State of Grace
And I never saw you coming…
She tumbles into his office quite by mistake one day when looking for Mrs. Kirk.
"Oh!" she says, gawking at the funny looking man in an old button up sitting at a battered oak desk. "I—I'm sorry—I was looking for—"
"Mees Kirk," he finishes, smiling not unkindly. He has an accent she could spread on toast. "Yes, I have been hearing."
Her neck catches fire, and the blaze spreads up to her cheeks.
"I-I'm so sorry," she stammers. "I-I had no idea…"
But he laughs.
"No, do not apologize. I haf much love for the young people making noise. It makes a house all alive, so?"
"So," she breathes. (How old is this guy? He doesn't look above 40…)
"So," he says. "You are the Mees Marsch I haf been hearing of, then?"
"The same," she grins, sinking into an impromptu bow. "But just call me Jo. I hate being called 'Miss March.'"
"Ah," he laughs. "So Jo, then. Such a quick, breathing name. It suits you."
She can feel herself grinning all over her face, and she doesn't even know why; something about his funny German voice and his pen-marked face and his bizarre compliments is just infectiously funny.
"Well, what do you go by?"
He stands up, taking her hand in his and bowing over it—whether seriously or not, she can't quite tell.
"They call me Old Fritz in this house," he smiles. "It is good meeting you, Mees—Jo."
"Back at you," she says lightly. "I'll leave you to work—you haven't seen Mrs. Kirk by any chance, have you?"
"I haf not," he says. "I would check the kitchen."
"Ah—the kitchen! Of course! Thanks, Fritz!"
And as she flies out the door and down the steps (Marmee always said she was like a whirlwind), she can hear him laughing.
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Over the next few weeks, their relationship is one of constant bewilderment; they seem to pop out at each other from the oddest places.
"Good gravy!" she cries, nearly slamming into him one morning on her way to breakfast. "Sorry, Friedrich," (for by now she knows his real name) "I didn't see you there."
"Do not be concerned, Jo," he chuckles. "I haf need of a waking-up call now and then, I'm sure."
And then:
"What were you thinking of that so abstracted you, eef you do not mind telling me?"
"Oh, nothing important—I just thought of the most perfect scene for a story I'm writing. It's going to be a smasher."
"Ah," he smiles. "You must tell me, then. I haf not read a—how do you say—a smasher in some time."
"Well, see, I was just thinking…"
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"Jo?"
She looks up, grinning now, from her bored contemplation of the interior of her red Solo cup.
"Friedrich! What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was invited by Mees Kirk," he grimaces. "This is the Christmas party, so?"
"So," she laughs. "Quite a terrible one, too, I think. Isn't it awful? I haven't been this bored since Marmee used to make me sit with Aunt March."
"It is not ideal," he admits. "But it will be better now that I have found you. Come, Jo—I haf just read something in Hegel I want your opinion of."
And they're on their third turn 'round the room, pausing for just a moment to parse something out between them, when there's a general wave of laughter and then a hush, jolting them both out of their discussion.
"What the devil's going—"
But she stops, because she knows now. (Why does this always happen to her?)
"Ah," says the Professor absently, glancing up. "Mistletoe."
And then he puts one hand on her waist and the other on her jaw, guiding her face to his, and before she can quite get a handle on things she's kissing Fritz and it's not anything like she expected and she hardly knows where to look when it's done.
And all she can think, gawking at him with her mouth somewhat open, is that she never never never saw it coming.