She cracked eggs into a bowl, the yolks gleaming deep orange, and began whisking. The motion centered her. For a few minutes the only sounds were the whisk against ceramic and the distant hiss of the shower upstairs. She let herself imagine Taylor under the spray, water tracing the delicate tattoos on her wrists, running between her breasts, slipping down the flat plane of her stomach to the trimmed patch of hair between her legs. Heat pooled low in Charlotte’s belly at the thought.
A sharp knock at the front door made her jump.
She glanced down. The belt was knotted but the neckline still gaped enough to show the inner curves of her chest.
Who on earth would come by on New Year’s Day? One of the neighbors maybe?
The knock came again, firmer this time.
Charlotte set the bowl down. She didn’t love answering the door half-dressed, but ignoring it felt worse. She walked from the kitchen through the hallway, the fabric swaying against her bare thighs with each step. When she opened the door, cold air rushed in and raised the fine hairs on her arms.
Sam stood on the porch in full running gear, earbuds dangling around her neck, cheeks flushed from the January air.
“Well you clearly didn’t see my text last night,” Sam said.
Charlotte blinked, her pulse jumping hard in her throat. “What did it say?”
She prayed the sound of the shower didn’t carry downstairs. It was faint from here, a distant murmur of water against tile, but her ears strained toward it anyway.
“Happy new year, of course. And that we should hit the trails around eleven. Get those good habits started nice and early. I know it’s a cliché, but I thought you’d be up for it.”
Charlotte tried to keep her face neutral. “I’d love to but… my knee is bothering me. I don’t think I should.”
Sam’s brow creased. “Oh, did you fall or…?”
“No, no. It’s just been sore the last few days. Might be this cold weather.” Charlotte forced a self-deprecating laugh that scraped in her throat. “Hope it’s not arthritis.”
Sam smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I think you’re a few years away from that. Okay. Well, I’ll get going then.”
Charlotte could see the doubt flicker across Sam’s face, the slight tilt of her head as if listening for something she couldn’t quite place. Her own blood rushed so loudly in her head that sheworried Sam could hear it. She leaned against the doorframe, trying to look casual while every nerve screamed for Sam to leave before Taylor finished her shower and came downstairs calling her name.
“Have a good time,” Charlotte said, lifting her hand in a small wave.
Sam studied her another beat. “Enjoy the rest of the holidays. See you back at work.”
“Sure.”
Charlotte closed the door and sagged against it. The wood felt solid and cold against her spine. Her pulse crashed in her ears, a roaring that drowned out everything else. That had been too close. Far too close.
The thoughts she’d pushed away for days came rushing back now, crowding her throat and making it hard to swallow.
She should call this whole thing off. End it before someone saw Taylor’s car even though it was left three doors down on the curb. Before a student saw them at the wrong moment, before Sam put the pieces together.
Charlotte’s career, everything she had built, could collapse with one whispered rumor.
Taylor was her student. There were twenty years between them. The power imbalance alone could ruin them both.
She leaned back against the door and breathed through her mouth.
She couldn’t keep doing this.
She had to tell Taylor. The words already formed on her tongue.
They’d been lucky these last three months, but what if their luck ran out?
Charlotte couldn’t risk it.
24