Chapter 6 Thursday's class ended up being a shit show of kids not remembering their lines and girls doing their best to show off while walking across the stage like it was a catwalk. I'd stopped them so many times that my ears rang. They'd taken every order to start again as a challenge. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was being punished for something. Some classes were like this. Tomorrow, this same group might perform with perfect harmony. It was the trial I endured to work together with so many creatives. At least none of them had decided they knew better than me and tried to change the entire character. I drew the line at that level of improv. Kicking my feet up on the corner of my desk, I read through the script for our upcoming rendition of Les Mis. I'd always loved the complexity and character range of the story. "Professor?" A quick knock on the open door followed the questioning tone. I glanced away from the rolled-up script. Harmony stood in the doorway wearing a sheepish expression. "Yes?" I dropped my feet to the floor but didn't stand. There was no need for it. "Do you need something, Harmony?" I never should have said her name out loud. It did things to me that I never anticipated, things that I hid behind the careful mask of indifference I'd curated over years as a performer. "I wanted to thank you for talking to Professors Harding and Rossi. They've both agreed to tutor me so I can improve my grades." She remained in the doorway, taking stock of the small office I'd stuffed full of years of play memorabilia and books. I adjusted my glasses when they slid down my nose. One of these days I might switch to contacts, but I liked my glasses. They were comfortable and familiar on the bridge of my nose. And they gave me excuses to move when exasperation made me want to throw my hands up in the air. "You're welcome." I used the script to point at the chair. "Care to have a seat?" Why did I offer to spend more time with her? I should be ushering her away, not closer. "I should go, but I did have a question about the musical." She took a single step into the room. "You've done Les Mis several times." I waited for the question. When she stood there in complete silence except for several short, rapid breaths, I swung around and reached into the bookshelf behind me. "Eight times. It's one of our most popular productions." "Why?" Genuine curiosity raised her voice. I recognized the pitch tinged with excitement. "Well." I gripped the photo album and opened it to the beginning. My very first production of Les Mis. "I suppose I enjoy the redemption." "I always wondered if he was genuinely sorry, or if he was so worried about being caught that he turned his life around." She sat and leaned forward. I turned the scrapbook around and tapped the opening shot. "Could be a little of both. And it seems like the rendition of the character changes a bit with each production, depending on who plays as Jean." She pinched the page between her thumb and forefinger and turned it to the next page. Names and dates marched beneath each picture, along with show statistics that gave me an idea of how shifts in attendance occurred. "This is incredible. Even the costumes have changed." Her thumb ran across one of the pictures of a woman who'd played Cosette several years ago. "How are you doing with your lines?" I'd heard her working through them with Daniel, the understudy for Jean. But I'd been too focused on the staging to give them the attention they deserved yesterday. Harmony rocked her hand side to side. "Better every day, but some of the phrases are difficult. Singing is easier." "Agreed. But the point is to tell the whole story. Every word matters." "Oh, I completely agree." Her nose wrinkled just below the bridge. "I didn't mean to make it sound otherwise." "If you ever need extra practice, I'm here almost every afternoon when classes end. Usually reading over the script." "I thought you had it memorized by now." She grinned and flipped another page. "Wow. These two look great together." I did have the musical memorized, but that was beside the point. Grinning, I checked the picture to see who she meant. "Oh, yeah. That's Claire and Sebastian. They were my leads for Cosette and Marcus. Lots of natural chemistry between them. Pretty sure they married once they graduated and bought a small theater in New Hampshire." The memory created a warm feeling in my middle. Interesting. Usually when I thought about love and marriage, it inflicted a vile taste in the back of my throat. Harmony flipped through the rest of the pictures before leaning back and looking at me with her full attention. How long had it been since I'd felt that kind of attention spread all the way to my bones? I sat still and let her look. It was rare for her to show this much curiosity, and to meet my gaze for more than a few seconds. Stephen and Roberto reported the same, both continuing to wonder how she managed to sing on stage with such presence that it drove me to ensure she brought her grades up. I'd never had this kind of protectiveness for anyone before ... not even for my ex-fiancée, the woman who broke my heart and left me bitter on all things related to love. "Leighona is going to make a great Cosette." She said it with such genuineness that I believed her. Coming from anyone else, the words would be full of barbs and animosity. Harmony never once said anything bad about her classmates, even the ones who were never going to make it past this class. "You're better." I blurted it out when the thought choked me into confessing the truth. She flushed and looked away, reaching for her bag and pulling it into her lap. "Thanks. I'm doing my best." "Your best is incredible. You're a natural on stage." What she lacked in confidence when talking to me and my friends, she made up for when she transformed into Cosette on stage. It was more than watching a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. Harmony was like watching a flower bloom. It was beautiful all the time, but so tender and cautious as it grew. But when it bloomed, the whole world took notice. "If you keep saying that, I might think you mean it." A hint of teasing lit her eyes, but she ducked her head before I had a chance to enjoy the sight. God, the sight of her soft smile and the hint of mischief did wonders for my broken heart. I shifted away from the discomforting thought and concentrated on getting through this meeting without coming off as creepy or too interested. Harmony swept the strap of her bag over her head, and again I noticed how it settled between her breasts. Fuck. I had to stop noticing things like that. She was my student. Nothing more. The harder I worked to convince myself I didn't find her beautiful, the more I understood the lie. Her physical beauty drew the eye, but it was the quiet heart and soul beneath that kept my attention. "I always say what I mean." I closed the photo album and put it back on the shelf. The rasping glide of leather on wood shivered down my spine, and I locked my jaw to keep from saying anything else I might regret. Redemption. I'd told her that was why I loved Les Mis. That was part of it, but not the whole truth. I loved the romance and love that brilliant characters brought to life. Things that had been denied to me when my fiancée broke our engagement. I wanted to hate her for it, but there were times when I was grateful not to have the worry of marriage. Maybe someday I could even admit she was right to walk away. We were so wrong for each other that our relationship was laughable from day one. Everyone knew it, but we thought we could make it work. Harmony stood, tugging her bag and blouse down over her hips. She'd worn the soft blue shirt a few times already, and it was one of my favorites. I imagined the softness of the material and how it would slide over her skin. Stop it. The force of my desire landed squarely on my cock. I stayed seated, even when she prepared to leave. Better to look like a jerk than to stand and show her how I really felt. "Are you okay?" Her concern worked through me. "I'm not used to seeing you look so serious." "Just thinking." I attempted to wave her off, even managing to find my smile. "You don't give yourself enough credit. Could that be part of your problem in your other classes?" She sucked air through her teeth with the force of someone who'd been sucker punched. "I work hard, and I try my best. If that's not enough, I'm not sure what else I can give." That was the passion I'd gotten used to her showing on stage. If I could bottle that kind of exuberance, I'd never have to worry about poor acting or singing again. There was only one Harmony, and I'd be damned if I let something like poor grades keep her from the career she'd been destined to pursue. "Your best is more than enough, Harmony. Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise." I'd like to convince her of a few more things. Explicit, inappropriate things. What the hell was wrong with me? In all the years I'd worked this job, no one had ever tempted me to break the rules. Until Harmony. One word from her, and I'd be tempted, so very, very tempted, to throw caution to the wind and indulge in every wicked thought that crossed my mind. She took her time walking out of the room, even pausing at the door with a look that I couldn't interpret. "See you tomorrow, Professor." Professor. Yes. I needed to remember that title and the weight it strapped around my neck. Desire for her body and a genuine affection for her intellect didn't give me the right to put either of us at risk. My feelings were not professional. I needed to figure out how to get rid of them or ignore them until they fizzled out. A single mother returns to the city she left seven years ago after breaking up with her ex to seek treatment for her son’s leukemia. Upon learning of her return, the ex immediately searches for the lo...