I thought I was done for the day, and if I was done for the day, that meant I was done for the year.

"What happened with my last appointment, Peggy?"

The 70-something stalwart rolls her chair back so I can see her through the crack in my door. She's a cranky old woman, but I couldn't do my job without her. And truth be told, her irritable demeanor has become more endearing than aggravating.

"Cancelled."

"I can see that." I lower my laptop screen and give her a look through the sliver of the door. "Any more information you care to provide?"

"Said she had the flu." Peggy pops an apple slice into her mouth. "Or strep throat. The e-mail was so damn long, I might've just diagnosed her in my mind."

I rub my eyes under my glasses. "How about forwarding the e-mail to me?"

"Can do." Peggy wheels out of sight. "Oh, and I rescheduled her for Monday morning."

It might take Peggy a couple of minutes to remember how to forward the message, so I take that moment to just breathe. I tip my head back and close my eyes, waiting to hear the ding announcing the new e-mail.

I had grand plans of unplugging for a few of days; going off the grid and letting the wind take me wherever it blows. That will have to wait.

Ding

I exhale one more long breath before diving into the lengthy e-mail.

"Alright, Vause, summer is upon us and I'm dragging you out even if it kills me."

Eyes shut and head rolled back, I prop my feet onto the coffee table and sigh. "Who let you in?"

"The door was wide open." Nicky plops down next to me. "And you promised we'd go to Jam Fest this weekend. I have two tickets with our names on them."

"When did I make that promise?"

"You might've been slightly inebriated a couple of weeks ago."

I open my eyes and turn to her. "Who's playing at this Jam Fest?"

"There are five bands, and they each play a short set." She pulls my arm until I stand and pushes me towards my bedroom. "Change your clothes. We're doing this."

I had every intention of spending the weekend, relaxing at home and planning that road trip, but maybe it'll be good to get out for a while. I used to love going to concerts, but my job has consumed me for the past couple of years. Nicky is fond of reminding me to live a little, and I owe it to myself to do just that.

As we drive to the park, windows down, Nicky turns to me. "How was your school year?"

"It's not quite over yet. One more interview on Monday."

"Must be hard being the big boss," she teases.

I glance at her. "I'm not the big boss."

She uses air quotes while saying, "Head of upper school—close enough."

I've somehow skated past my what the fuck am I doing? stage and more into accepting my inevitable role in education. For the past 10 years, I've asked myself that question, yet I keep coming back to school. Five years in the classroom, two years as curriculum coordinator and now my second year as head of upper school.

"Never thought you'd be a teacher longer than you needed to pay off your student loans," she says.

I let out a short laugh. "Tell me about it."

Nicky parks the car, and we make our way downhill to the festival. There's a beer garden to our left, food tents to the right, and a huge stage in the middle. People have already set up blankets on the lawn, claiming their spot with the best view. We find a place on the far right of the stage where not too many people have gathered, and Nicky lays out a large, plaid blanket.

"This should do." She surveys the area. "Now for the important stuff. What kind of beer do you want?"

"Whatever's cold." I sit down. "When you come back, I'll get us some food."

I take a moment to appreciate the scenery—the sky is the bluest of blue, the trees are bright green and the lake just beyond the stage is glistening. It reminds me of how badly I need to get back in touch with nature. Then it hits me—that's what I'll do. I'll go camping. I lie on my back and smile, waiting for Nicky to return.

We're already two tall boys in as the second band sets up.

I grab the empty beer cans. "I have to pee. Be right back."

The sun hasn't set yet, but the golden glow across the venue is stunning. The only thing that makes me a little cranky is the bathroom line that snakes around a tree and down the sidewalk.

"You'd think they'd learn to make more women's restrooms than men's," I comment to no one in particular from my place in line.

The woman in front of me spins around. "Or make them gender neutral."

She's cute—mid-length blonde hair, blue eyes and a strong jawline. She's wearing a red tank top, linen shorts and flip flops.

"Good point," I reply.

"I wrote to the Spring Festival organizer in April about it. Never heard back." Her feet are dirty, and I wonder if it's from dancing barefoot on the lawn. "Guess I should write to the city instead since this is technically a municipal park."

I smile at her. "I'm impressed."

"At what?"

"That you'd take it that far—contacting someone about the bathroom issue."

She shrugs. "It's either that or complain about it without trying to find a solution."

The line moves forward.

"Most people would rather just complain."

She stares up at me with deep blue eyes. "I'm not most people."

Clearly.

"It's my first time at this venue," I reply, glancing towards the stage as the second band starts playing. "I've been here for the farmer's market, but never for a concert."

"The acoustics aren't great but look around. It's hard to beat the scenery." I follow her roaming eyes until they land back on me. "Are you a reggae fan?"

"I like almost all music." I shrug. "Not country so much, but just about everything else. My friend drug me here more to enjoy being outside than to listen to any band in particular."

"Well, if you liked the first band, stick around for the last one. They're really good."

"There's a stall open," the woman behind me announces with a huff.

"Enjoy the show," the blonde says as she makes her way into the empty stall.

After using the restroom, I walk across the lawn and scan the thick crowd for the blonde. There are a lot of blondes in the audience, but the intriguing one is nowhere in sight.

"What took you so long?" Nicky asks from her perch on the blanket.

"The line was a mile long."

"My turn to urinate." She stands and begins walking away. "Want anything while I'm gone?"

"I could drink another beer."

By the time the fourth band takes the stage, it's dark and despite the lights around the venue, it's difficult to see anything other than the puffs of weed, wafting in the air. I haven't smoked a bowl since last summer, but the smell is enough to make me want to pick up the old habit if only for tonight.

"One more beer?" I ask, putting my shoes back on.

Nicky doesn't stop dancing. "Yeah, thanks."

I use the flashlight on my cell phone to find the path to the beer garden, and as with everything at this venue, there's a line, but at the end is a welcome surprise: the blonde from the restroom.

I grin. "It's Ms. Gender Neutral."

She doesn't recognize me at first, and then a smile creeps across her face. "I'm not gender neutral." She puts a hand over her chest. "But the bathrooms should be."

"Right." I adjust my glasses. "Buying a beer?"

"Since this is the beer garden, that's a good assumption." She sways to the music, and I can tell she's high.

"Looks like you're enjoying the show." My eyes are drawn to her left shoulder where the strap of her tank top has fallen.

"I am. You?"

"It's good; better than I thought it would be," I admit. "Also enjoying the contact high."

Her eyes drag over my body. "You don't have any of your own?"

"Afraid not." I approach the counter. "Two Coors Lights and whatever she's having."

"Blue Moon, please." She steps aside. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." I pay for our beers, hand her the Blue Moon, and then grab the other two.

"I might have an extra joint." She walks back towards the lawn. "If not, we can share."

I think about it for a moment. Nicky already got pissy the last time I was gone so long, and now I'm withholding beer from her. "I better not."

"Are you sure?" She stops short, turns around and I run into her, flinging a few drops of Coors Light onto her chest. It might be dark, but there's enough light for me to see the glistening wetness on her chest.

I swallow hard. "Maybe a couple of hits."

Our eyes meet in the dim light, and her eyes sparkle like waves in a pool. She hooks a finger through the loop on my shorts and tugs me through the crowd as I spill beer along the way. We stop at her section, and she releases me.

"What's your name?"

"Alex."

She puts a joint between her lips and lights it. "I'm Piper."

"Nice to meet you."

"You, too." She hands me the joint, but I'm still carrying two cans of beer. "Your hands are full…Here." Piper takes a long drag, puts a hand on my cheek to line us up, and then presses her lips onto mine slowly releasing the smoke. I suck it in, and as good as the weed tastes, the feeling of her fingers on my face and her lips on mine is even better.

She pulls back, exhaling the last bit of smoke. "Good?"

"Yeah." I take a swig of beer and watch her dance to the next song, eyes drawn to her hips and ass. I want to toss the beers to the side and dance with her, but I need to get back to Nicky. "I should go."

"What?" she asks over the loud music.

I lean close to her ear, and despite the weed in the air, she smells sweet like baby powder. "I need to go."

She strings her arms around my neck. "Too bad."

I can't do anything with my hands, and all I want to do is touch her. Common sense would tell me to put the beers on the fucking ground and dance with her, but common sense has gone by the wayside after consuming four, 16-ounce beers.

"Can I get your number?" I ask instead.

She pulls my phone out of my back pocket, fingers skimming my ass, enters her number, and then slips it back in. "If you change your mind, I'll be here for the rest of the show."

I nod. "I'll be in touch."

"Good." She turns back towards the stage and resumes dancing.

I walk back to our section with a stupid grin on my face.

"Seriously, Vause? What the fuck?" Nicky checks her watch, which I know she can't see through the darkness. "You've been gone for like half an hour!"

"I met someone." I hand her the beer.

She wiggles the can. "Did you drink half this thing?"

"I spilled some of it." I trip on Nicky's shoes and almost fall. "A lot of it, I guess." I hand her the other can, hoping there's more in it.

She steadies my elbow. "You sure you didn't drink it yourself?"

"Yeah. I mean, no, I didn't drink it myself. I might've had a hit." I laugh. "Did I mention I met someone? A hot someone?"

"Jesus Christ, you're baked after one fucking puff?" I hear humor in her voice. "Why don't you sit down, let me get my groove on to this next song, and then we'll talk?"

"I'm not baked," I refute, lying on the blanket. "Just drunk."

The next thing I know, I'm waking up in the backseat of Nicky's car.

"What the hell?" I sit up, scratching my head. "Did I dream we were at a concert?"

"That was no dream, Lurch," Nicky comments. "Glad to see you're awake and I don't have to take you to get your stomach pumped."

"What happened?"

Nicky relays the evening to me as we pull into my driveway. That's right: I met someone. Piper. I smile as I recall how cute she was.

"I'm going to get you as far as the couch." She goes into the kitchen and returns with two Tylenol and a glass of water. "Sleep it off and call me in the morning."

I take the medicine and lie down. "Thank you."

I take Nicky to lunch the next day to thank her for getting my sorry ass home last night and to recap what happened. She assures me that I didn't make a fool of myself—at least not in her presence. I just fell asleep during the last act, but I was able to walk to the car on my own.

"You remember meeting some chick last night?"

"Yeah." I lower my fork. "I think she gave me her number." I check my recent call list and see her name. She must've used my phone to call herself so she'd have my number. "Piper."

Nicky giggles. "Do you even remember what she looks like?"

I take a long sip of water. "Tall, blonde, blue eyes. Nice ass."

"You've always been an 'ass' girl."

"It's all coming back to me." I put my elbows on the table and hold my head. "We were in the beer line, and she asked if I wanted to smoke out with her. We walked back to her spot on the lawn, and we shot gunned. She tried to dance with me, but I was holding our beers."

"I inadvertently cock-blocked you?" she laughs.

Ignoring her, I let out a soft fuck.

"She gave you her number." Nicky shrugs. "Give her a call."

"Maybe." I shove my plate away. "She looked young—maybe too young?"

"No such thing." She leans forward. "If she got a beer, she's at least 21. Those fuckers don't mess around, and they can sniff out a fake ID in a second."

I chew on that for a bit. "You're right. Maybe she was older…I don't know."

"That's why you should call her. Meet up again." She downs the rest of her Sprite. "I have to get going. I'll see you next weekend?"

"Yeah, probably." I stand, lost in my own thoughts. "Thanks again, Nicky."

"Anytime, champ."

By Sunday evening, I'm feeling better and have let go of some of my guilt for getting so shitfaced in public. Who knows if any Mounthaven parents, teachers or even students were at the concert. I can't beat myself up over it, but I can check social media to make sure no incriminating pictures surface. As of seven o'clock, the coast is clear.

I make myself a salad and open my laptop, getting ready for what should be my last day at school for at least a week before I have to return for summer hours. I check my phone a few times, but no one has tried to contact me. Who am I kidding? Piper hasn't contacted me, and that's what's bothering me. She's been in the back of my mind all day. Maybe I read into things too much—perhaps she wasn't that into me and my active imagination had us exchanging glances and swaying to the music. I was drunk; my perception might not have been reality.

I reply to several work e-mails, then glance at my phone again. I'm being ridiculous. I'll do a coin toss: heads, I text Piper. Tails, I forget about her…at least for tonight. I flip a quarter high in the air, catching it and then turning it over on the back of my hand.

Heads.

I admit I'm a relieved—like now I have permission to contact her after "winning" the coin toss. I open a new text message: We met at the concert. I was the tall, drunk woman.

I return to my inbox, trying to ignore the desire to glance at my phone every minute. I'm successful until just before 10 p.m. Maybe she doesn't remember me. I crawl into bed, and as I'm about to plug in my phone, I hear the chime of a new message.

I remember you, Alex. More like a tall drink of water.

I'm relieved and a little turned on.

Haven't been that drunk in a long time. Hope I didn't make an ass of myself.

You didn't.

I wonder if I should press on or call it quits. I don't reply right away; instead, I pick up the novel I've been reading at bedtime and attempt to read another chapter. Five minutes pass without another text. After ten minutes, I glance at my phone to see if I mistakenly turned it on silent. I didn't. I read another few pages when my phone chimes again.

Would love to meet when we're both sober.

I smile. Lunch tomorrow? I'm much too eager.

I have a thing tomorrow morning; not sure how long it will last. Happy hour?

The Tunnel Bar around 4:30?

Looking forward to it, she sends with a smiley emoji.

I put the phone down, turn off my bedside lamp and fall asleep happy.

I walk into my office Monday morning with a bounce in my step. "Morning, Peggy." I hand her an iced mocha.

"You're in awfully early for our first day of summer hours."

"Got a good night of sleep," I reply, opening my door and hanging my bag on the hook. "I want to crank out a few things today and take the rest of the week off."

"Lucky you."

I plug my laptop in and power it on. "You can take off, too, you know."

"I can't come and go as I please like you can," she complains, sipping her coffee drink.

"You can put in a request for time off." I open the blinds, letting in an abundance of natural light. "When have I ever denied your requests?"

"Never," she sighs. "Thanks for the iced mocha."

"You're welcome. Let me know when the candidate arrives." I close my door leaving it slightly ajar and sit down to find 32 new e-mails in my inbox.

I power through about ten of them before I hear Peggy get up. "The middle school has donuts. Want me to bring you one?"

"No, thanks."

"Alright, be back in a jiffy."

Peggy is slow as molasses; she'll be gone a solid 20 minutes. I ruffle through a folder on my desk titled resumes and search for the one for the person I'm meeting in less than five minutes. There must be at least 50 resumes in the folder—some for teaching positions that have already been filled, others for part-time staff jobs that I'm hanging onto in case of emergency.

I glance at my online calendar to see the name of the candidate, but the only thing Peggy typed was "history teacher." I look back to the previous week when the candidate was supposed to come in on Friday. Same thing. I have no idea with whom I'm meeting this morning. Just as I'm about to find the e-mail I sent on Friday, I hear Peggy enter the vestibule.

"Peggy, from now on, I need you to write the name of the person I'm meeting with in my Outlook calendar, followed by the position he's applying for. I don't remember the name of this morning's candidate."

"Hello?" Someone pokes her head in the doorway. "There was no one out here, so I…"

"Piper?" I crease my brows and jut my head back. "How'd you know where I work?"

She looks equally confused. "I didn't…I don't." She takes a step back and reads the nameplate on the wall just outside my door. "Head of upper school?"

"Yeah," I nervously laugh, rolling my chair away from my desk. "What are you doing here?"

She turns her head slightly. "I'm interviewing for the history teacher position."

I stand, fingertips pressed against the edge of my desk. "You're my 8:30 appointment?"

She remains rooted to the floor, gripping the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles are white. "I guess I am."

"There must be some kind of mistake." I move past her and look at Peggy's oversized, printed calendar. There, written in perfect penmanship, is her name. "You're Piper Chapman?"

She nods.

"Wow." I toss my head back and laugh, running a hand through my hair. "Wow. Um, ok." I open the door more fully, extending an arm to invite her in.

"I had no idea," she begins.

I return to my desk chair and gesture for her to have a seat across from me. "Clearly, neither of us did." Riffling through the folder I had my hands on a moment ago, I search through the stack of resumes and pull out Piper's. "You're a student teacher?"

"I'm starting my senior year at Smith this fall," she states, sitting at the edge of the guest's chair.

"This is awkward." I pause, waiting for her to reply, but she remains quiet. "I can't hire you, Piper."

"Why not?"

"Because of this…" I motion a finger between us. "And that." I gesture towards the window, hoping she understands what I'm trying to say without having to name it.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "Technically, I already have the position."

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Bogan, the chair of the education department at Smith, placed me at Mounthaven for the semester. I met with your History department chair two weeks ago, and he told me it was a mere formality that I had to meet with the head of upper school."

"That's normally the case, yes," I begin, somewhat at a loss for words. "But you and I…we can't. I can't."

"Alex." Seemingly more relaxed, she leans forward. "We had one…weird…night. I hope you'd agree we're too professional to let that stand between us."

I lift my brows. "I'd be your boss."

She shrugs. "And?"

"And we were going to meet for happy hour later today." I shake my head. "Wait, what did you say—we had a weird night?"

Piper shrugs. "We were drunk and high and got a little close."

"I wouldn't have done any of that if I knew you were going to be a teacher at my school," I state firmly.

"But you didn't know."

I'm backed into a corner now. If I hire her, there will potentially be an underlying attraction and tension between us. If I don't hire her, I'll have the history department chair and possibly Smith College on my back. Now I remember reading Piper's resume two weeks ago when the department chair forwarded it to me. She's a stellar applicant. There would be no logical reason not to bring her on board.

"Look." I raise my glasses to the top of my head. "If I hire you, we can't…" I let that hang in the air.

"Oh, of course. Right." She swats the air. "Do you have any questions about my qualifications?"

I scan her resume, not really reading what I'm looking at. "Why do you want to work at Mounthaven?"

"I'm a mission-centered instructor, and I identify closely with Mounthaven's mission to educate and inform students on a global scale," she says, quoting part of our mission statement.

It's that moment when I choose to look at her. I mean, really look at her. She's wearing a sleeveless, ivory blouse that ties at the neck and a knee-length multi-colored skirt. Her hair is bouncy and shiny. She looks completely different than she did Saturday night.

"Anything else you want to know about me?"

"Sorry, what?" I'd stopped paying attention to her answer when I started gawking. "No, thank you." I pause before saying, "I'm going to give you the contract, because, well, I kind of have to…and because you're obviously qualified."

"Good." She issues a small, victorious smile, and I wonder if she's accustomed to getting her way.

"And it goes without saying, we can't meet for happy hour later today or ever for that matter."

"Ever?"

"While you're employed here," I say, realizing my mouth is awfully dry.

"Fair enough."

"You obviously did some research on Mounthaven, knowing our mission statement and all." I sit back. "You didn't look at our website and see a picture of me?"

"Part of the school's website was down. I read educational reviews online and saw your name, but I never saw a picture of you," she replies.

Piper is right—our technology department began overhauling the website about a month ago, and it hasn't been fully functional for a while.

"What about your research on me?" She crosses her legs. "I have a rather unique first name. You didn't put two and two together when we met?"

"Under normal circumstances, I probably would've made the connection, but all the cylinders in my brain weren't firing on Saturday night."

She nods. "Well then, here we are."

The way the light catches her eye and reveals her soft skin makes her look younger than she is. No question about it—Piper is beautiful.

"Let's just forget about the other night." She stands.

"Yes, that's a great idea." I don't want to forget about it.

She extends her arm. "I guess I'll see you this fall."

I shake her hand. "It'll be here before we know it."

Our hands stay connected longer than they should, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I refuse to acknowledge what that means right now, but there's no denying our underlying attraction.

"Take care."

"You, too." She walks out the door, and I'm left only with the scent of her.