. I’m fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Then Aidan did something that made her chest bubble with effervescence. He smiled, wide and unreserved, and Bree was both horrified that he’d been carrying around guilt with him for five years, and delighted she’d gotten him to shed his dour demeanor and put on his spectacular smile.

  “Thank you, Bree, that’s good to hear,” he said.

  “Well. I’m sorry, anyway.”

  “Let’s stop apologizing to one another. It’s done.”

  “All right. I met with the graduate program director today,” she said, happy to change the subject. “He gave me an idea of what the Weston master’s program is like.”

  “What did you think?” Aidan stretched his long legs out in front of him, his posture less rigid than before.

  “It sounds wonderful. It’s exactly what I’m looking for. I think I’m qualified, so I have a good shot at being accepted, but….”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know if I really want to come back and live on the campus where I spent my undergrad years. My life has always been about moving forward, never looking back. To consider returning seems very odd.”

  “You never look back?”

  “Almost never.” The intimacy of the moment, the fact she’d probably never see him again, had her speaking what was really on her mind. “I think about that night all the time.”

  He shifted in his chair, and she heard the gulp as he swallowed a sip of Scotch, hard. “You do?”

  “Yeah, I mean, it was pretty hot.” She grinned at him, daring him to contradict her. “Keeps me company on lonely nights.”

  Aidan looked uncomfortable. A thought occurred to her.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” If he had a girlfriend, she could laugh all this off, leave him to his life, and go on living hers as if nothing had changed.

  “No, not for a while.”

  “Oh.”

  “What about you? Seeing anyone?”

  “No one special.” She’d fallen into a patt
ern of dating a guy for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. They might have great sex, they might not, but eventually they tired of each other, and she never felt a spark that might induce her to try harder to stick it out.

  Funny there should be sparks flying every second she was with this quiet, thoughtful man who did more to set her heart racing and her libido soaring than any of the biker toughs or surfer dudes or adrenaline junkies she usually dated.

  “Do you think we could start over? It’s still raining, and I’m happy to stay by the fire.” Aidan gestured with his glass, and the fire popped and crackled as if on cue.

  “Start over? Like, be friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Now what?

  “Tell me about yourself, Bree. What have you been up to these last years?”

  Bree giggled, and Aidan looked quizzical. “I’ve answered the same question all day from my classmates. Here’s the medium-length version. After I graduated I wanted to get as far away from New England as possible. I had some money saved up, and I did the grand European tour. I hit all the highlights—the Uffizi, Prado, Vatican, Louvre. My friends got sick of me dragging them to every museum we passed. Of course, I had to get a job eventually. I came back to the States, moved to Montana, and worked on a dude ranch, of all places. From there I went to New Zealand, learned how to skydive. When my visa ran out, I moved to Seattle. I’ve been working at an outdoor school there for almost a year. I love working with the kids, working outside, all the fresh air. But I’ve been hankering to settle down a bit more, and I figure if I want to teach at the college level—maybe not at a place like Weston, but perhaps a community college or something—then I’ll need more education.”