Leighton opened Casey’s sketchbook and froze. She considered closing her office door to avoid any interruptions. With trembling fingers, she flipped through it. Her initial response had been justified. Casey hadn’t filled the pages with sketches. They contained finished, realized drawings, and they were excellent. Nuanced, gestural, and alive. They leapt off the page.
With relish, she picked up her stack of sticky notes and began writing. No critiques she’d given in the past had been for sketches like these. Students didn’t complete ones of this caliber in an hour. Casey had invested considerable time and effort into her assignments, and it showed. The shading was subtle, and the compositions advanced. With the page oblique to the light, she studied the fine-textured surface, but she couldn’t find a single instance of the pencil being pressed too hard into the tooth of the paper, a tendency of young artists. Casey might be young, but she was no novice.
Leighton jotted notes and attached a sticky to each page in a place where it wouldn’t smudge anything. It was unusual for her to have to try so hard to find suggestions for improvements. How had Casey become so talented? Whether natural or taught, her skills were impressive. Leighton’s head always swam when admiring exquisite pieces like these. No, she reminded herself. These were sketches. It wasn’t like she’d accessed the Study Room for Drawings and Prints at the Met. It wasn’t an Albrecht Dürer before her. Yet Casey’s inspired the same sense of awe. She wanted to retrieve her sketchbook from her bag and get lost in the sublime feel of dragging graphite or charcoal over paper. Despite having no time for that now, the critique she was about to give excited her in equal measure.
She never gave impromptu criticism. Any other time, she’d notify the student a day or two in advance. Almost without fail, they arrived with bags under their eyes from pulling an all-nighter. Not Casey. She’d completed her assignments early. Still, Leighton shouldn’t have set the precedent. All her students needed to be treated as equals, at least on the surface, especially if she harbored a secret interest in one of them. Now she’d have to spring the same on someone else today. She tried to think of who might be caught up. Perhaps Mikala. Leighton’s goal wasn’t to cause any of them anxiety. If only she’d kept her mouth shut.
Silence hadn’t been possible. Casey had looked so sweet and at home on the sofa, curled up and drawing her sphere. She’d drawn Leighton to her. The sketchbook assignments had been an excuse to continue their conversation after her supply of Andy-related topics had expired.
Now she had a second critique to do, so it didn’t appear she’d singled out Casey for one-on-one instruction or feedback. She should be using the time to plan next week’s lesson. The thought irritated her, but it faded fast. Casey would arrive in a few minutes. Her demeanor softened as she looked forward to their time together. If only Casey didn’t have to be her student.
She had little time to brood over the situation because Casey appeared in her doorway minutes later.
“Come in and sit.”
Casey sat on the edge of one of the two guest chairs.
Leighton came around to join her and laid the sketchbook on the desk. “We both can see this way.” This close, she could smell Casey’s perfume, light and fresh. The scent reminded her of spring, of youth, of new beginnings. It brought daffodils to mind. Since it already distracted her, she forced herself to breathe through her mouth.
“These are magnificent, Casey.” She flipped to the first page with a bright green sticky note that said reflected light. “Your commitment shows.”
“Thank you. I enjoy it. I find it relaxing when I’m stressed.”
What in Casey’s life made her need to use drawing as an outlet? Perhaps it was her job, or Andy, or both. Being a single mom wasn’t easy.
“You should be proud. I can see you’ve put extra effort into them.”
Casey appeared pleased by the praise, judging by the corners of her mouth twitching and the faint pinking of her cheeks. She pressed the fingertips of one hand into her thigh, the one whose skin Leighton had touched through her ripped jeans.
Leighton flinched at the memory. After a calming breath, she tapped the page with her index finger. “My only advice here is to watch for reflective light from nearby objects and surfaces. Some of it will bounce off the tabletop onto the underside of your object.” She looked at Casey. Her hazel eyes always seemed to absorb the color of her shirt. They leaned toward green today. They reminded her of her mother’s favorite emerald earrings she used to wear every Christmas, but this wasn’t the time to reminisce. “Just like on the sphere, the value of the vase will be lighter where it curves under.”
Casey gave a sheepish nod. “Sorry, I forgot to address it. I knew that.”
Leighton was in danger of being mesmerized by Casey’s eyes, so she looked away. “Your ellipse is perfect, and your shading is lovely here. You have an eye for values.” She turned the page.
When Casey leaned forward to read the notes she’d left, their shoulders touched. Neither moved.
“Your drapery study is sublime.” Leighton smoothed the note where she’d written the word thickness. “Just remember when you’re drawing folds, the heaviness and texture of the material is going to influence the curvature of triangular folds.” Leighton turned toward her. “Ingres was so skilled at painting and drawing clothing that historians studied his drawings to determine what fabrics people wore in those times.”
“I didn’t know that.” Casey looked impressed. “I’ve seen his works at the Met, and it makes sense. They’re so elegant and detailed. He depicted the gowns and clothing to perfection.”
How strange to think of them gazing at the same paintings at different points in time. Or had they been in the same gallery, mere feet apart, strangers? What if they’d crossed paths without knowing it? The fact they’d met like this, in this hierarchical system, saddened Leighton. Yet if they’d stumbled across one another a few years ago, she’d have been married, and Casey would’ve been what? Even younger, dating someone else like Andy’s father, or a pregnant undergrad. It wouldn’t have been an ideal time for either of them, not that the present was any better. Fate dealt them a teasing hand.
Casey, who’d been studying her sketch, returned her to the present. She pointed. “I see it now. The folds are too sharp and make it look like a thin cotton sheet.”
Leighton smiled and nodded. She turned the pages, alternating between effusive praise and helpful criticism. Casey seemed eager to receive both. Her maturity showed, like she realized one set of comments made her fly high, while the other told her how much higher she could soar. Casey sat within inches of her and appeared to bask in her attention, like she didn’t want the critique to end. Or was Leighton imagining it?
After a few minutes of explaining her notes, Leighton turned to the last page. Before she could discuss the final one, Casey spoke.
“Have lunch with me.” The words seemed to fall from her lips, and her eyes shone with eagerness, anticipation, hope, or perhaps all three.
Startled, Leighton searched for words. Afraid her hands might shake, she laid them in her lap. Was she reading too much into the question? She might not have imagined Casey’s interest after all. Maybe Stefan was correct. Each morning, a twinge of joy shot through her when Casey arrived. Did Casey feel something similar when she walked into the room? Could Casey also sense that something seemed to exist between them?
She glanced at the clock, noting it would soon be noon. What if Casey was hungry and inviting her to eat with her, nothing more? She might have questions and want to continue their conversation about her sketches, but Leighton didn’t believe that to be the case. Casey appeared too invested in her response.
Thoughts flew through her mind. If she agreed, another student might spot them in a nearby café or sandwich shop. Then she’d have to take each of her students to lunch. However, she refused to delude herself into thinking they’d be similar outings. Accepting Casey’s invitation would summon trouble. She wanted to go back in time before Casey asked, because once she gave her answer, things would change.
“No.” Leighton had been watching her face, the picture of vulnerability. She saw the moment the rejection landed in Casey’s clenched jaw and the twitch near her eye. “I can’t.” On instinct, she squeezed Casey’s forearm, then let go. In the quiet, her pulse pounded in her ears.
“Oh.” Casey darted her tongue out to lick her bottom lip. “I see.”
Leighton turned back to the sketchbook. She pulled the sticky note from the page before Casey’s hand caught hers.
“Leave them, please.” Casey released her.
Leighton obliged, closed the book, and handed it to her.
Casey stood but didn’t leave. “You’re sure?”
Leighton brushed eraser crumbs from her pant leg and didn’t look up. This was the way it had to be, and she hoped the hollowness in her chest would disappear with time. She nodded. When she found the courage to raise her head, Casey remained standing a few feet away. Leighton drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Close the door, please.” She held out her hand for the sketchbook.
Casey gave it to her and pushed the door closed. She grasped the backrest, her fingertips making indentations in the soft leather.
“Sit.” Leighton touched the seat. Warmth remained on the chair, and the intimacy of it startled her. When Casey sat, Leighton set the sketchbook on her desk but left it closed. “Do I need to explain why I can’t go to lunch with you?”
Casey blushed, not on her cheeks but her neck. It continued under the collar of her shirt.
Leighton chided herself for wondering how far it went.
“Everyone has to eat. It’s just lunch.” Casey’s argument had little weight behind it.
“I don’t know that it is.” Leighton remained quiet for a moment. “Is it?”
Casey swallowed. “Yes?” Her high-pitched answer came out sounding like a question.
“Yes?” Leighton crossed her legs, angling them toward her because of the nearness of the desk. “Or yes.”
Casey’s breathing quickened. “It can be.” She raised her chin.
“Sure, it can be.” Leighton folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “Is that what you want?”
The answer was apparent in Casey’s downcast eyes before her whispered no.
“What do you want?” Leighton’s voice came out raspy. Why had she asked?
Casey met her gaze and held it. Her chest heaved three breaths before she answered. “I want to get to know you.”
Every cell in her body quivered, yet she needed to have this conversation with Casey to set some boundaries, to voice how this could never happen. Christ. She needed water. No, a stiff drink. “You’ll learn about me, just as I will learn about all my students this year.”
Casey shook her head. “No, I’d like to know you.”
What the…Did she mean in the biblical sense? “I…” Leighton fumbled for words. “I…” She closed her eyes. Yes, she could do this. Just get it out in the open. “I’m your teacher.”
“I’m not underage.” Her indignation was apparent in her raised chin. “I’m almost twenty-six. I have a college degree and a child. Yes, I’m a student here—”
“You’re my student.” Her tone was icy, but she didn’t care. “And I’m the owner of this atelier. I’m not about to risk my business because a student wants to know me.”
Casey’s eyes blazed. “I’ve read the syllabus and could quote it word for word. We don’t receive grades. You critique our projects and assignments. We’re supposed to compete against ourselves to become better artists, not against one another. Those are your words, so why would it matter?”
“Because my reputation matters. The atelier doesn’t exist in a bubble. Trust me, people frown upon this type of behavior in this day and age.” She waved her hand between them. “It’s unethical.” Her office was soundproof, and they sat with their backs to the glass wall. She breathed a sigh of relief for both as their uncomfortable conversation continued.
“So, if those things you mentioned weren’t standing in the way, you’d be interested?”
Leighton swore she saw Casey’s eyes transform from green to brown before her. Her throat tightened as she admired the highlights in Casey’s brown hair. Would it feel soft between her fingers? She took in Casey’s athletic build, her small breasts, and her toned legs. Not to mention her talent, charm, cute sense of humor, and dimples that appeared when she laughed. Plus, she couldn’t omit the commendable effort Casey gave to attend classes, work, and raise a toddler from her list of positive attributes. Leighton couldn’t help but imagine a what-if scenario. “Yes.” The word came out broken.
Casey relaxed, and her body melted into the chair, as though knowing eased her tension. She smiled, but it appeared bittersweet. “Well.” She wrapped her arms around her torso.
The air in the room felt heavy. Leighton wanted to open a window, but that was against her rules. Besides, an air filtration system costing what she’d paid guaranteed the air she breathed was clean and safe. Any stale air was a product of her imagination. Her nerves wreaked havoc inside her. Casey always made her a little anxious, even during class. However, she’d said what she needed to say. Now she could file this conversation in the past and forget they’d had to have it.
“You never took your husband’s surname, did you?”
“What?” The question startled her.
“Vaughn. It was your name, your maiden name, wasn’t it?” Casey ran her hand through her hair.
Where had that come from? “And here I had mistaken quiet for shy.” Leighton delivered the sentence under her breath. “Yes. I kept it when we got married. I’m partial to it, and a woman taking the man’s name never appealed to me, so I never considered changing it. Plus, the public recognized it as my branding. For years, I’d wanted to name my school Atelier Vaughn. I like the sound of it.”
Casey nodded, her eyebrows tight like she mulled it over. “So do I. Why did you get divorced?” She blurted the question like she’d seen her opening and wasn’t about to let it pass.
Leighton sighed. It was a personal question, and she had every right to refuse to answer. Maybe one day she’d be able to file those memories away. Yet the desire to share something with Casey won out. “My husband and I didn’t get along.” She heard how understated it sounded, how simple, like an explanation used to placate young children. Casey was no child, but condensing years of a volatile relationship into a digestible answer would divulge too much of herself. Besides, it wasn’t like Casey needed to know the traumatic details.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” It was Leighton’s turn to raise her chin. “I’m sorry it came to that, but I’m content to be where I am.” It was time for her to ask a question. “How long were you and Devin together?”
Casey’s eyebrows shot skyward. “How did you know we used to date?”
Leighton tilted her head. “Your retainer.”
Casey groaned. “You saw. I’m sorry about that. He could’ve chosen a better time.” She looked at the ceiling. “Not even a year.”
“What happened? If I may.” Leighton propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand.
Casey looked at her feet. “He decided he didn’t want a baby, at least with me.” She looked up, her expression fierce. “As you can see, I didn’t need him.”
“Apparently.” Leighton stretched her legs, then crossed them the opposite way. It was nice talking to Casey about something other than art. “Do you miss being with him?”
Casey lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Will you think I’m horrible if I say no?”
Leighton shook her head. How could she ever think that of Casey?
“The majority of the time, I was happy while we dated. He’s a nice guy, and he cared about me. I cared about him, too. I still do. We enjoyed one another, but we weren’t in love. I was in love with the idea of having a baby more than anything.” Casey furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your student, and I didn’t intend to imply anything negative about him. We simply wanted different things. Devin isn’t a bad guy, and you’re welcome to get his side of the story.”
She looked so sincere. “That won’t be necessary.” One of the last things Leighton wanted to do was discuss Casey’s love life with her ex-boyfriend.
Casey squirmed, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
To Leighton’s dismay, she imagined placing a soft kiss there. She couldn’t be having thoughts like that.
They looked at one another until the silence became awkward.
Leighton cleared her throat. “You handle yourselves like professionals. I don’t see your past being a problem.” Not only had she seen Casey take care of herself around Devin, but she could sense Casey’s reluctance to let problems between them become issues within the walls of the atelier. She was thankful for that. If a problem should arise between two of her students, as their teacher, she’d have to step in.
The harsh reminder of their respective statuses left a dull taste in her mouth.