The 12 Dates of Christmas

The One With the Teacher (feat. Kate McKinnon)

“Ms. McKinnon told me to project more. I don't think I can.” Your daughter squirmed nervously in the back seat as you drove through the snow to the school's holiday program.

She was nine, and blonde, and brilliant, and shy. “You'll do fine, baby,” you reassured her. The crunch of snow under your tires as you parked drowned out her anxious whimper. She'd been working with Ms. McKinnon- Kate, she'd insisted- for over a month, twice a week. Voice lessons, you'd thought, would be a good way to build her confidence.

You met your talented little girl at the back of the car and waited for a few passing vehicles before crossing the snowy parking lot and entering the school. You kissed her wet, snowy head before shooing her towards her classmates. She'd had the decency not to look too embarrassed.

“She's gonna be great, you know.” The warm voice came from behind you.

You turned with a smile. “Hi, Kate.”

“Is she nervous?” Kate crossed her arms and shivered as another parent opened the front door, escorting in a pack of children.

“Oh yeah. But then, so am I.”

“You're nervous, I'm cold. We have thirty minutes until the show starts, and I have just the thing for both of us. Come on,” she said, putting a hand on your shoulder blade and steering you down a hallway.

“I know I shouldn't be hoping you have whiskey in your classroom, but I can't help it.”

She laughed and walked to her desk. “Next best thing, I promise.”

She opened a drawer and produced a thermos and two mugs.

You raised an eyebrow. “What's that?”

“Cocoa. I promise, it's just cocoa.” She unscrewed the lid and poured it, steaming, into the mugs. Your fingers laid over top of hers for a moment as you took the mug she offered. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the contact.

“You always keep cocoa in your desk drawer?” you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“Only on nights when I'm here late, directing sugared-up rugrats, praying the cute mom can be convinced to sneak back for a few minutes before the show starts.”

You grinned at her over your mug. The flirting was nothing new. “And she didn't show, so you thought you'd share with me?”

“Something like that,” she said with a wink. Your stomach turned a somersault. She had no idea what she did to you. Or maybe she did, you thought as she blew the steam from her drink, never once breaking eye contact with you.

You set your mug down and took off your coat. It was too warm now. You pulled the scarf from your neck, and Kate reached out to brush the hair you'd displaced back over your shoulder.

“Thanks,” you said, running a hand over your shirt to smooth it.

“Nerves feeling calmer yet?”

This was a loaded question. About your daughter? Maybe a little. But you still felt something.

“I have butterflies, actually.”

Kate took a sip of her cocoa, and you gently wiped away a little that lingered at the corner of her mouth, hoping you weren't crossing a line.

There was a slightly shaky, deep inhale from the other woman. “Me too.”

“How soon do you have to go back out there?” You knew you wouldn't like the answer. You wanted to keep her to yourself a little longer.

Kate glanced at her watch. “Shit. Now, actually. I need a bit of time to help the other teachers get the kids in order.”

You smiled wryly. “Figures.”

She took your mug and set it on her desk next to hers. “I'll deal with those later. You're gonna want to get a good seat.”

Reluctantly, you gathered your jacket and scarf. She was right, of course. You headed towards the door and had just about stepped into the hall when her voice stopped you.

“See you on Friday night?”

You turned. “Lessons are Monday and Wednesday.”

She smiled. “I know.”

You smiled back. “Pick me up at eight?”