Page 13 of Wicked Little Secret
She’s unassuming compared to earlier, where she’d challenged me andsmirked.
Right now, she’s all cropped cashmere sweater and headful of curls, clutching what looks like a large coffee from the student union. The lighting in the room emphasizes the exact cinnamon shade of her wide, deep-set eyes.
Eyes that couldn’t be more earnest if they tried.
A sliver of guilt stabs at me until I clear my throat and sift fingers through my hair, trying to appear more dignified and professional. She must’ve wandered into my classroom at the height of my irritation, as I slashed away at the papers.
“Miss Oliver,” I say, forcing an even tone, “to what do I owe a visit after classroom hours?”
“I wanted to apologize for yesterday. You know, what happened with the coffee.”
“Oh.” I blink a couple times, unsure how else to respond. “You already apologized when it happened.”
“I know. They say not to cry over spilled milk—or in this case, coffee—but I wanted to make it up to you. So, here. A large peppermint mocha with almond milk. I asked the barista at the student union what you typically ordered, and luckily she knew.”
Nyssa sets the large paperboard cup down next to my stack of bleeding papers. The subtle quirk of her brows hint at her shock to see so much red.
For a moment that easily lasts five, maybe six, seconds, neither of us say a word. As the pause grows, Nyssa seems to second-guess her gesture. She frowns, then takes a step back, her slender fingers finding the strap of her leather bookbag.
“Sorry,” she says. “This was dumb of me, right? And I interrupted your work. Why would you need me to replace the coffee? I didn’t mean to make things awkward?—”
“No,” I answer hastily, “it’s alright. Err… thank you. It’s a, err, nice gesture. It is appreciated.”
“It is?”
“Now I have no excuse to penalize you when I grade your paper.”
Surprise flits across her features, her brows rising higher, her lips parting just slightly. She’s regretting her decision to come by.
This olive branch that she’s extended me.
I take pity on the girl. Even after the flub from yesterday and the challenge from earlier today.
Peering at her over the rim of my glasses, a vague grin quirking at the corners of my mouth, I say, “That was a joke, Miss Oliver. I’m usually not very good at making them, but most students take pity on me and laugh anyway.”
That earns a smile out of her—a big, relieved one that lights up her face. It’s the kind of smile the men her age would probably work desperately for. The kind of smile that comes alive before your eyes. That blooms like a flower would in spring.
And this hypothetical man expressing interest in herwould feel his temperature rise and his nerves grow. He’d likely realize he was somehow even more hopelessly into her.
He would be coming under her spell, unable to help himself. He couldn’t do a damn thing, nor would he want to…
“Um, Professor?”
“Hmmm, yes?” I snap out of my rambling thoughts.
Nyssa’s puzzled, blinking at me. “I asked if you were interested in attending the downtown art festival this Sunday? All the school faculty is invited.”
“Right,” I murmur, suddenly mindful of how warm it is in the room. Of the funny knot in my stomach. “I don’t attend those types of gatherings. My time is my time.”
“Oh,” she says, then nibbles at her bottom lip almost to the point of distraction. She hesitates a second longer, hugging her book to her chest, and then digs around in her bag for something. A flyer that she slides onto my desk. “Well, just in case you change your mind. Here’s one of the flyers we’ve been putting up around campus. Over fifty students will be showcasing their work. Um, including me. But I understand if you can’t make it.”
I glance at the flyer that’s covered in flowery graphic art design worthy of Canva and produce a hum from my throat.
The door on the opposite side of the room suddenly opens.
Both of us look up like we’re in the middle of committing a heinous crime.
The big, meaty oaf I recognize as Samson Wicker stands in the doorway. He’s clutching that damn rugby ball and wearing the letterman jacket he’s so proud of.