30. Conrad

I'm lost in the clack of keys when the soft sound of a clearing throat pulls me from my digital world. I glance up. Brielle stands in the doorway, her presence like an unexpected pulse through the room.

"Hey," I start, blinking away the remnants of data and spreadsheets. "What brings you here?"

She steps inside the classroom, shrugging off an uncertainty with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Just wanted to check up on you."

My chest warms. Nina has mentioned Brielle often, too often maybe. Always with glowing words that paint her as some guardian angel in jeans and a T-shirt. I return the smile, genuine and appreciative.

"Thanks for that," I say, leaning back in my chair, the creak of leather filling the brief silence between us. "Nina's doing okay. She's getting better every day."

"Good," she says, her relief evident.

The silence stretches, comfortable but charged. Brielle shifts, her gaze dropping to the papers on my desk before finding mine again.

"Actually, there's something else," she starts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm taking your class this term. Greek Mythology. I know I added it a little late, but we're only a few weeks in and I'm already caught up on the readings."

"Really?" I can't hide my surprise. It's not just any class—it's my passion, my soul poured into lectures. "What made you choose that elective?"

Her lips curve upward. "I've always had a thing for the Greek gods. Their stories…they're timeless, aren't they?"

"Timeless and filled with drama." I chuckle, pushing away from the desk. In an instant, the roles shift. I'm no longer just a man at work—I'm Professor York, and she's my student. Intrigued by her interest, I lean in, elbows on the desk.

"Ever heard of Eros and Psyche?" I ask, watching her face light up with curiosity.

"I haven't," she admits, inching closer.

"Psyche," I begin, voice low, "was said to be the most beautiful woman on earth. So stunning, she rivaled the goddess Aphrodite. Aphrodite grew so jealous she sent her son Eros to cast a spell on Psyche, damning her to fall in love with a monster."

"Twisted," she breathes out, eyes wide.

"Love and jealousy often are," I say, our gazes locking.

We're close now, close enough that I notice the flecks of gold in her eyes, the way her breath hitches when the story takes root.

I lean forward, drawn into her fascinated gaze. "But here's the real twist," I say, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "When Eros sees Psyche for the first time, he can't bring himself to curse her."

"Really?" Brielle's voice is a soft echo of surprise.

"Really." I nod, feeling the story unfurl between us. "It's love at first sight, even for a god." My hand gestures in the air as if I could pluck the words from the myths themselves. "He defies Aphrodite, his own mother, because of this overwhelming, instantaneous love."

Her lips part slightly, and she leans in, compelled by the tale. "That's…that's incredibly romantic."

"Isn't it just?" I can't help but smile, pleased by her reaction.

Brielle bites her lip, hesitating before asking, "So what happens next? Do they end up together?"

"Against all odds, yes." I straighten up, proud to deliver the climax of the myth. "Their love is so pure, so strong, that Zeus himself is moved. He grants Psyche immortality so they can be together forever."

"Forever," she repeats, a dreamy sigh escaping her.

"Forever," I confirm, and we share a smile, the kind that tells a story all its own. "They live happily ever after."

"Sounds perfect." Her eyes stay locked on mine, and for a second, there's nothing else—no office, no college, no world—just us and the endless possibilities of happily ever after.

I lean in, drawn by the warmth of her breath. It's a dance as old as time, a silent invitation that needs no words. The space between us fills with a heated anticipation, and I can't tear my gaze away from the fullness of her lips.

"Conrad," she whispers, and it's like a siren's call.

"Shh." I place a finger gently against her lips, feeling her sharp intake of breath. My pulse races, urging me to close the infinitesimal gap between desire and fulfillment.

Our breaths mingle, a caress as intimate as a touch. Her eyes, wide and expectant, mirror my own longing. Everything else fades into insignificance—this moment is ours, and ours alone.

I inch closer, drawn by an invisible force, my gaze fixed on her mouth. My heart hammers against my ribs, and just as our lips are about to meet?—

The door swings open. A rush of chatter spills into the room as students file in, breaking the spell. Brielle pulls back abruptly, a flush creeping over her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mumbles, quickly moving to her seat. She fumbles for her notes, her movements brisk, trying to mask the interruption of our almost-kiss.

"Right," I say, clearing my throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure as the rest of the class trickles in. I watch her for just a second longer, the image of her lips so close to mine etched into my memory.

"Okay, everyone," I call out, louder than necessary, "let's get started."

I shuffle papers on my desk, a futile attempt to distract myself. Eager faces turn toward me, ready for today's lesson, but Brielle captures my attention as she finds her rhythm among the others. She's poised with her pen in hand, and I can't help but feel that mix of anticipation and regret churning inside.

"Good morning," I begin, my voice steady despite the storm inside. "As you know, we have an upcoming field trip to the museum in New York. It will be an excellent opportunity to see Greek antiquities up close."

Laughter and whispers of excitement ripple through the class, but it's Brielle's quiet smile that sets my pulse racing anew. Her presence here changes everything. The trip, once just another educational outing, now holds a promise of something more, something like the thrill of a clandestine adventure.

I launch into the day's topic, the architecture of the ancient Greeks, their mastery of form and function. My words are practiced, each sentence laid out with precision. Yet, beneath this academic veneer, my mind rebels, stealing glances back to that almost-kiss.

Descriptions of marble columns and amphitheaters spill from my lips, but it's the curve of Brielle's jaw that my mind traces. She takes notes diligently, and I wonder—what would it be like to have her look at me the way she looks at the pages before her…with focus, with intent?

"Remember," I say, drawing myself back to the present as I conclude, "the Parthenon was not only a temple but also a testament to the power of Athens." Just like Brielle is not only a student, but a testament to the power of an unforeseen attraction.

The lecture continues, an ebb and flow of questions and answers, but it's the unspoken question that haunts me.

Could I, should I, pursue this? And could I share her with Levi and Grayson?