“‘Isabelle!” He greets me with a big smile. “I’m so sorry you thought you were in trouble when I called. Please, sit. I brought sausage and bacon sandwiches as an apology. You get first choice since I wasn’t sure what you’d like.’”
My stomach grumbles in response. “Oh, James, that’s really sweet, thank you.” As I approach him and lower the coffees to the table, my books and bag slip from my grasp and tip all over the floor. “I’m okay! I got it!”
James crouches beside me to help pick up my books. He passes me my diary, and I look at him straight in those deep chestnut-brown irises, the corners crinkling slightly as he smiles, the front of his hair flopping down over his eyes. He’s gorgeous, and I’m a goner.
“‘Isabelle,” he says softly, holding my gaze.
Yes, Miss
“‘Yes?” I whisper, unable to tear myself away from the hold he has on me. I swear I feel something crackling between us. My heart pounds, and my chest feels tight, like I can’t take a deep breath. My stomach is doing more somersaults than an Olympic gymnast.
“Sausage or bacon?"
“‘What?” My mind is barren. There’s tumbleweed rolling through my head, and I can’t seem to understand what he’s asking me. He looks away and laughs slowly, rising to stand. My mind suddenly snaps back into working order, and I answer as fast as I can, tripping over my words; “Oh, I’d love a sausage, please."
James tries so hard not to laugh, and I hear my inner voice scolding me. What the fuck did I just say? I just said I’d love a sausage. Oh, fucking kill me now, please! It’s the kindest thing to do.
I flush bright red and stay crouched on the floor, gathering my belongings.
Jesus fucking Christ, Isabelle.
I take a deep breath and figure I’d best just try and style it out.
I stand and say, “Well, now you know my preferences with regards to meat, we won’t need this particular conversation again.” I smooth my shirt down, adamant that I won’t look up and meet James’s face.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
I look up to his body, still avoiding his gaze, and see him sat perched on the edge of the desk, his arms loosely crossed across his chest, emphasising the glorious bulk of his chest and shoulders. He lets out a soft laugh and says, “Isabelle, are you okay? Shall we start on the plans, or do you need a minute?’"
“‘No, no, let’s crack on,” I say, eager to move on and forget this ever happened.
We take our seats and pull out our plans, James subtly sliding the sausage sandwich next to me. I look up and see a small smirk on his face as he grabs his highlighter pens, running a hand through his thick dark hair, making stray strands drop over his eyes again. I’m sure he knows exactly what he is doing.
“So, what did you get up to this weekend?” he asks, passing over the theatre leaflets.
I freeze, my mind whirling with possible responses, but unable to say anything.
He sits back and looks at me, patiently waiting for the answer.
“Erm…” I hesitate but finally manage to force out a reply. “Just some reading and errands, you?
“Very boring. Stayed in and had a quiet one.”
Yes, Miss
Oh, did you now, James? I want to press him and see if he’ll confess, but I keep my mouth shut otherwise I’ll give myself away. But the sense of relief that he didn’t recognise me washes over me.
“Let’s finalise times then we can email the parents and let them know the plans.” Suddenly he is all business as he jots down notes, and I eat my sandwich.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Chapter 17
James
Isabelle flustered is a new one for me. She seems out of sorts today, not her normal styled self. Her clothing is different from her usual style I’ve seen her wear, but then what do I know? I’ve only worked with her for two weeks and didn’t see her for three years prior to that. She still looks radiant, though. You couldn’t hide those looks under a bin bag.
I never saw her that way when she was a student. That is a line I would never cross, not even mentally, but now? Well, I’m a man after all. A man who hasn’t been with anyone since Laura. A man can dream, but there isn’t a chance in hell Isabelle would ever be interested in me. I can’t even imagine being lucky enough to have a woman so beautiful, talented, and funny. She’s thirteen years younger than I am. At thirty-five, I’m too old to be thinking of twenty-two-year-olds, let alone a colleague and former student. It’s ridiculous.
