Jen walked gleefully down the hall to greet her favorite pupil. The thought of spending this regular hour with Greg always had her virtually skipping towards her door, a feeling that went beyond her appreciation of his boyish good looks and gentle, personable, manner.
"Hey there Mr. Guitar." She smiled her usual greeting to him, a gently ribbing reference to his first instrument.
"Hi Teacher." Greg beamed back as he followed her into the house and closed the door behind them. He enjoyed his weekly lesson every bit as much as Jen did. They didn't kiss or hug, smiles were all that was appropriate for the teacher/pupil relationship they had, despite their becoming good friends over the months... and the latent feelings they both harbored.
"I was in Switzerland last week." He handed her a small box that was decorated in tasteful gold and a pink ribbon. "Thought you might enjoy some of the local chocolate."
"Oh wow." She accepted the present eagerly. "That's so thoughtful. Thank you very much."
"They're not quite Belgian," he knew she loved European chocolate, "but I'm assured they're pretty nice." He knew lots about her, their easy conversations ranged far wider than the piano lessons Greg paid for. He also delighted in the wonderful aroma that met him every time he walked into Jen's home. Her perfume: Opium. Far from being an expert on scents, Opium was one perfume he could never forget. His first girlfriend used it and it had left such an impression on him that just coming within twenty feet of someone wearing it had him excited. Jen wore it well and keeping his concentration around her was always a challenge.
"We should share some. I'll open them later, before you go. Best get your fingers warmed up first though." She ushered him into the music room and then shook a playful warning finger at him. "You have been practicing as well as jet-setting I hope."
It was easy to remember the first time he called her to discuss lessons and even easier to recall the first time they met. Greg had played guitar for years and wanted to learn piano, an instrument he already dabbled with, but knew his technique sucked. He didn't want to learn to read music though, or to take any proficiency exams. All he wanted was to do was play a little better. He tried a dozen teachers before he found one that would work with him on those terms. Jen, being younger than the other teachers and a lot more flexible about her lessons, took him on immediately. After almost a year now, she still enjoyed every session with Greg, in particular the light tone of their lessons and the change of playing Jackson Browne and Bruce Springsteen as opposed to Mozart and Bach.
Greg was felled by her looks the moment she opened her door for their first meeting. Jen was younger than he'd imagined (his image of a piano teacher didn't allow him to picture her as less than fifty), in her early thirties, tall and thin with a welcoming smile, warm eyes and expressive features. It wasn't quite love at first sight, because his chivalrous nature tethered him to respect her as a teacher, but every time he thought of her he couldn't help but allow his mind to stray onto the "what ifs" of spending time with her away from the piano.
Because they both had fun with their sessions, they inevitably ran longer than the allotted hour and early on in their arrangement Jen started to make her appointments with Greg her last lesson of the day. That way if they wanted to chat a little or play around with a piece they'd been working through, they could. Always at the end of the evening Greg wrote her a check, wished her a good week and waved goodbye as he walked to his car. When he was gone Jen always made herself a relaxing latte, wearing a big smile and wishing that one day he might stay to share one.
"You didn't say you were going to Switzerland." Jen quizzed as their hour ticked into its later neighbor.
"This time last week I didn't know I was going." Greg laughed. He was a journalist and traveled what seemed like a lot to her. "I caught a job covering a new car launch they were doing over there. The guy who was scheduled to go got sick, so I guess I got lucky."
"It sounds wonderful. I've always wanted to visit there." Jen paused to reposition his left hand and add a note to the chord he was playing. "You need to tell me all about it. How'd you like to have a coffee before you go? I'll open the chocolate and we can share them. That seems only fair."
"I'd love to." Greg smiled and fingered a last few notes at the keyboard. "I won't stay too long though, I'm pretty tired after the trip."
He had never been into her sitting room before and he was surprised how at ease he felt when he accepted Jen's invite to sit on her sofa while hurried off to make them some coffee. The room was filled with CDs, watercolor pictures and what seemed like hundreds of multicolored cushions. Somehow the surroundings fit with Jen's easy-going and creative personality. Greg smiled as he sunk between several cushions.
Jen's heart was pounding as she urged the coffee maker to go faster. The source of her excitement was easy to understand; Greg was in her sitting room. She had no idea what she should do or say next, but that lovely man she had imagined making love with for months was off-the-clock and socializing with her for the first time. Was there a possibility that he might want to develop their friendship beyond the piano? After being "just friends" for so long it was difficult to know.
When she got back to the room he was flicking through a bunch of her CDs. "I like your taste." He nodded, put down the CDs and walked back to the sofa.
"Thanks. Judging by what you like to play, I think I can say the same for you." She placed a tray on the rug in front of the fireplace, and started to pull cushions onto the floor. "You don't mind the floor do you?" She smiled and turned behind her to light several thick candles in the fire's hearth.
While Jen stood up and started some quiet music playing Greg settled into a couple of huge cushions and picked up the drink she'd brought for him. She joined him a few moments later, smiling slightly nervously as she settled herself opposite him, picking up her own mug and sipping at her coffee demurely. "I think I use the floor more often than I used the furniture. I like being able to spread everything around me."
She was wearing a long, colorful, cotton dress that buttoned up the front and while it showed virtually no cleavage, it left none of her shape to the imagination. Today her long and thick brown hair was pinned away from her face with two small clips that matched the summer pattern of her dress. To Greg she was a vision from an oil painting of a countryside scene; serene and beautiful.
