Page 19 of Oops, My Professor Got Me Pregnant!

Céline’s words reminded Lauren of what Nico had said about her French. He’d been so encouraging, even when she was worried that she wasn’t pronouncing everything correctly. Now, Lauren had a chance to do the same for these students of English.

“Even I mess up my English sometimes,” Lauren said. Céline gave her an encouraging nod, so she continued. “I once accidentally autocorrected a word in a document at my old job so that instead of saying legal ‘parties,’ it said legal ‘panties.’”

It was a true story and had been a real mess for Lauren in her first week at the bank, but the way the students laughed and sat up a little straighter made it all worth it.

“Once, an Englishman on a phone did not understand me,” a boy at the back of the class spoke up. “I repeated myself a dozen times until I was yelling, ‘refund, refund.’”

“You sound perfectly understandable to me,” Lauren said. The boy grinned and another student spoke up.

Céline let the class talk about their experiences for a few more minutes, then wrapped the conversation up.

“As I’ve been listening to you talk, I’ve been impressed by the variety of your vocabulary and grammar. I’ve also noticed a few mistakes that a few of you have made. For instance, keep in mind that past continuous would be, ‘I was going,’ not, ‘I was go.’ Let’s have a quick look at some of these mistakes, so that we can all keep them in mind for the rest of the semester.”

When the lesson ended fifty minutes later, Lauren was beyond impressed.

“Are all your classes like this?” she asked Céline as the last students filed out of the room.

“Not all of them. Some of my students are just learning their first few words and phrases in English, so those classes are obviously different. And I teach a few English classes to seniors, which are more serious and focused on academic language and composition.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t worry.” Céline grinned at her. “It’s only a matter of time before you’ll be just as confident. I can see that you’ll be a wonderful professor in no time.”

“Thanks.” Lauren blushed. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as you. You really got those kids to pay attention and learn something.”

“So did you. Your story about making mistakes as a native speaker inspired some of them to speak up.” Céline glanced at her watch. “We have about fifteen minutes until our next class, so I’ll give you a quick briefing on the way. Oh, and I spoke with our staff. We’ve slotted you in to an advanced beginner French class at noon. I hope that works for you.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

The rest of the morning flew by. Lauren went with Céline to her next class, which was one of the college’s community offerings and targeted seniors who wanted to improve English or, in a few cases, learn it for the first time. Then they raced to the next class, which was creative writing in English for advanced students and English majors. For the first time in a couple of weeks, Lauren was hardly thinking about Nico at all. This job was exactly what she’d needed. Just before twelve, though, she realized that she was about to miss her French class.

“I think I need to slip out,” she whispered to Céline when the students were having a five-minute writing sprint. Céline glanced at her watch, then nodded.

“Sorry, Lauren, I didn’t keep track of the time. You’d better hurry. The building is on the far side of the campus.”

Lauren grabbed her bag, slipped out of the classroom, and hustled across campus. She didn’t want to be late for her first day of French class. As she hurried, she made up her mind to speak French as confidently as she could. If her English students were brave enough to make a few mistakes, she could be, too. And Nico had told her she was perfectly understandable most of the time.

Lauren found the right classroom at about a quarter after twelve and slipped through the door as quietly as she could. Head down, she followed the wall to a free desk at the back of the classroom and sank into the attached chair. She got out the notebook that she’d been taking notes in during the English classes — she hadn’t thought to buy one for this class — and found a worn pencil. Only then did she raise her head to take in the other students and the professor.

The students were a collection of ages and nationalities, which wasn’t surprising for a French class in Paris. At the sight of the professor, though, Lauren’s mouth almost fell open. There was the familiar dark hair and brown eyes. The firm line of a chiseled jaw. The athletic build. The briefcase on the desk. This professor was no stranger. No, the man who Lauren would be taking classes from for the next semester was none other than the man who had given her a wonderful day and night in Paris, then abandoned her in the morning.

Nico.

CHAPTER 8

NICO

It was the first day of a new quarter and Nico was in his element. He’d spent most of the morning in a French literature seminar with a small class of soon-to-graduate seniors, which had reminded him why he enjoyed working with literature so much. The students had been intelligent and thoughtful in a way that their several-years-younger peers usually weren’t.

Now, he stood in front of his advanced beginner French-as-a-second-language students. The class was, as usual, mixed. There were a few college-aged students, several professionals who probably worked in the city, and a few expats who were in France for a short time with the main goal of improving their French. He launched into his introductory speech, which he knew by heart after years of teaching here.

“Bonjour,” he began. “And welcome to class. I know I have some varied levels here. Some of you feel confident speaking, while others are still relatively new to French and may need a little extra support. Don’t worry. My goal by the end of the semester is to have you all feeling confident with the basic interactions you need for life in Paris, from ordering in a restaurant to reading an email from your landlord. I’ll start off today with a review of the very basics, just to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

The door of the classroom opened, and a latecomer slipped in. Nico caught a flash of her blond hair as she turned to the back of the room, and for a split second he thought it might be Lauren. That was nonsense, of course. He’d seen women he thought were Lauren across Paris during the past couple of weeks and they had never been her.

“Let’s start with a few survival phrases. Who has an example of a phrase they use regularly?”

One man near the back raised his hand, and Nico called on him. “Yes?”

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