Page 3 of Dear British Professor
Her eyes widen in surprise. “How long would you need me?”
“Just a few weeks. I've already done a lot of the work. I’m looking for some help on the last push before I need to get the final copy to my editor.”
“Yes, that would be incredible. I can’t believe you thought of me to ask.”
Now it’s my turn to stare at her in surprise.Does she not see the incredibly bright student I see?There is so much more to her, but I can’t let myself get lost in those thoughts. It would be unprofessional of me to act on them.
“Great. I’d like to get started right away, so would you be able to start tomorrow?”
“I have class until three, and then I'm all yours." A soft pink color floods her cheeks. “I mean, I’m able to assist you.”
“Sounds good.” I stand up and lead her over to the door. I can’t help but notice the gentle scent of vanilla as she passes me. I take in a breath and enjoy her fragrance. “I will see you tomorrow.”
I close the door behind her and flip off the switch to the lights in my office. There is plenty of sunlight still streaming in through the large windows near my desk. I have a lot of work to catch up on, and if a student comes by and sees the light is off, they might just move on.
I grab the pile of mail I abandoned earlier and take it over to my desk and sit down. I flip through the first few but stop when I find a pink envelope. I don’t recognize the writing. I tear it open and remove the handwritten letter inside.
Dear Professor Waller-Jones,
It wasn't my idea to write this letter, but I think it's what I need to do to move on from the feelings that I've developed over the semester. I just need to write everything out and move on. I know you won’t ever read these words, and that gives me the courage to say what’s in my head and my heart. I know that it's crazy to think that what I feel for you is more than just infatuation, but I know it is more. I listen to how you discuss the romance writers of the past and feel the same passion you do. I see it in the way your eyes light up, the sincerity in your smile, and the excitement in your voice. I know that you have your pick of any number of women, but I can’t help but wish that the sea of attention that surrounds you will part, and you will finally notice that I’m there waiting for you to notice me. But since that fantasy is only the type of thing that would happen in a romance story, I must resign myself to loving you from afar.
Sincerely Yours,
Willa Munro
I reread the letter, wondering if I've read it wrong, but the words don’t change. My typical reaction of uneasiness when any student of mine decides to make their feelings known to me doesn’t come. Instead, I feel a warmth growing in my chest. Suddenly the reaction I did feel when I saw Jack react to Willa suddenly makes sense. She isn’t alone in her feelings, and I can't believe I didn't realize them sooner.
Uh oh.
3
WILLA
With my classes done for the day, I decide to skip time at the library. Starting tomorrow, it will be my home away from home, so I better enjoy what little freedom I have left.
The apartment is quiet when I get home. Maren always works late, and that usually gives me all the alone time I need without getting annoyed with her as a roommate. I love the girl, but sometimes she drives me crazy.
We’ve lived together on and off since freshman year of college, with Lucy and Cassidy living across the hallway from us in the dorms. We all bonded with one another that first year and into the second, when Cassidy and Maren switched places, so we all could get a bit of variety. All four of us got an apartment after that, cementing our friendship through the ups and downs. Even if we do annoy the hell out of each other every once in a while, we know that nothing will change our friendship.
Maren is usually pretty good about picking up her messes, but I find her empty coffee mug and a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal sitting on the coffee table. I could leave it for her to pick up later, or I could spare myself the hours of having to stare at it.
I bend over to pick them up to take into the kitchen when I notice the stationery set is still sitting on the table where we left them on Friday. The only thing missing are the letters we all wrote out.
“No,” I gasp. “No, no, no, no, no!”
I open the box, hoping to find the letters in there, but all I see are clean sheets of paper and unused envelopes. Maren promised that we weren’t going to mail out these letters. I wouldn’t have written mine if I thought for a second that Professor Waller-Jones would read what I wrote. My brain chooses now to remind me that I’ve just agreed to be his assistant. I can’t do the job if I know that he read my letter.
I look around the living room, frantic in my search to find them. I nearly tear the room apart for the letters, but they are gone. I rush over to my bag and pull out my phone, and dial Maren. She doesn't pick up or respond to any of my text messages. I finally decide to call her work number, which I know she doesn't like me calling unless it's an emergency. And I think that she would agree that this counts as a fucking emergency.
“Christopher Grayson’s office,” Maren answers the phone.
“There you are! I’ve been calling you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you send the letters?” I ask, unable to hide the panic in my voice. “This can’t be happening. You said that we weren’t going to be sending them.”
“Wait,” Maren says. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”
