X + Y = <3

A few of Angie’s students murmured a thank you on their way out the door, but most of them just seemed relieved it was over. Night classes were rough on students and professors alike. She’d been teaching mathematics at the community college for twenty-five years, and very few of her students were there because of a deep, abiding appreciation for numbers. They were checking boxes on their way to graduation. 

She slid her laptop into her bag as the last student scurried out. Or almost the last student. A whiff of campfire alerted Angie that one man still remained. Kevin Martin, a firefighter around her age, who often showed up still wearing his uniform and bringing the faint scent of smoke with him. Along with a not-so-faint magnetism.

She turned around, tempering her smile and the lilt in her heart. She’d learned a while ago that whatever fantasies men had about teachers didn’t extend to math professors in their fifties. She and her cats, Fibonacci and Sir Cumference, were on their own. “Can I help you, Kevin?”

He shuffled his feet and then looked up at her, rubbing his hand through hair sprinkled with gray. “I need to talk to you, Dr. Hamlin—”

“Angie, please,” she interrupted.

Kevin dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I need to drop this class.”

“Drop it? Why? College Algebra is a required course for graduation.” 

He nodded. “I won’t be graduating. So if you could just sign this form …”

“Wait, let’s talk about this first.” Angie sank into one of the student desks, motioning for him to join her.

He sat agreeably enough, but shook his head, defeated. “This class is kicking my tail. You saw my first test score.”

Angie winced and he gave a dry chuckle. 

“Yep. That whole linear-slope-quadratic thing is not in my wheelhouse.”

“Just because you had a hard time with the test—”

He was shaking his head again. “Dr. … Angie. Listening to you teach is no hardship, believe me, but I have no idea what you’re talking about up there. The only parts I recognize are the numbers zero through nine.”

“What made you decide to come back to school?”

His expression turned shy. “The current fire chief is retiring in a few years. I’ve been recommended to take his place. You need a bachelor’s to be eligible, so I thought I’d finally finish my degree. But I’m just too old and tired to learn all this stuff.”

“Fire Chief is quite an honor. If it’s only math standing in your way, let me tutor you. What’s your schedule like?”

“Twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off, but—”

“We have two weeks until the Drop/Add period ends. If your grades aren’t better by then, I’ll sign your paperwork.”

* * * 

For the next week, Angie and Kevin got together for an hour each day he was off duty. A subtly flirty camaraderie developed between them, and by the second week, his math grade had improved and their tutoring “hour” had stretched into lunch. They’d moved from her office to Starbucks to her back patio. She didn’t need a calculator to know this could add up to something great.

Kevin held the door for her as she carried out a tray of sandwiches. As she brushed past him, her cats twined around her ankles. She looked down, shifting the tray to the side. “No, Sir Cumfy. Nacho, stay inside.” 

She tried to nudge him back, but Fibonacci darted around her. The edge of her shoe came down on his paw. He yowled and Angie yanked her foot up, stumbling backwards into Kevin’s broad chest. The tray tilted, a plate sliding off. Kevin lunged to catch both it and her, but the plate crashed to the ground in front of the cat. Fibonacci jumped like a cartoon—fur spiked and claws out—and then streaked across the yard and up the closest tree.

“Nacho,” Angie cried, still bobbling the tray despite Kevin’s firm grip on her arms.

“I’ll take that.” His deep voice sounded even more rumbly from her pressed-up-against-him position. “You okay?”

There was no hint of campfire today. Just a spicy cologne mingling with the scent of his spearmint gum. But no time to revel in the feel of his arms and chest encircling her.

“Nacho ran up that tree. He’s never even been outside before!”

Kevin set down the tray and strode to the base of the trunk. “Hey, kitty kitty.”

Fibonacci meowed piteously, the topmost branch swaying under his weight.

“Do you have a ladder?”

“Just a folding step stool.” She ran to fetch it.

When she got back, Kevin had climbed onto one of the thick lower branches. Fibonacci still perched several yards above him. He reached down for the step stool and hoisted it into the tree, gazing up and back, calculating angles and height.

“Be careful!”

“If I get the angle right, it’ll be solid enough to climb on.” He wedged the base of the folded step stool against a branch, tilted it to lean against another branch, and braced the top against the trunk. It looked precarious, but when he began to climb, the ladder didn’t shift.

Tree branches shuddered as Kevin reached for Fibonacci. Angie held her breath until they were both safely on the ground again. 

“Oh, thank you!” Angie cuddled the trembling cat under her chin and peeked up at the man gazing tenderly down at her. “You do realize, that step stool stunt was slope and the quadratic formula in action. Calculated effortlessly, I might add.”

Kevin waved her off. “I do that kind of thing all the time at work.”

“Then you’re doing college algebra regularly, in your head. You just need to believe in yourself.”

His fingers mingled with hers as she stroked Fibonacci, attraction a slow burn between them. “No. I needed someone else to believe in me … someone I’d like to know exponentially better.” With a slow grin, he stepped closer. “Maybe minus the math problems.”