Page 47 of Prosecco with My Professor
“Emma.” He kisses me on the cheek. “Smells amazing.”
“Thank you. Biscuits are done. Hattie, can you get the condiments out?”
“I want to make the moose snot!” Gabby calls out.
“Too slow,” Hattie retorts from the open fridge.
Moose snot is a family tradition, one I don’t even remember the source of. It’s butter and honey mixed in a whipped bouquet of fat and sweet. It’s a treat we only have on Christmas Day. The stick of butter has been out on the counter since I got up this morning, so it’s perfect for mixing with the honey.
“He’s cute,” Hattie says.
“Who is?” Parker asks.
“Mom’s professor.”
“What? Let me see.
Hattie smacks their hand away from her phone. “You have your own phone.”
“Enough,” I tell them, but they ignore me.
“Who is this?” Bruce stands by Hattie’s shoulder and leans over. This, Hattie allows. “Him?” Bruce’s eyebrows rise to the stratosphere. “Your neighbor?”
“YOUR NEIGHBOR!” Hattie shrieks. “You live next to him?”
“Oh, Mom’s blushing,” Parker comments.
“Someone’s got a crush,” Hattie sing-songs.
“You should ask him out, Mom,” Gabby adds. She’s already pouring herself a second mug of coffee, so she’s looking much more awake now.
“Maybe he’s already asked her out,” Bruce says, narrowed eyes on me.
“He’s like, Patrick-Dempsey level hot. Like, stern brunch daddy hot,” Hattie adds.
I don’t want to know how she knows that phrase, which I only know from romance novels. But, uh… I should text that comment to my friends. Jade would be so proud, and also, it’s accurate.
“Is he Italian?” Parker asks.
“Are you dating him?” Hattie persists.
“I’m not. Yes, he’s Italian, but no, we are not dating.” Technically, the truth. No dates have been had. Nor will they be had, for that matter. Santo might want to make my toes curl, but I’m pretty sure it’s in the name of science. Or statistics. Whatever.
My kids throw up a chorus that’s a mix of complaints and encouragement, and I never would have considered that they would have so many opinions on a guy they’d never meet. Or on my sex life. Maybe all the work Bruce and I do to be friendly to each other and demonstrate a healthy relationship is paying off.
“Are you dating him?” Bruce asks me quietly.
I hold his gaze, doing my best to look as honest as possible. “No, I’m really not.”
“Okay,” he says, raising his voice and clapping his hands. “That’s enough. Your mother is not dating her professor and joking about it is how rumors start. If a rumor went around that a professor was sleeping with his student that could cost him his job, so let’s not make a joke out of these kinds of things.”
Ouch. True, but also a stark reminder that we should not be doing…whatever we’re going to do.
But even as I think that, and as my kids get plates out and I pull the bacon out of the oven, a flutter of anticipation settles into my stomach.
Santo wants to do this regardless of the ramifications. He wants to go down on methat badly.
It’s just one time, that’s all. One time and I’ll know what it feels like to be desired like that.
