It had been especially hot today and I was in terrible need of a shower. Never thought, as a preschool teacher, I would ever sweat so much at my job.

 

Feeling the water run over my body, I couldn’t help but remember last night. I smiled, eyes closed, water dripping off my pussy. The memory of his body over mine, his scent, his piercing eyes, was too strong, too fresh. I wanted him again.

 

My pussy clenched, trying to re-enact the moment we came together and I moaned. I could feel heat spreading through my body and it wasn’t from the steam surrounding me.

 

I would’ve lost myself in the moment if I weren’t so aware of the mountain of paperwork I had to finish. The fantasy was gone, but not the desire. I knew I wanted more of this man and I was intent on having it.

 

Stepping out of the shower, I dried my skin and put a light sundress on. I decided against blow-drying my hair and gathered it in a golden bun instead. Feeling refreshed, I went to make myself some lunch.

 

Deciding on a chicken salad, I thought it would be best if I had it on the front porch. Passing through the living room, I grabbed the pile of files from the coffee table, a bunch of pens and the chocolate bar I had salvaged from my purse and set up shop on the white wrought iron table outside.

 

I adjusted the cushion, then arranged the paperwork in two categories, pens neatly placed as separators and started eating. Incapable of mindlessly chewing, I couldn’t help but reach a hand for the stack that required only reading.

 

Not long into my workaholic binge, I heard a motorcycle approaching and my body reacted instinctively. The heat I felt in the shower grew fast, as if it had never settled down, and my pussy clenched at the prospect of seeing him again. I looked up, delighted to watch him end his ride, dismount and lower the zipper to his leather jacket. He ran a hand through his black hair and looked at me. I moaned. Good thing he wasn’t close enough to hear.

 

For a moment, I thought he’d come to me but his front door opened and Ginger ran towards him. He settled for smiling at me, then bent down and hugged his daughter. I smiled back, feeling a pinch of disappointment. I watched him for a few seconds. He talked to the little girl, ruffled her hair, and lifted her in the air. He looked handsome in his father role and I loved that.

 

Trying not to imagine him touching me, I resumed my work. After a few attempts, I managed to focus enough to finish the paper I was holding. My appetite was gone so I pushed the half-full salad bowl out of the way and focused on tackling the pile of papers designated for reading.

 

An error in one of the administrative forms prompted me to redo an entire file. It must’ve taken me close to an hour and I felt thirsty. I lifted my head from the paperwork and startled at the shadow cast over me.

 

“Hey there,” he greeted me, his smile melting my heart.

 

“Hey. You scared me for a moment.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

He was leaning on the pillar closest to me and, by the looks of it, he had been standing there for a while. Changed out of his riding gear, he wore a white T-shirt and faded jeans, his hands crossed over a muscular chest. I swallowed hard, unable to look away. He smiled again, probably reading my mind.

 

“Busy working, I see,” he remarked, gesturing towards the disarray of papers on the table. I nodded. “You’re working too hard. Should’ve finished your salad first.”

 

I regarded the bowl, contemplating whether to tell him he was the reason I kept losing my appetite and would probably starve soon. I didn’t have time to ponder too much on the issue.

 

“Good thing me and Ginger are planning on having a little picnic on our front lawn, then. There’s no question of not coming.”

 

I looked at him. “Me, you, and Ginger?” It was not that I didn’t comprehend his suggestion, just that my vocabulary suffered losses whenever I was around him. I felt dumb the moment I spoke and looked down, suddenly preoccupied with the way my tan sandals fit around my toes.

 

I heard him chuckle and I blushed. “Sure. The food is delicious. Ginger helped me make it.”

 

“You cook?” I blurted out and felt my face flush even more.

 

“I won’t call it cooking. Just some sandwiches and a fruit salad. Oh, and ice cream. Always ice cream,” he said, reaching for my hand.

 

I grabbed his and stood. Concerned with some mysterious and currently absent draft spreading my papers all over the neighborhood, I pulled my hand back and gathered my files in one single pile on top of which I placed the salad bowl.

 

He took my hand again and we crossed the small green patch between our adjacent houses. I saw he had already set a folding wooden table on his lawn with a cute checkered tablecloth giving it a vintage feel. The centerpiece was a huge bowl of colored fruit and, right next to it, a basket of deliciously looking croissants.

 

“You didn’t mention pastries,” I pointed out, honestly impressed.

 

“Don’t worry, I bought them,” he laughed.

 

At that moment, Ginger walked out of the house carrying some paper plates and towels and squealed at the sight of me. “Miss Bennett!”

 

“Hi, Ginger!” I reached for her load and placed it on the table. “I heard you made all these lovely things.”

 

“Not really. Daddy made them, but I helped.”

 

I had always loved her honesty. In class she seemed older than her peers and much more self-aware than the average five-year old. I smiled at her and reached to ruffle her hair.

 

“Are you joining us, Miss Bennet?”

 

I looked at her father.

 

“Yes, she is, baby. Why don’t you two sit and I’ll go get the sandwiches?”

 

“Yay!”

 

I helped Ginger in her chair, which seemed a bit too high for a child, and sat myself across the table from her. She was already reaching of a piece of fruit.

 

“Wouldn’t it be better if we waited until dessert time, honey?” I suggested, unsure of how to speak with one of my students outside the classroom.

 

She looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Daddy always lets me eat from the fruit salad.”

 

I didn't know how to respond, though I felt I should say something.

 

“Why is it better to wait?” she asked, still looking at me. I swallowed.

 

“Well, sweets make you feel full, honey. And they make you not want to eat. But fruits are not like food; they don’t give your body the same things food does, so you need to keep you tummy ready for food first, then fruit. Or ice cream. Do you understand?”

 

She nodded thoughtfully. “But fruits are still good, right?”

 

“Yes, honey. They are very good. They have good things in them, too, but we need the things in food mostly.”

 

“Mmhm. Okay, I’ll try it your way, Miss Bennett.”

 

I laughed. “Thank you, Ginger.”

 

Her father walked out of the house with a plate full of attractive sandwiches and placed it on the table.

 

“How are the girls getting along?”

 

I smiled, still uncomfortable with intruding upon his home education like I had just done. Ginger didn’t say anything but dove into the closest sandwich. He looked surprised. Sitting next to me, he waited until I chose a nice looking turkey and rye bread arrangement, then took one for himself.

 

“This is delicious!” I couldn’t help but exclaim. “Who’s responsible for this?”

 

He pointed at Ginger and she smiled with a mouthful, looking proud. I was impressed again.

 

“Thank you for this, honey. This is amazing.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Bennett. I like it best, too,” she said and reached for the last turkey and rye bread sandwich.

 

“Yes, she has a real talent in the kitchen, this one,” her father joined in.

 

“Hey, Dawson! Having a picnic, I see! Hello, Mari!” we heard from behind us.

 

One of our neighbors, a round man who, I remembered, worked as an accountant for some big corporation, approached us. He was taking his regular stroll through the neighborhood and, jovial as he was, decided to approach us.

 

“Hi, Albert. Care to join?”

 

He looked at the array of sandwiches on the plate, visibly interested, but shook his head. His eyes fell on my hands. I has holding my sandwich tightly, careful not to waste any of its goodness. “No, thank you. The old ball and chain put me on a diet, she did. Says something about my cholesterol and I believe her. Do I have a choice?” he laughed. I tried to smile back politely as Dawson stood and shook the man’s hand. “Married life is wonderful. How’s, uh… your life treating you, Mari?”

 

I blushed. The subtlety was clear as day. Trying to keep my mouth shut, I forgot to chew. The words I was trying to keep at bay were too strong for the time and place; I simply didn’t like the way I was treated just because this corner of the world felt appropriate to live by ancient standards. I wanted to get married, too, but that didn’t mean I would give up a career or settle just to stop neighbors from gossiping.

 

Thoughts began to build inside me and I was on the brink of spilling them out when Dawson, probably watching me, decided to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over us.

“Well, I suppose you have to listen to your wife,” he said. “Too bad, though. How’s your work going?”

 

“Fine, thank you. Looking forward to a bit of vacation, if you know what I mean,” Albert replied, winking at Dawson.

 

I, for one, didn’t know what he meant, but decided against getting too involved. Dawson exchanged a couple more pleasantries with the visitor then sent him on his way swiftly. I followed his diplomacy with interest, surprised to learn he knew his way with words better than I imagined.

 

When he sat back down, he smiled at me, then looked at Ginger. His eyes widened with surprise as he saw his daughter struggling to finish another sandwich. “How did you manage that, baby?” he asked her, real interest permeating his voice.

 

“I was hungry, daddy.”

 

He looked at me as if to make me a witness to this scene. I shrugged. “She never eats that much,” he explained.

 

“Oh?” I replied, having some ideas as of why would that be, but Ginger beat me to it.

 

“Miss Bennett told me food has better things in it that are good for me and that I should not eat sweets and fruit before a meal so I can eat more food.”

 

“Is that so?” he asked, regarding me with obvious gratefulness. “And here I was thinking you didn't eat enough.”

 

“I suppose Miss Bennett knows better than you, then,” the little girl replied and we started laughing. She looked puzzled.

 

“That was the best comeback I ever heard, if you want my opinion,” I managed to say.

 

Dawson nodded, still laughing openly. Ginger’s choice of dealing with us with a shake of her head didn't help in settling the raspy cascade of laughter that had seized him.

 

I felt proud for making him happy. I wanted to thank him for accepting my intervention and his happiness made me feel more comfortable. I even dared to have another sandwich.

 

The rest of the picnic went smoother and I was sure I haven’t enjoyed myself that much in a long time. At the end, I helped carry the plates to his kitchen and he stole a kiss from me while Ginger was in the bathroom.

 

“Are you free tonight?” he whispered and my body felt his words in every fiber and cell. I nodded, already picturing our bodies together, passionately making love. He smiled and I was beginning to suspect he had a way of reading my thoughts.

 

Still blushing after our short tête-à-tête, I pulled back when Ginger walked into the kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice anything suspicious and I took advantage of them negotiating over which ice cream to eat and made my excuses to leave. He didn’t stop me but his eyes promised pleasures I couldn’t wait to have.