Lesson Learned {Student Teacher Romance}

Chapter 35

On Thanksgiving, the Gotlieb's house is full of laughter and love and football, and on top of that, it smells utterly divine. 

Roasted turkey is warming the air in the kitchen while Keri, me, and her mom all work on the side dishes for our yummy feast.

Keri was sweating through her sweater over the stove where she was on roux duty, constantly stirring the creamy sauce to thicken it up. I'm in charge of mashed potatoes and elbow-deep in a hot, lumpy paste (with more goop on my apron than I had in the bowl). And finally, Mrs. Gotlieb is chopping vegetables with a glass of wine while doling out life advice and kitchen hacks.  

"Moo-ra!" Joey's high-pitched squeal tears through the kitchen ahead of him. "There's someone here for you!"

"Did you happen to get a name?" I bend down to look Joey in the eye.

The little tike's twinkling eyes are grinning up at me through his mussed hair.

"Yeah, of course!" He giggles and scampers off before I can catch him.

"I don't recognize the car," Mrs. Gotlieb peers through the window above the sink.

I saddle up next to her, still holding my bowl of starchy mash, and search the driveway, but there's no way to see around Mrs. Gotlieb's giant green mom-mobile.

"Hi there," Will's comforting tone is as wholesome as the apple pie cooling on the windowsill.

We whip around and a fat glob of potatoes on my wooden spoon goes flying. 

A wet splat follows and everyone watches in stunned silence as the blob of gummy paste drips down the tempered glass front of Mrs. Gotlieb's stove.

Simultaneously, we all roar with laughter when Rosco, the Gotlieb's morbidly obese tabby cat, saunters over and rocks back on his haunches to lap up the gelatinous lump. 

Wiping away tears of merriment, I peek at Will in the oak doorframe of the Gotlieb's rustic kitchen. 

He's still shaking with laughter but his deep blue eyes are on me. 

He's dressed like a GQ model in a tailored coat over darkwash jeans and so darn handsome that I feel giddy in his presence. 

Will runs a hand through his hair as all three of us let out a collective groan. 

The stove wasn't my only casualty, apparently, because a rogue splatter of my lumpy potato mash had hit Will's fitted crimson sweater.

He looked down at the smudge, then, swiped a finger through it for a taste. Will's structured jaw browke into a wide smile. 

"Needs salt," he smacks his lips.

If Mrs. Gotlieb cracked an egg on my blazing forehead it would've cooked through. 

Good thing I'm not wearing any makeup and my hair is in an unwashed ponytail. I glance down at my fuzzy stocking feet and slouchy lounge wear wrapped in a rediculous turkey-themed apron and pout. 

Really Universe? You don't take holidays off?

Robotically, I set the bowl of mash on the counter.

"How's it going Fitzwilliam?" Keri asks, hoisting Rosco into her arms.

"Can't complain," Will shrugs. "You're going to keep calling me by my full name, aren't you?"

"Yup," Keri threw her head back to cackle while Rosco squirmed. "Mom, this is Fitzwilliam Benedict, Moira's, man-friend."

"Nice to meet you," Mrs. Gotblieb smiles and turns her head to holler at full volume. "SCOTT!"