The appearance of her rounded shapes, their imagined softness, the subtle, natural perfume of her body—all of these things aroused me, and not just figuratively. By the end of those first few sessions, her knee usually pressed against me as we carried on our discussion. She seemed wholly unaware of the contact, and I did my best not to reveal the transports of delight her touch brought me. As the semester’s end approached, that accidental (?) contact grew deeper and broader. By December, three-quarters of the length of her thigh would come to rest against mine well before the end of each meeting. She seemed completely unaware. Fearing that the touching would end if she became aware of it, I maintained a pretense of ignorant indifference. Always, when we concluded our business, she looked into my eyes and smiled her warm smile. As the semester progressed, I thought that those looks deepened and the smiles got warmer. But, I guessed, that was my imagination. She was, as I’ve already. As much as Sean frightened her with his very presence, she felt alive when he looked at her, when he spoke to her, even when he teased her. Maybe particularly when he teased her. And not just alive, but present, and real. She didn't want to push him away, and her old self was definitely a push-awayer. Sean read her inner conflict like an open book, and ignored her attempt to put emotional distance between them. "Monica, if you don't mind my asking, how did you come to work here?" Even Monica knew it didn't matter if she minded or not, she would answer his question. "My aunt Jill owns the store. I finished up my MA - that's Master of Liberal Arts - and, well, jobs are hard to come by. Aunt Jill offered me a job for as long as I need it. Mostly I work when it's quiet. I've only been here since December, so there's a lot I don't know." Sean could see her own words resonate with her as she heard herself speak. (That's the way it is, usually. You don't know what you think until you.
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