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Later in the fall came their first real face-to-face meeting when he was scheduled for a parent teacher conference. She remembered being so excited when the handwritten note arrived via Martin requesting a late appointment. The strong definitive handwriting would have to be his. She made sure to give him his preference even if it meant asking three other parents to shift their times.
"Hello," came the voice and a little knock on the door.
Relax, Kimberley Ann, she repeated to herself again and again. Be cool, be smooth, and remember that you're the one in charge. She looked up toward the door and saw him leaning in, a sweet little boy smile on his face. He shook the rain off the collar of his overcoat and stepped inside. He was wearing a dark suit with a finely tailored blue shirt and a bright tastefully patterned tie.
"Mr. Rousseau, you're here!" she said.
"Yeah, I'm not late am I?"
"No, not really. Come in and have a seat."
He looked awkward sitting in the chair beside her desk since it was smaller than the typical office chair.
"Well, first of all, let me say what a pleasure it is to have you in my class everyday," she began.
"Beg your pardon?" he said with a confused look on his face.
"Oh, Martin. To have Martin in my classroom every day. I'm sorry. You two bear a strong resemblance."
"Chip off the old block they say," he replied with that disarming smile that Kimberley was finding a definite distraction.
"Anyway, I've prepared a chart for you that shows Martin's progress and how he has been doing lately."
She watched as he took the chart and looked it over intently, his dark eyes drinking up every detail.
"He does really well with numbers and science topics. He does need some extra work in English and handwriting. He seems to be lagging behind some of the others in those subjects."
"Is there anything I can do?" Paul asked, his eyes gazing into hers for the answer.
"Oh, yes there is so much that you can do," Kimberley answered slowly, distracted by the look in his eyes. "For Martin. Yes, for Martin. He's a very charming boy and a joy to have in class. He loves to laugh and play and is very popular with his classmates."
She sat looking at the father who looked back to the progress chart. She began to have strange thoughts about this man, strange, wonderful thoughts. She felt the need to say something, but paused before she told him what she was actually thinking, about how she wanted to throw herself across the desk and into his arms. Instead she tried to concentrate on young Martin.
"I would suggest that you spend some extra time reading to him, perhaps practicing his writing. Maybe try to get him to write complete words instead of just the same letter over and over. Simple words, words that he knows and uses frequently so that he begins to link the letters with how they form words."
He broke into another great smile.
"Finding extra time is hard to do, Miss Maguire," he said. "You're probably not aware of our situation. As a single parent it's hard to keep everything together. With his older sister and a business to run there isn't a lot of spare time to spend."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ... ," she said feeling dumb, but he raised a hand up and interrupted.
"But I'm committed to doing whatever needs to be done. You don't need to apologize, Miss Maguire. I've kind of thought that Marty needed some extra attention in his studies. His sister tries to help, but I've suspected that there's more I could do. I couldn't manage preschool for him so this has been a big step for him. I'll work closer with him."
Kimberley didn't know what to say in return. There was something about him that was driving her crazy. Her body was quivering with every syllable from his deep voice. And when he smiled, she thought her heart would melt. Relax, Kimberley, she thought. This is your turf. You're the one in charge.
"I have a nice little booklet that I can send home with you if you'd like," she said. When he nodded, she got up and stepped over to her filing cabinet. She was quite aware of his eyes following her movements. As she bent over slightly to pull the middle drawer open, she remembered that her dress had a little slit up the back and figured that she was probably giving him a nice glimpse of her legs. So she took a few extra moments looking for the booklet that was right in front of her. But then with my luck he'll be a boob man, she thought, and when she pulled out the booklet and turned around, she realized that he wasn't even looking in her direction.
"Here you go," she said handing him the parent's guide. "I think you'll find some nice suggestions for things that you can try at home."
"Thank you," he said taking the book and flipping thorough the pages. "This will help a lot. Thanks."
She paused standing beside him, her pulse racing. She wanted to say something to him. She wanted to confess how she had picked out this dress especially because her friends had all told her how terrific she looked in it and because she knew that he would be coming to see her today. She wanted to tell him how she felt when he looked her way. There were other things that she wanted to say to him, things that she had never told anyone before. But she didn't. She could only stand beside him and smile and wait for a sign from him. Hell, she would have let him take her right there, right then if he had tried, the thought of which produced a dampness between her legs.
"Well then," he said. "Is there anything else?"
"No, nothing special. Nothing else really."
He stood up beside her, very close to her, and took her hand in his. Her hand felt so small inside his.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Rousseau. If you ever need to contact me, my phone number and email are in the school directory we sent home last week."
"I'll be sure to do that," he replied.
With a nod and another of his stunning smiles, he turned and walked away. She followed in his wake to the door and could smell the scent of his cologne. Pierre Cardin, maybe? Kimberley Ann, what are you doing, she asked herself. All right, he is nice-looking, but you've met good-looking men before and they never had this effect. She could feel her nipples stiffen up and rub against the cups of her bra and the dampness between her legs could not be denied. She brought a hand up to the side of her face and rubbed her temple. He's got to be ten or fifteen years older with children and a mortgage and a business and he couldn't possibly be interested in her. She took a deep breath and went back to her desk, slipped her folder of notes and some papers into her briefcase, and snapped it shut. Forget him Kimberley Ann, she thought. You'll never have a man like that.
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