No Second Chances [ON HOLD]

Chapter 3: Office Hours

"Speak of the devil." I rise from my chair as my office door swings open. Jamie leans against the doorframe in that off-hand way he's always had.

"The devil? That's a bit melodramatic, isn't it?"

He's aged since I last saw him. The crooked smile I recognize, but not the deep furrow it creates beside his mouth. His jawline, square as ever, looks freshly shaven. None of the carefully curated dark stubble he used to maintain when I last laid eyes on him. And he's cut his dark brown hair shorter as well.

His face has lost the last vestiges of boyishness. We're the same age down to the month—both recently passed our 30th birthdays—but he won't need to correct anyone for forgetting to address him as "professor." No one would mistake the man before me for some fresh-faced undergrad.

I don't know why these changes leave me shaken, but my whole frame trembles as we stand there taking each other in. He's not a stranger, but he's no longer the familiar Jamie I conjure in my head at night to keep me company. My imaginary Jamie remained constant all these years, while the real one went off and lived his life.

I wasn't certain it was him from across the quad earlier, and the reason is obvious now. The biggest change of all stares me in the face. "Since when did you wear glasses?"

The thick black frames would look ugly on most faces, but they somehow work with Jamie's sculpted cheekbones. He lowers them down the bridge of his nose to let me see his eyes unobscured.

Are those lenses real? Probably not. All part of a costume to look more professorial, along with the creased khaki trousers and Oxford shirt.

His eyes flit briefly from my face down to my feet and back again, and I'm uncomfortably aware that I still have the top two buttons of my blouse undone. The amount of skin I'm showing is decidedly un-professorial. He can probably see my bra. If he notices, he gives no indication. He merely slides his glasses back in place. "O beware the green-eyed monster," he says softly.

"My eyes are hazel." I narrow them.

"Yes, I remember your eyes. Have you forgotten your Shakespeare? The green-eyed monster symbolizes jealousy."

I scoff, raising one hand to cover my mouth, and meanwhile taking the opportunity to close one of my buttons. He can go play English professor with his flock of first-years. I'm not falling for this act. "And does Shakespeare have a metaphor for liars and total frauds?"

"Does he? That must be some other play." He  wiggles his glasses by the corner of the frames, with his dark eyes creasing behind them. "Admit it, Dr. Glass. You're jealous I got my vision checked by some other doctor of optometry."

His smile is contagious. I don't want to give him the satisfaction, but I can't help it. The corners of my mouth give me away. Jamie takes it as an invitation. He steps forward into the room with a backward glance in the direction of the door. "Would you like it closed or open?"

A loaded question if ever I heard one. "Open," I say firmly, and I take a half-step backward to keep my distance.

He shrugs and lets his eyes travel around my glorified closet of an office, taking in the chipped beige paint and spare furnishings. A mini-fridge and a tall metal bookshelf stand opposite the door. Tabitha's desk and my own run parallel along the two side walls. Her side of the office is adorned with pictures of her fiancé Jae and her dog. Mine is currently decorated with my NIH Rising Star award and a bag of peas sitting in a puddle of condensation on the corner of my desk. Jamie smiles at it like he's spotted an old friend.

My heart is fluttering too fast, and it tightens uncomfortably at the softening of his features. He used to look at me like that. He would fetch my bag of peas from the freezer in my old brownstone apartment and press them to my sternum. Then he'd gather me in his lap and squeeze me tight around the shoulders. Tighter, tighter. I would urge him. Deep pressure. And he would hold me, firm and constant, until the tension inside had ebbed.