In My Professor's Arms
Mark's absence nagged—a irritation, not a heaviness—I'd wanted to have met him by now, felt that spark he'd promised, and waiting was losing its appeal.
Oh, keep dreaming," I returned, dodging again, and she laughed, leaning in closer, her hand on the couch beside me.
"What about that new cafe in town?" she switched topics.
"They have this weird latte art—saw a heart in my foam last week, freaked me out." I snorted, relaxing some. Worse than cafeteria swill—last cup I'd had tasted like burnt socks." She laughed, nodding, and for a moment it was easy—hospital grievances, city annoyances, no diving deep into anything I wasn't ready for.
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