Relief flooded through me. I reached over and lifted her hands away from the mug and held them. “I know we both agreed for things to befun,and maybe that’s still what you want, but I’ve been happy having you in my life. More than just as Evanne’s teacher, I mean.” I squeezed her fingers. “I want to make this work.”
“What…what does that mean?” Lumen asked. “Make what work?”
“Us,” I said. The word didn’t choke me, and fear didn’t make me pass out, so I kept going. “As in, a real relationship. Not spontaneous nights that we swear won’t happen again. I want to do it right, lass. Take it a little slower. Get to know each other. See if what we have can exist outside the bedroom.”
I’d said my piece and now stopped to let her process and respond.
“It would be hard,” she said finally.
I had a feeling I knew what she was thinking. “Would your job be okay?”
“I…I don’t know. It’s not against any specific rules. It’s just…”
“Aye. But we met before either of us even knew you were Evanne’s teacher. This isn’t some weird teacher fetish.”
She let out a surprised laugh. I rubbed her knuckles with my thumbs, smiling at being able to make her laugh.
“We don’t need this to be anything but a decision to let this go,” I said more seriously. “Just say the word and–”
“I want to,” she said, cheeks flushing. “I…I want to try.”
“Let’s start now.”
She tilted her head. “Start what now?”
I let go of her hands and reached for my as-yet-untouched coffee. “Tell me about yourself. Something I should know about you.” I took a sip of coffee while she composed herself.
“Wow. Um, that’s a big question.” She chuckled. “Let me see. Uh, my birthday is May the thirtieth?”
I tucked away that knowledge for future reference. “What else?”
“Well, I…I went to Seattle Pacific University. Um, it was straight after high school as an early admission. Full scholarship.” She raised her mug. “Go me.”
“Cheers, lass.” I tapped my mug against hers. “What about your childhood?”
Her smile flattened, and I immediately wished I could take back that question.
“Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have a…perfect life as a kid.”
I frowned. “You don’t have to–”
“No, it’s okay. You might as well know.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “My parents…well, my dad…he drank. And my mom was clinically depressed.”
Shit. “Lumen, I–”
“It’s okay, Alec.” She had an almost resigned look on her face. “Really. I haven’t seen or talked to them since I was a kid. I don’t remember a lot. I had to learn to take care of myself. Not well enough, though, apparently. The January after I turned seven, I walked to school without a coat. It was the first day after Christmas break, and my mom was going through a really hard time, and my dad was still dealing with holiday hangovers, and they didn’t notice. But my teachers noticed. They called child services, and before I knew it, my parents had signed over all rights and walked out of my life.”
Fuck.
She took a drink from her mug. I touched her hand again to show support, but I didn’t say anything. I got the sense she wasn’t done.
“After that,” she went on, “I was in and out of foster homes and group homes for the next decade. It’s such a flawed system. Despite all the interviews and background checks, my foster families were never much better than my real family. And they never kept me long. It was like they were renting me.” She shook her head, staring at her drink. “They never hurt me or anything, but…it was hard.”
I hadn’t expected this when I’d asked the question. I’d automatically thought that my own childhood would have the saddest story.
“I aged out at eighteen, but my last group home wasn’t so bad. I still volunteer there, actually.”
“Aye? Even now, while you’re teaching?”
