Page 13 of The Other Side
We had formed an unlikely bond the year before when he caught me sneaking into the kitchen, hoping to find some nonperishables I could squirrel away in my room during winter break when the kitchen would be closed.
He had taken one look at me and his face had softened. I hadn’t had to tell him why, he just knew. And he showed me through the pantry, talking through the various items that were overstocked and wouldn’t be missed, but that would store well and could be easily cooked in the small kitchenette in my room.
Later in the year, he told me I reminded him of his granddaughter. He also confessed I was probably the only faculty member who knew his name or bothered to speak to him like a human being. He was certainly curmudgeonly, but I felt comforted by having a surrogate parent on campus. And my father had been in the service, although I’d never met him, so Ifelt a kinship with Lenny, leading to my respectful salutations in his presence.
“Any leftovers I can grab for lunch?” I asked sweetly.
Lenny rolled his eyes but tilted his head toward some metal trays covered with tinfoil across the kitchen.
“What do you know about the yearly faculty mixer?” I asked him as I grabbed a to-go box from the stack that never seemed to run out and had appeared shortly after my first run-in with Lenny.
“I cook the food,” he answered shortly, walking down the line and inspecting the work of the kitchen staff to make sure they were on track with their assignments.
“Yeah, but what do they do? Do I have to just stand around listening to everyone brag about their summer vacations for hours?” I scooped a pile of mashed potatoes into the box, leaving a divot in the middle for the gravy I knew was in the next metal container.
“Don’t know. Donors will be there.” His tone was clipped.
They didn’t invite him.
“Oh.” I frowned. “Lucky you then.”
That garnered a laugh, at least.
I plucked a roll from the last tray before closing the box and going to stand next to Lenny. “I’d give you a hug, but I know you’d hate it,” I told him. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Where else would I be, Violet?” He chortled.
I smiled, watching his aged hands move quickly while chopping next to one of his assistants, his chef’s coat still a pristine and crisp white, always perfectly starched.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch,” he commented, not looking up from his task.
“Yes, chef.” I again brought my hand up to my forehead in a respectful and affectionate salute, before turning on my heel and striding out of the kitchen.
Taking the long way back to the carriage house, I passed the empty sports fields behind the main building and the athletics center that had been built years ago, after a generous donation from famous alumni and insanely successful businessman-turned-powerful politician, Thomas Roberts.
I kicked at the perfectly manicured grass, slowing my pace as I approached the rose gardens that were situated between the main building and the carriage house. I always went out of my way to pass through them when they were in bloom.
And although they were nearing the end of their bloom, they were still plush and fragrant.
Sitting on a shaded bench, neatly tucked away at one corner of the rose garden, I tore off pieces of the still-warm roll, dipping it into the mashed potatoes and gravy, indulging myself in the carbohydrates and non-processed food. The tastes were a delight on my tongue, so rich and salty.
Oh how I’ve missed Chef Lenny’s cooking.
I had an ideal, but secluded view of the courtyard in the center of all the buildings on campus.
My eyes gently swept over the exterior of the carriage house. Covered in ivy, it was picture-perfect. It was the smallest building on campus, originally used as stables and housing for coachmen. In the seventies, it had been converted into studio-like apartments for the faculty who chose to reside on campus, as opposed to commuting from one of the small towns that dotted the surrounding area.
I sighed fondly as I found the windows at the top floor of the faculty dorms, planning out what I could get up to in the loungeby myself that evening, before remembering I’d be otherwise occupied with the faculty mixer.
While the sweet floral aroma combined with the heavy lunch left me feeling sleepy and lethargic, I eventually coaxed myself to get up, hoping to finish what was left of my fall lesson planning before the mixer.
When I was almost to the carriage house, I caught a flash of someone walking into the main building. I blinked and they were gone. I thought I must have been going mad. Because the man had looked exactly like Chance.
I shook my head.
Am I that desperate to get laid?
Trudging up the three flights of stairs to the fourth floor, I couldn’t help but ruminate on the dalliance from the night before. I was still kicking myself for not giving him my number or just shoving him into my room, but I was also still a bit sour that he had refused my invitation, even though, deep down, I knew it had probably been the right thing to do.
He could have just come in and cuddled.
But I wouldn’t have let him just cuddle with me. I wanted much more from him. The rejection smarted; however, it was unlikely I’d ever meet him again, so I tried not to think of his gorgeous blue-grey eyes and how deftly they had followed my every movement, or how good he had tasted and smelled, or how fantastic of a kisser he was, or how well-endowed I imagined he was, given what I had felt straining through his pants.
No, I refused to think about any of those things.
Even if they wereallI could think about.
