A kiss?

This decision would be easy if I weren’t lonely.

It would also be easy if Mia were a little older, or if she didn’t attend the same school that would—I hope—educate my daughter for the next 10 years....

Or if I weren’t in the same line of work as most of the other parents at the school, including hers.

Or if my day job didn’t involve risk/benefit.

I reached down, and as I did so, I calibrated my hands with what I could explain if called out. Sure, I would say, I felt her leg for 2 seconds, and then she was on her way.

My fingers wrapped around her right leg. We made eye contact. I pressed my fingers into her very firm flesh. So smooth. Amazing really. I hadn’t touched the leg of a teenager for thirty years.

“I wish you were younger,” Mia said. “I wish you went to (the nearby boys school). I wish we could just fool around a little .” I pulled my hand from her leg, and she put her hand in mine. “I know it sounds weird, but just leave your hand there for a minute.”

It would be easier if the stereotypes persisted. If Mia were bitchy instead of sweet. If Mia’s very rich parents were inattentive assholes instead of being friendly and good parents who drove audis that were at least 15 years old. If I weren’t in the same line of work, I wouldn’t have known about his wealth or the count thing.

“I have a deal for you, Mr. Forrest.”

I looked down at her. “I really should get back to work.”

She was unimpressed by my effort and shouldered on. “I hate teenage boys. They’re so tedious. And I just got my acceptance to (terrific school 1000 miles away), but that doesn’t start for 6 months. If I’m going to date anybody, I’d have to prowl around the city for guys in their 20’s who want to hit on high school girls, and that is a lame demographic. You are obviously uncomfortable right now, but you’re very cute, and I bet you’d warm up being my secret boyfriend.”

I mulled.

“I don’t know how much you need to teach me about sex. I haven’t gone all the way, but it’s not calculus. I’m sure I could figure it out with boys. And I don’t really need education about being an adult, which seems kinda boring. No offense. But I’m European at heart, and spend every summer at our Austrian summer house, and I’ve always thought it’d be cool to have a completely secret affair before I got old.”

She looked at me carefully. Her fingers were fingering my palm. I wondered how often she’d rehearsed that argument.

I paused. “How good are you at secrets?”

I felt her draw her face close to mine, and kiss me. The kiss lingered, muscularity. Her tongue tasted like peppermint.

“I’m excellent at secrets,” she said.