Quiet Ones

The name did the work.

-Professor Grafton, she repeated. I had no idea.

She ducked her head.

-I blend into the background rather easily, she said.

-Not everyone notices the quiet ones.

He moved his hand. He let it hover gently over the small of her back. She inhaled sharply. The contact was barely there, but she froze.

-Join me for a cup, he said.

They moved to the counter. He watched her profile. He watched the way she bit her lip.

-Skinny vanilla latte, please, she told the barista.

Grafton ordered an espresso. And two macaroons.

He led her to a table in another corner, away from the door.

-So, Grafton said. What have you been reading?

She took a sip of the latte. Her hands trembled against the cup.

-The lush world of Lady Chatterley's Lover, she said.

Grafton raised an eyebrow.

-D.H. Lawrence.

-A controversial choice, I know, she murmured. It’s raw, she said. The unbridled passion. The forbidden love affair.

Grafton leaned back.

-Are you living vicariously through the text? he asked.

She nearly choked on her drink. She coughed into a napkin, eyes wide.

-There’s no shame in it, he said. Literature is a gateway.

She recovered. She looked at him from beneath thick lashes.

-My parents were strict, she said. Traditional. Anything outside of academics was frivolous.

-And now?

-Now I explore themes of female agency, she whispered. Desire. Taboo.

-And what is the shape of your desire? he asked.

She squirmed in her seat.

-That’s a personal line of inquiry.

-Creation is intimate, Grafton said. We stand there naked.

She reached for a macaron.

Grafton watched her hand. He watched the way her fingers held the shell.

She brought it to her mouth. She took a bite.

He watched her lips.

She chewed slowly. She set the half-eaten treat back on the saucer.

-May I? he asked.

He reached for the remnant she had left.

Her eyes went to his hand, then his face.

-P-please, she stammered. Go ahead.

Grafton picked it up. He placed his lips where hers had been.

He took a bite.

She watched him. Her pupils were wide.

-Raspberry, he said. Dark chocolate.

He finished it. He wiped his fingers.

-A hint of something else.

She shifted in her chair. She crossed her legs.

-Have mine, he said.

He slid the plate toward her. There was a green one left.

She hesitated. She picked it up. She ate it.

-Salty, she murmured.

-Stimulating, he said.

He leaned forward. There was a speck of pastry on the corner of her mouth.

He took his napkin, reached out and brushed the crumb from her lip.

-Pardon me, he said as she leaned in.

He withdrew his hand.

-I... I didn't mind, she whispered.