about a seesaw. It’s just a lever positioned over a fulcrum. Force on either side pivots the lever. On a seesaw, the fulcrum is always in the same place—the midpoint. But in life, and other mechanical applications, the fulcrum moves. Sometimes it’s far to one side because force is exerted there. That’s been my life for just about a decade now. There are days, sometimes a lot of days, when I hate it. But I mostly love it.”
He motioned with his hands, miming his seesaw example.
“Some days, I hate it, too,” I sighed. “But mostly love. You could probably teach me a few things about enduring the hate days.”
Matthew’s eyes seemed to darken, turning a deeper, more brilliant blue, and a slight smile pulled at his lips. “I’d teach you anything you wanted, Lauren.”
Silence fell between us, though Matthew kept his eyes fixed on me. This would have been a great time for tequila to magically appear in my hand. It wasn’t cheating; I skipped lunch and my skinny latte breakfast meant there was room for splurging tonight.
“I met you yesterday. Why does it feel like I’ve known you, I don’t know, longer than that?” Matthew asked.
“Maybe you knew me in a past life.”
“You believe in reincarnation? All that stuff?”
I shrugged, thinking a moment. “I have to believe there’s something bigger than me, bigger than us. Maybe we’re just recycled versions of ourselves, floating around the universe, trying to make sense of it all.”
“You believe in soul mates, too? Isn’t that why we’re all floating around?”
Matthew sounded both skeptical and hopeful, and I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. “It’s a possibility.”
“Mathematically speaking, a rather unlikely possibility.”
I studied our joined hands, the bar, the people laughing and talking, and I felt as though I was watching myself from a distance. I wanted to remember the way my foot bumped Matthew’s knee and my hair fell across my face and his eyes sparkled every time I laughed.
This moment, this night—they were proof I was still me, that I hadn’t lost myself to the deadlines and deliverables and action plans. Not yet.
I knew this school required me to give it my all, and I knew I was losing some of myself in the process. I’d wake up some morning, not able to remember anything I once loved about schools and kids and learning, and I’d be trapped in a hollow wasteland of spreadsheets and strategic priorities. I was sliding down that slope, the slippery one no one ever managed to climb. I didn’t know what would be left of me if I fell all the way to the bottom, but I didn’t have to worry about any of that tonight.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
My eyebrows arched upward. He had to know what he was doing. No one could stare that hard, look that heated without putting some effort into it. That kind of eye action burned calories. “The way you’re looking at me.”
“Lauren, please tell me you want to get out of here.”
*
The brisk autumn air whipped along Cambridge Street in sharp contrast to the overheated bar. Or maybe I was a little hot and bothered, and the bar was the best excuse. Wind blew through my hair and I struggled to smooth it into place while my new architect friend was trying to melt my undies off with a few smoldering looks.
I glanced up at Matthew, his tall frame sheltering me from the wind. My gaze lingered on the exposed hollow of his throat where his top button gaped open, then the way his belt rode low on his hips, and then the bulge just below the brushed steel buckle.
Scrumptious.
“What would happen if…” I bit my lip, hoping I was interpreting his signals the right way, hoping my tequila-infused courage would see me through. I stretched up on my toes, and Matthew’s hands went to my waist. “If I did this?”
Digging his fingers into my hips, he pulled me against him, and there was no misinterpreting that signal. Our lips brushed
He motioned with his hands, miming his seesaw example.
“Some days, I hate it, too,” I sighed. “But mostly love. You could probably teach me a few things about enduring the hate days.”
Matthew’s eyes seemed to darken, turning a deeper, more brilliant blue, and a slight smile pulled at his lips. “I’d teach you anything you wanted, Lauren.”
Silence fell between us, though Matthew kept his eyes fixed on me. This would have been a great time for tequila to magically appear in my hand. It wasn’t cheating; I skipped lunch and my skinny latte breakfast meant there was room for splurging tonight.
“I met you yesterday. Why does it feel like I’ve known you, I don’t know, longer than that?” Matthew asked.
“Maybe you knew me in a past life.”
“You believe in reincarnation? All that stuff?”
I shrugged, thinking a moment. “I have to believe there’s something bigger than me, bigger than us. Maybe we’re just recycled versions of ourselves, floating around the universe, trying to make sense of it all.”
“You believe in soul mates, too? Isn’t that why we’re all floating around?”
Matthew sounded both skeptical and hopeful, and I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. “It’s a possibility.”
“Mathematically speaking, a rather unlikely possibility.”
I studied our joined hands, the bar, the people laughing and talking, and I felt as though I was watching myself from a distance. I wanted to remember the way my foot bumped Matthew’s knee and my hair fell across my face and his eyes sparkled every time I laughed.
This moment, this night—they were proof I was still me, that I hadn’t lost myself to the deadlines and deliverables and action plans. Not yet.
I knew this school required me to give it my all, and I knew I was losing some of myself in the process. I’d wake up some morning, not able to remember anything I once loved about schools and kids and learning, and I’d be trapped in a hollow wasteland of spreadsheets and strategic priorities. I was sliding down that slope, the slippery one no one ever managed to climb. I didn’t know what would be left of me if I fell all the way to the bottom, but I didn’t have to worry about any of that tonight.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
My eyebrows arched upward. He had to know what he was doing. No one could stare that hard, look that heated without putting some effort into it. That kind of eye action burned calories. “The way you’re looking at me.”
“Lauren, please tell me you want to get out of here.”
*
The brisk autumn air whipped along Cambridge Street in sharp contrast to the overheated bar. Or maybe I was a little hot and bothered, and the bar was the best excuse. Wind blew through my hair and I struggled to smooth it into place while my new architect friend was trying to melt my undies off with a few smoldering looks.
I glanced up at Matthew, his tall frame sheltering me from the wind. My gaze lingered on the exposed hollow of his throat where his top button gaped open, then the way his belt rode low on his hips, and then the bulge just below the brushed steel buckle.
Scrumptious.
“What would happen if…” I bit my lip, hoping I was interpreting his signals the right way, hoping my tequila-infused courage would see me through. I stretched up on my toes, and Matthew’s hands went to my waist. “If I did this?”
Digging his fingers into my hips, he pulled me against him, and there was no misinterpreting that signal. Our lips brushed
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