January

She should have understood that no teacher shared the same enthousiasm nor the same methods. That the woman that now stood before them seemed to be having short nights – her baby was but three-month-old – and that, perhaps, she wasn't as passionate about geography as she was about the new addition in her family. She should have understood that perhaps what made Mr Kristiansen's classes so great was her own inclination towards the man. Or the light in his irises, or perhaps, the incredible cut of his high cheekbones.

Perhaps she was biaised, after all.

But in the end, nothing that woman did could hold a candle to his classes. The enthusiasm was gone from her class, the sky dull, the days long.

So looooong.

The first French class of January was hellish; she didn't know what had happened to Tristan, and was trying to find the courage to ask Mr Tebrus. Nothing unusual; she had always taken the time to share a few words with him before running to the biology practical lesson, which was much more awkward ever since Madeleyne had left. But this time… facing his gentle face, hearing that he had driven Tristan home and made sure he was all right, she would have hugged him… except that the look of disapproval upon his face told her he knew. Her French teacher knew she had been literally banged against the wall by his colleague. Would she ever survive the shame ? Fortunately, her professor had told her not to worry about it anymore. That he didn't held her responsible for this misshap. 'I am an adult', she said. 'I am responsible for my actions'.

And she couldn't forget about it. Because forgetting about the incident would mean forget about Tristan, and she clung to the memories.

Frances couldn't wait for this masquerade of a year to end; she had had enough. She wanted to leave this place, to bury memories that brought her joy and grief at the same time. Every geography lesson was a stark reminder of what had happened in this very classroom. For she sat, now, ten feet away from the place he had taken her against the wall. And she remembered the tightness of his fingers around her thighs, the softness of his lips, the demands of his body buried within her. His chest, stuck against hers, his smell filling her nostrils, the abandon and passion. His grunts, sensual and repressed, when he spasmed within her…

When her mind didn't replay the pure moment of bliss, she could only compare their new teacher's methods to his own. How her voice didn't feel like the caress of silk upon one's mind, how her blue eyes didn't twinkle in delight whenever they asked an interesting question, how she sat at her desk instead of upon it. How her posture was closed, and tired when Mr Kristiansen always stood proud, his arms open, his body language inviting them in rather than shutting them out.

She missed him. The air was thinner without him in the world. The dull ache had settled in her chest never to let go. At first, his absence had been unbearable; now she was learning to live with it. How difficult, for every single corridor, every single smell or noise reminded her of him. Tristan had unwittingly woven his way into her life, populating her thoughts far more than she had realised.

Now he was gone, hopefully back to his wife. Happy, perhaps. Or so she hoped; it would at least make one out of two. No strength left in her to be jealous.

So Frances waited for the pain to dull, listening to classes after classes, working like a robot. Catching, sometimes, professor Tebrus' worried gaze. Putting one foot in front of the other, expecting the world to crash down every moment, and waking up disappointed that it had not happened.

March

'What do you want for your birthday?', her mother had asked. 'Tristan, please', she wanted to answer. But she couldn't. So her birthday passed, and her mother bought her a lovely ring. Frances smiled; why not, after all ? Given the man she loved was married to another, she could accept this token from her mother. There was no doubt that her parents loved her; a meagre consolation for an aching heart, but one nonetheless.

There was a feast, and a cake, and her grandparents, brothers and cousins alike that came to celebrate. And for a moment, the ache in her heart lessened.

Time heals everything, they say. She could relate to that, but it certainly took its damn time !

April

Easter vacation dragged on; fifteen days to perfect every single thing she'd ever learnt. Thermodynamics, organic chemistry, geology, maths, maths and maths again. Then back to the three basic components – sugar, protein, lipids – then jumping to calorimetry again. An endless round of revisions, for each subject a slot. All very neatly planned out.

Rain or shine, Frances spent six hours a day working on her classes; the exams were drawing close. In three weeks from now, the past two years would constrict into tests of all sorts, all of them written. If she ranked high enough, oral exams would follow in Paris. Then… freedom ! At last.

For now, she was preparing the last stretch… and God it bored her ! But it was better than to think about HIM. Him, who plagued her dreams so vividly that she never wanted to wake up. Him, to whom she dedicated every single beautiful though. Him, gone for four months, but still burning in her heart.

And now came her favourite moment of the day; when she closed her eyes in the evening and could relieve those memories, imagining she was back in his arms, dancing her doubts away. Swaying against him. Every night, she coaxed her will to dream about him. It happened less and less often, but when it did… God, it was like waking in a brand new world.

This morning, Frances opened her eyes in the dark; the sun wasn't up yet. Her heart was full; she had spent the night in his imaginary arms. The young woman plunged in the recesses of her mind, trying to latch onto the emotion and keep it alive before the unavoidable fading occurred. For the moment, lying in her bed, she could almost feel his arms around her. Mmm, so soft, so warm, so masculine. She huddled in a ball, blissfull, and fell asleep again.

Today would be a good day.

She had no idea that this particular day would change her life forever.

An hour or so later, hot chocolate and cereals discarded, Frances contemplate the great weather with a sigh. Today's schedule consisted of botanic – ugh ! – in the morning, and revisions about Kepler's laws in the afternoon. What a yummy past time. So when her mother called for lunch, she was too eager to share the noon meal with her parents before getting back to frying her brain. And since the sun had decided to taunt her – it was such a perfect day, it reminded her of Mark Knoplfer's Shangri-la song – Frances gathered her physics book and climbed into the cherry tree. Up and up she went to the very last branch; an old friend who had brought her luck in the past. This is where she had worked most of her maths lessons before the Baccalauréat. The results were up to par. Perhaps, this time, she would get lucky once more.

So she was dead to the world for two more hours until her back ached – the cherry tree version of a sofa could be a little uncomfortable – and her mind blurred. What better place to learn about planets and their gravitational field ? She felt so free, up there above the roof of her house, that it was worth every single ache.

— "So you are living in trees"

Frances started; the book fell from her hands and plummeted below. In its wake, the four leaves clover that she used as a bookmark went flying in the wind.

— "Shit !", she exclaimed, launching herself forward to grab the theory of physics.

Too late. The noise of a page tearing reached her ear, followed by a loud thud that indicated the stupid book had reached the ground. Her good luck charm disappeared from view, lost. As if she wouldn't need it anymore. And she, in a precarious equilibrium in between branches, could only gape as she caught a pair of familiar eyes. Her mind screamed in glee, then in fear.

He was here.

Mr Kristiansen, in her parent's garden, standing tall in the glorious afternoon sun, the light creating a halo in his blondish hair. And his eyes, so warm, so full of life, laden with feelings she couldn't name. Hands in his pocket in a pose that was anything but casual.

There it was; all the luck in the world gathered into a gorgeous man. The reason why his good luck token – the four leaves clover - had flown away in the wind.

Frances couldn't move, safely hidden on top of the world. What if she came down, and he wanted to say goodbye forever ? What if he wanted to ensure she wouldn't talk ? What if… ?

— "Are you coming down, or shall I come up ?"

How she had missed this smooth, caressing voice. It could have soothed any ache, and was her undoing. And since she couldn't find an appropriate response, Mr Kristiansen pulled his sleeves with a purposeful move. Then he reached for the lower branch and hoisted himself up upon the trunk. Frances' eyes widened, watching the muscles of his exposed forearms flex as he continued his unhindered ascent. She had not expected him to tackle the task so easily, and once he came level with her, she realised she was trapped.

— "Stop!", she warned.

The former teacher froze, his head lifting with an interrogative frown.

— "That branch can't hold us both, I'll join you at the junction"

Her explanation seemed to lift the cloud that had settled upon his brow, and she took careful steps to manoeuvre her way around him. Her body, only clad in leggings and a tight t-shirt, flexed and twisted so close that she could feel his cologne. Mmm. Such a great memory. At last, she could settle precariously upon a smaller branch while he sat in front, on the other side of a secondary trunk. They both stared at each other for a long time, reacquainting themselves with the person they had known months ago. She watched his full lips, his kind smile and the small crease at the corner of his eye. He looked… better. Tired, but more grounded. As if he had tackled a great task and emerged victorious. The wind played with his mid-long hair, blowing it in his face until he decided to tuck it behind his ear. In vain.

What did he see, when he watched her ? The same student, too young and inexperienced ? A lovesick fool ? Or just a child ?

Four months of acquaintance, four months of separation. Four blissful ones. Four miserable ones.

The tension was rising in her heart; if he was here to say goodbye once and for all, let it be done.

— "Why are you here, Mr Kristiansen ?"

— "Tristan, please. I am no longer your teacher"

Frances pursed her lips, hoping he didn't mistook her silence for anger. In truth, she was terrified. The man beside her couldn't meet her gaze, his stormy eyes fixed upon the leaves that danced in the wind.

— "I came to apologize. I didn't show you the respect you deserved"

Frances' heart plummeted at once; he wasn't here to reprimand or demand, but an apology meant goodbye just as well. A mea culpa before he came back to his wife… Her eyes landed on his left hand, looking for the dreaded ring… finding nothing. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands tightening upon the branch. It was now or never; if she didn't tell him how badly she wanted him, he would never know and walk away from her life. So just like she had done so many months ago, Frances grabbed his free hand and caught his gaze.

— "This was the best moment of my life."

It was his turn to be struck speechless, and his eyes didn't leave hers as he dropped a bomb at her feet.

— "I filed for divorce."

Sadness and guilt mingled in her mind. And she struggled very, very hard to repress the immense wave of relief that wanted to surface in its stead. She was responsible for this man's divorce, for God's sake !

— "I am sorry, it's my fault."

— "No !", he exclaimed. "Nothing is your fault. I didn't love her anymore"

After Hiroshima, Nagasaki landed, shaking her core from head to toe. And slowly, very slowly, hope started to bloom in her heart. That perhaps, if Tristan had come to her, even drunk… it meant something.

— "Oh. I… uh. All right"

She had not realised she was still holding his hand until his fingers shifted, intertwining with hers in a significant caress.

— "You opened my eyes, Frances", he whispered, shifting his balance to face her.

Her chest heaved, it nearly hurt to breathe. Hopes and fears mingled, the significance of his admittance weighing heavily upon her heart. His fingers gently caressed hers and they both fixed their gaze upon their intertwined hands. Wondering, maybe, where that left them. Frances laid her head upon the trunk.

— "So what now ?", she whispered.

Words that flew into the wind, spoken so low that she wondered if he had heard her. And when his head popped from the other side, searching her gaze, she knew he had.

— "Perhaps…", he started.

Then stopped, his tongue darting over his upper lip. Yet, his eyes didn't leave hers, and she respected him for that. To have the guts to face her after what had transpired between them.

— "Perhaps, if you are willing. You could give us a chance ?"

It took her a second too much to understand what he meant. And when it eventually dawned, her heart leapt with joy. He wanted her ! He wanted to be with her, wanted to give it a shot despite their age difference. Despite their awkward debuts, and the fact that she was a student. But this man, this incredible person chose to overlook all those limits and throw them to the wolves. Barriers to be fed upon as they escaped.

Joy flooded her chest; it felt incredible, to be trusted and wanted like this. The significance of his presence here, in her cherry tree, would be embedded in her memory until the day she died. A full smile bloomed upon her face, and she saw, at once, how his eyes brightened. Frances took a peek in the garden, checking if anyone was watching before she shifted from her branch, and reached for his face.

What a better answer than to taste his beautiful lips once more ? Tristan obliged with a sigh, as if he had longed for it just as much. And while she perched herself on tiptoes, his arm snaked around her waist to secure her. His tongue swiped at her lips; she parted them eagerly. He tasted like heaven, devoid of alcohol this time, so delicious. His arm tightened in a possessive gesture as he kissed her senseless. Her only regret; his other hand still gripped the tree trunk to keep him afloat, depriving her of his touch.

And when at last, they managed to pull apart, Tristan rested his forehead against hers and murmured.

— "I missed you"

Frances closed her eyes with a sigh; that admission felt much more intimate than anything he had ever told her. As if, now, she had changed status and was part of his world. To know that her longing was requited caused a huge wave of relief to quell her doubts.

— "I thought of you every single second since you left"

He nodded, his features set in worry lines.

— "I'm sorry. I needed to fix my situation before I could sort my feelings. I had no idea where I was going."

She understood, really, that he had refused to contact her until the mess of his life was settled. The hurt, though, would not be easily forgotten. So she tightened her hold upon his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Tristan wavered on his branch and chuckled.

— "You seem more at ease here than on solid ground. It is the ice skating ?"

Frances considered his question, feeling the steady form of the branch below her toes, as if the plant itself supported her.

— "I was always at home in trees.", she said, then emerged from his neck to look him in the eye. "Actually, I think it's the other way around. After all, it you can pick cherries in equilibrium on the upper branches, you can balance on a blade digging in the ice"

Tristan pecked her lips, unable to resist, before his eyes roamed her face.

— "I always saw you as a fairy. I think I was right."

— "A fairy ?"

His finger caressed her cheekbone tenderly, a gesture that caused goosebumps to run through her spine. Or was it the beauty of his golden-flecked eyes ? How she could drown into them.

A sudden noise caused her to pull back and she hastily settled beside the trunk once more, spotting her father a few yards away. Blush crept up her cheeks and she bit her lip.

— "Let's not bring my parents into that equation just yet", she whispered.

Tristan chuckled, squeezing her hand before letting go.

— "I heartily agree to that, you'll have to answer questions soon enough"

She was glad he wasn't angry; she didn't want her parents to desecrate this blossoming relationship yet. She wanted him for herself, without questions, without justifications, before she had to tell the world she was going out with her former geography teacher.

Tristan didn't seem to mind – perhaps he also felt awkward. So he resumed the previous conversation as if nothing was amiss.

— "You look like a fairy, with your long hair and the way you dance. I could always picture you in an enchanted forest"

— "Well there I am, in my enchanted cheery tree. Did you know I revised my BAC here ?"

He lifted his eyes to the highest branches, wondering if they would keep his weight if he attempted to climb up. It was so easy, to picture Frances sleeping like a cat against the harsh, unwelcoming bark.

— "I'm not surprised. Think we should come down before night ?"

— "I don't know. It's pretty comfy here", she teased.

Tristan turned to watch her, mirth dancing in his eyes. His lips quirked up in that half smile she adored and she had to stub her toe against the trunk to prevent from jumping him. There was something else than desire dancing there, amusement, perhaps, or anticipation. His next words were detached, a little insecure, even, but vibrant all the same.

— "I've got two tickets for Mark Knopfler's concert in the Nîmes Arena next Thursday. If you want them… you'll have to come down the tree"

Frances' eyes widened.

— "What ? Mark Knopler is playing in France ?", she squealed.

A full smile bloomed upon Tristan's face, so dazzling that, for a moment, she even forgot that her favourite artist was within arm's reach.

— "Come with me ?", he asked.

Frances' response was such a passionate kiss that it left him a little dizzy. But at least, he wasn't afraid anymore. She had not pushed him away, had welcomed him, even, her feelings just as strong as before. Stronger, even.

— "I can't wait", he whispered.

And he meant it.

The next few days were excruciatingly slow, but he had left his number in her old Nokia phone. Thank God for the unlimited text package, else he'd be ruined. Now, all sorts of considerations ran through his busy mind. Should he book two rooms, or only one ? Twin beds ? Hell, he'd taken her once against a wall like a one-night stand and he really wanted to do this right. To woo her properly, even if he couldn't deny that desire strongly affected his decisions. Hell, he wasn't a schoolboy !

So he gave up the battle, and texted her instead.

'Want me to book two rooms ?' – Tristan.

'Don't be silly. I'd sleep in yours ?' – Frances

Tristan paused, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Cheeky lady. Apparently, she didn't resent the classroom tryst so much if she was willing to throw herself in his arms again. Still, he was the older man here, the responsible one. Perhaps he ought to ask how much experience she had with men – boys, probably – before starting another round of crazy lovemaking. The passionate woman that had melted in his arms had nothing to envy to any of his previous partners, still… he'd been very, very active. Perhaps a little too imposing ?

'Are you sure ?' – Tristan

'I love cuddles :p' – Frances

Her response caused his blood to go south, and Tristan grimaced. She was going to be the death of him. What was it, with this little lady, that caused him to combust? He found her beautiful, of course, just like half her classmates – yes, he'd caught some looks. But beautiful women had never stirred such desire, such overwhelming need to make her his. Phew. The word 'condom' went on the list that would go on his suitcase, just in case she'd dropped her pill.

The next series of texts were bittersweet, as Frances took quite a dressing down for leaving when she should have been working.

'My parents don't like you very much right now' – Frances

'You need a break before the exams' – Tristan

'I know. They have trouble accepting it' – Frances

Tristan's tongue darted over his teeth, annoyed. Didn't they see how dangerous for one's mind this pace of studying was ? Those classes imposed the stronger rhythm in Europe, and could certainly match certain Asian countries.

Frances was sturdy, that much he knew. The fact that she had been able to send Alain to get him after what happened at Christmas… this alone spoke of her character. To face your own teacher, knowing he would put and two together and maybe look at her funny for the rest of the year… She knew just as well how to handle pressure at her ice-skating show. But she needed, as much as anyone, to relax for a few days before getting back. One refilling moment of joy before the home stretch.

He knew, the moment the idea hit him, that it was a good one… and that he wouldn't really get brownie points with her parents as well.

'Let's make that escapade two nights. What do you think?' – Tristan

'Squeal. Yes ! They will hate you now :p' – Frances

'I don't mind… It's you…

Tristan's thumb paused on the keyboard. It's you I'm worried about ? It's you I want to take care of ? It's you I have feelings for ? She had told him, as he banged her against the wall, that she loved him. Not a day had passed without her declaration tugging at his heartstrings. What about him ? Did he love her ? If so, it wouldn't do to text it. If he didn't… he certainly was infatuated, for those four last months had been hell on earth. Especially the divorce procedure.

Seeing his spouse crying her eyes out every time he walked in, the feeling of failure, the heartbreak. The memories, good and bad, of their eight past years, piling up inside a box. And every time his guilty mind though of Frances, he felt relief invade him. If he could have talked to her at the time, he was sure she would have soothed his mind. But he couldn't drag her into this difficult business. This marriage, and the subsequent failure had been his own doing. It was his to fix, and find the closure.

Now he felt free. The melancholy would go eventually, when enough time had passed. And he would be able to meet his ex-wife without feeling so guilty, without feeling like the horrible person the mirror reflected. The unfinished text looked him in the eye, the phone daring him to finish that sentence. And so he did.

'I don't mind… It's you I care about' - Tristan

Nothing but the truth.

And my favourite couple is back with a little romantic fluff. Stay tuned for the rest... the steamy, hot, rest.