Page 20 of Ancient History

“They’re trying to add more vegan and gluten free options.”

“Is any of it good?” He waited for the real answer. God, he could be so charming. I didn’t know somebody could exist without neuroses. It was infuriating and impossible to withstand.

“I don’t know. I brought my own lunch.” I pointed to my black, insulated lunch bag.

“That’s right. You never ate cafeteria food.”

When I was a student, I didn’t have the money to indulge in buying my own lunch. My family wasn’t poor, but my parents let it be known that I couldn’t luxuriate in eating out every day.

“I can make a better sandwich than what’s available. How did you know I brought my own lunch? We never sat together.”

“Doesn’t mean I never noticed.” His blue eyes flecked with an ocean of memories as they looked down at the table. A warm glow fuzzed in my chest.

My resolve to resist the charms of Hutch Hawkins kicked in the backup generators.

I bit off half my sandwich. Stuffing my mouth with food would keep me from my natural inclination for chitchat.

“You should get in line now before it gets really long,” I said through my mouthful.

I focused my attention on my sandwich, waiting for him to go. After a few bites, I commenced my rotation. I ambled around the cafeteria, on the lookout for any suspicious, food fighty behavior. Fortunately, it was a quiet day.

On the lunch line, my eyes didn’t deceive me. Hutch winced when he made a sharp turn to the register. He gave his left knee a clandestine rub before slapping on a smile for the cashier.

By the time I returned to the lunch table, Hutch was midway through his rosemary chicken and roasted potatoes, the savory scent nearly making me chuck my sandwich. His left leg was sticking out straight, poking out from under the table.

I asked a nearby table of girls for their spare chair and dragged it over.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“You can prop your leg on it. That’s not allowed for students, but we can abuse our teacher privilege.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Gratitude and embarrassment waged war on his face. He didn’t touch the chair. “I’m fine, though.”

“Are you…”

“Yeah.” He pulled his leg back under the table, away from view. “I slept on it weird last night, so it’s a little tight. It’ll be better by morning.”

I wasn’t sure how someone slept on their leg funny. My mind went to odd sex positions, and the less I traveled down that path, the better.

“Thanks,” he said. “Want some?”

He ripped open the bag of Skittles laying at the edge of his tray.

In ancient cultures, the sharing of food was symbolic of unification. And in modern times, Skittles were delicious.

“Do you still only eat the greens and yellows?” I asked. When we secretly dated, he’d sneak a bag of Skittles in my locker with only the red, orange, and purples. I used to think we were meant to be because our Skittles tastes complemented each other perfectly. Then I grew up and realized that candy was never an accurate barometer of relationship strength.

“I’ve expanded my palette,” he said while munching on a handful of Skittles. Why did I find him chewing attractive? “Want some?”

He held out the bag to me, but I held my ground. It would trigger all those times when we shared candy in the past, the sweetness lingering on his tongue as we made out.

Hutch got up a few minutes later to do his rounds, presumably once his knee felt better. All was quiet on the cafeteria front, and at our table, too. When he returned to the table, he didn’t come up with any more questions, comments, jokes, or sly observations. He said nothing.

We spent the rest of the period in silence, two colleagues and nothing more. No charm. No dimples.

Everything was going according to plan then. Hutch got the message to keep his distance.

I heaved out a sigh.

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