Teach Me Tonight: Chapter Two

She meant to thank him for returning her grade book.

He turned it into dinner.

What starts as a harmless reunion over wine and garlic butter turns into something far more dangerous—the kind of slow, electric pull that doesn’t belong between a single dad and his daughter’s former tutor.

When laughter fades to silence, and a touch lingers a little too long, one thing becomes clear…

Some lessons are better learned the second time around.

Chapter Two

Lena

The Dinner Lesson

His address was written in the corner of a note taped to my grade book, the one that mysteriously appeared in the teacher’s lounge this morning with his handwriting all over it. Beneath it, in neat, familiar handwriting: Thought this might be important. You can thank me over dinner. My place, 7:00pm. Don’t be late.

The door opens before I can knock twice.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm and casual, like this isn’t completely insane. “Come in. Dinner’s almost done.”

The smell hits me first. Garlic, something rich and buttery, a hint of rosemary maybe? It’s familiar in a way that shouldn’t be. His house looks the same too, same framed photos, same warm lighting, though the furniture’s different. Less kid chaos, more quiet grown-up life.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

I gesture toward the table he’s setting instead. “You didn’t have to feed me as a ransom exchange.”

He grins. “You leave something behind, I take that as a sign. Dinner seemed fair. House rule.”

“House rule, huh?” I toe off my shoes by the door, an old habit from the dozen evenings I spent here years ago. Then follow him into the kitchen. “Still sound like a dad.”

He glances back over his shoulder. “And you still sound like trouble.”

I pretend to study the counter instead of the way his sleeves are pushed to his elbows, forearms flexing with easy strength, veins standing out just enough to make my pulse trip. “So you cook now?”

“Survival skill,” he says, stirring the pan. “Mia claims it’s the only reason she didn’t starve through college.”

“She’s lucky.”

“She knows it.” He pauses, turning off the burner. “Wine?”

“Sure. If you promise it’s not a trap.”

He pours us each a glass, sliding one across the counter. “It’s just dinner, Lena.”

“Mm-hm,” I say, taking a sip. “You keep telling yourself that.”

His laugh is low, quiet. “You always were stubborn.”

I arch a brow. “Pretty sure that’s why your daughter passed geometry.”

“Probably true.”

We move to the table, and the conversation flows easier than I expect, teaching stories, my students, his projects, the odd in-between of being adults now. The more he talks, the more I realize how much he’s changed. Softer in some ways. Rougher in others.

“You know, I never saw you date much back then, why not?” I ask when he mentions those years of raising Mia alone.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t really have time. Between work and her, dating never made the list.”

“And now?” I ask, biting my lip without thinking.

His gaze moves to my mouth then rises to my eyes, steady. “Still not great at it.”

I smile, tracing the rim of my glass. “So what… you’re out of practice?”

“Something like that.” He leans back in his chair, studying me. “Maybe you could teach me something new.”

The words hang there, teasing but innocent enough to keep breathing. Barely.

I set my fork down. “Careful,” I say, matching his tone. “I’m a very dedicated teacher.”

“That so?”

“Ask Mia. I don’t believe in shortcuts.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Somehow I remember that.”

We finish dinner talking about everything except what’s actually happening between us. Every time our hands brush, passing the salt, reaching for our glasses, it feels like a question neither of us wants to answer yet.

When I finally push my chair back, the plates are mostly empty and my nerves are buzzing.

“That was incredible,” I tell him, meaning both the food and the tension simmering beneath it.

He stands too, collecting our plates. “Glad you liked it. I figured I owed you at least one meal after all the math problems you suffered through.”

“Oh, you have no idea how much tutoring trauma costs.”

He grins. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you with dessert.”

“Is that another house rule?”

“Could be,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You still game for another lesson?”

My pulse skips at the way he says it, light and teasing, but with an edge that makes my skin warm.

“Guess it depends on the subject.”

“Guess you’ll find out.”

The clatter of dishes fills the quiet between us, louder than it should be. He rinses while I stack, our rhythm falling into sync like it used to. Except it didn’t, not like this. Not with this flirtatious undercurrent humming beneath it all.

Steam curls up from the sink, catching the soft kitchen light. I reach for a plate; his hand brushes mine. Just a light touch, enough to pull my focus.

“Still don’t believe in shortcuts?” he asks, voice low, teasing, like he’s testing how far that word lesson can stretch.

“Not when it comes to grades,” I say, sliding the plate onto the drying rack. “Dinner, maybe.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Guess that’s progress.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He glances over, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You saying I shouldn’t get cocky?”

“Exactly.” I reach for a towel, trying to sound steady, trying to ignore the way the word cocky sounds coming from him. “Pretty sure I’m still the teacher here.”

He leans a hip against the counter, folding his arms. “Maybe I like being the one learning something for once.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah? What do you think you’ve learned tonight?”

“That you still bite your lip when you’re nervous.”

The towel slips from my fingers. My pulse skips once, hard. “Observant,” I say, but it comes out quieter than I mean it to.

“Old habit,” he says. “Hard to turn off.”

There’s nothing playful about his tone now. The banter fades, replaced by a charged stillness that settles in the air between us. I can feel it in the space where our voices fall away, in the way he’s looking at me like he’s memorizing something.

I turn back to the sink, needing motion, something to do with my hands. “So,” I say, my voice light but a little too thin. “What’s next on the lesson plan?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, slow enough that I hear the floor creak under his weight. I can feel the warmth of him at my back, close but not touching.

When I glance sideways, he’s reaching for the glass in my hand. His fingers slide over mine, deliberate this time, his thumb catching my wrist.

The air goes still.

Every thought falls out of my head in one heartbeat. The kitchen shrinks to the narrow space between us—his hand around mine, the faint pulse of heat against my skin, the sound of both our breathing changing.

“Evan…” I start, meaning to make a joke, to break the moment before it breaks me. But his name comes out softer and breathier than I expect it to, my voice barely a whisper. I turn my head to look at him.

He doesn’t move away. His eyes meet mine, gray and steady, and for a second, it feels like everything I thought I remembered about him isn’t enough.

“I don’t—” My words catch. “We probably shouldn’t…”

His thumb moves once against the inside of my wrist, a small, grounding motion. “You’re probably right.”

Neither of us steps back.

The silence stretches, long and thin and fragile, until it almost hurts. My heart beats too fast, like it’s trying to fill the space between us.

He finally exhales, breaking the tension with a soft laugh that sounds like surrender. “Guess I’m out of practice,” he says, his voice rougher now.

“Guess so.” My tone’s lighter, but the words shake.

He releases my hand, slowly and carefully, as if he doesn’t want to let go. “Thanks for coming, Lena.”

I nod, even though I can’t quite trust my voice. “Anytime. I mean, thanks. For the food, I mean.” I instinctively bite my lip again.

He grins faintly, something wistful in it. “Sure. The food.”

I grab my jacket from the hook, pretending to be absorbed in straightening the sleeve. He steps closer again, close enough that I feel the brush of warmth across my shoulder but not enough to touch.

“Night, Evan.”

He hesitates, eyes tracing my face before he answers. “Night, Lena.”

The word sits heavy, like there’s more he wants to say but won’t.

When I step outside, the cool air bites at my skin, sharp and grounding. The porch light hums softly behind me, spilling golden light across the steps. I stop halfway to my car, hand hovering at my wrist.
It still tingles where he touched me.

I tell myself it’s just adrenaline. Just curiosity. Just old familiarity made new.

But as I reach for my door handle, I stop.

I don’t want to leave.

There’s no rule saying I can’t stay. No line that hasn’t already blurred tonight. Just the quiet pulse of something that feels too unfinished to walk away from.

I turn back toward the house, the soft glow from the kitchen window catching on the glass, the outline of him still moving inside. My heart beats faster, loud enough to feel in my throat as I take the steps back up the porch.

I lift my hand to knock—But the door opens first.

He stands there like he’d been expecting me, one hand still on the knob, eyes darker now in the warm light.

Neither of us speaks.

Then his mouth curves, slow and knowing. “You forget something?”

“Maybe.”

His gaze drops to my hands twisting before meeting mine again. “Wine’s still open,” he says, voice low. “You could stay for one more glass.”

I nod, "I'd like that,” my pulse skittering as I step back inside.

Maybe dinner wasn’t the only lesson tonight. Maybe he’s the one I’m still trying to learn.

Come back tomorrow for chapter three

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: November 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix