Fair warning, there is anal sex ahead. And a whole lot more!
Thanks to LadyMireille for her suggested revisions.
SSW
***
Watch out for the quiet ones. That's what my mother used to tell us girls. Maybe I should have heeded her advice.
Growing up, I'd had to share my house with three older siblings and a plethora of students who came to see either one of my elder parents, both of whom were professors at the university across the street. My mother would joke that she should have installed a revolving front door instead of a French one when they'd bought the place. And our den wasn't used for entertaining guests but teaching advanced classes three days a week.
For as long as I can remember, my parents also took on two boarders each school year. All were graduate students, and several were in the foreign exchange program. I had always enjoyed talking to them the most. I learned more about different cultures and customs than one could get from textbooks.
With the constant flow of people coming and going on the lower level, which sometimes seemed like a hotel, I took to hiding out at the house next door when I wasn't studying. The little Italian couple, the Bagginis, had no grandchildren and were always welcoming no matter the day or the hour. She was a kindly soul who liked to cook and bake. Her husband restored and resold antiques. Together, they taught me to appreciate both of their hobbies. When arthritis claimed their ability to do the work, I stepped in for them. As a result, Mr. Baggini's customers grew to trust me. The older I became, the better I got and the longer my own list of regular clients grew who would find items for me to fix up for them or have me keep an eye out for special pieces.
After my mother then my father both passed from cancer—during my senior year at the university and then three years later, respectively—I inherited the house since my brothers and sister were already married and had established places of their own. Against my brothers' wishes, I kept up the tradition of renting out the first-floor bedrooms to graduate students. To appease the boys, I made sure at least one of the tenants was female. And my best friend, Mallory, moved in, as well.
My job as a wedding and event planer kept me busy. During the winter months, I continued my hobby of working on the odd restoration projects. And then there was cleaning and upkeep on the house now that I was a homeowner.
The only lawn was a short stretch of grass out front between the flowerbeds and the sidewalk along the street. A neighbor kid mowed it for me at the price of a plate of homemade treats each month. The backyard was a large wooden deck that stepped down to narrow gravel beds on either side of the walk leading to the two-car garage. Other than planting, weeding, and watering the flowers, my main focus was on the majority of the ground floor and all of the second level inside. The four of us shared cleaning the kitchen, but the tenants took care of their two bedrooms and the shared bathroom at the back of the house. Upstairs, I had moved into my parents' suite and converted my old bedroom into a workshop, using my father's office to operate my business. Mallory occupied the third floor bedrooms and my mother's office to do her fashion designing. All-in-all, we were a well-oiled machine.
Regardless of what went on in my life now as an adult, I chose to keep my mother's tradition of Sunday dinners. She had always made a big to-do about having a large meal at noon where we all sat around the table together to recharge before a week of hectic schedules. The graduate students included. My roommate and rotating tenants, who were now my family, agreed to share the load and alternate cooking one weekend each month. It was nice to sit around the table again and catch up, if only for an hour.
With no more classes in the house, it was quieter. The front room had long been returned to its original intent. Sometimes, I sat on the couch in there staring into the empty silence. Seeing only the dust particles dancing in the sunlight while I remembered my father's deep timbre or my mother's lilting voice during their lectures while I would sit on the other side of the closed pocket-doors.
I had no trouble continuing my parents' agreement with the university to board two students. At first, there was a waiting list that required me to sit in the dean's office to vet the applicants each summer. However, the completion of a new dormitory two years ago had changed that. It was specifically designed to house those in the graduate program, provided each resident with their own small suite, and—most importantly—was considered "off campus." My home became an insignificant option in that regard. As a result, my contract was revised to give me the option to board undergraduates, too, but I was hesitant to break tradition.
If I had thought last year's list of applicants was meager, this year's was slim pickings. I considered removing myself from the list of available housing entirely as I didn't need the money. But I enjoyed the company. Or at least the knowledge that there were other people in the house. Especially since Mallory had gotten engaged the previous winter to Joe, her long-term boyfriend, with whom she'd kept the relationship out of the house since he lived alone. She'd given notice this past summer that she would be moving out by mid-November when they were getting married.
A combination of new paperwork and a mix-up with new staff at the housing office sealed my fate. Two students were scheduled to arrive for the fall semester. One boy, one girl. What showed up on my doorstep a week before classes began was one man.
Lachlan had the look of Jon Snow in "Game of Thrones" with his dark eyes and curly, black hair. But his quiet, brooding nature reminded me more of Jude Law in "Gattaca." He was in stark contrast to my own outgoing personality, blue eyes, and long, blonde hair. I was an all-American girl. He said his family was from England, but he didn't have the accent to go along with his British heritage. Such a shame. Still, he had a nice voice and an even better smile.
From our very brief conversations, I gathered that he spent a lot of his time in the library when he wasn't in classes. In the house, he mostly kept to his room. But on the weekends, I would hear him come in late, which convinced me he was probably hitting the bars. I didn't blame him. He would need a way to unwind after studying all week. I half wondered if he had a girlfriend at the university. It wouldn't surprise me. He was easy on the eyes. But if so, he never brought her around.
