Nellie and The Professor

Author's Note:

This is a stand-alone story that is part of a larger series about the titular character, Nellie. Each story that follows can be read on its own or together, in any particular order, though they will be posted in chronological order. The stories may fall under different categories, but all will tell tales of Nellie's various adventures.

In this adventure, Nellie works as a waitress and gets to know her former professor a bit more personally than she did while taking his class. This story follows the events of Nellie & The Boy Next Door.

**

"That's very disappointing to hear, Nellie. Perhaps we should have a little talk about your final year of school and who, exactly, will be paying for it."

I tilted my head back against the wall. There was no winning with him. If I kept the job I'd taken, he would be upset I didn't come to visit. If I quit and went to visit my dad, I'd be miserable, and there was the very real chance I'd end up fucking J.P. again.

And as great as fucking J.P. was, Anne-Marie had come very close to discovering her brother balls-deep in me the last time we'd hooked up. First and foremost, she was my friend. Second, she would have been ecstatic that I was finally hooking up with him. She would probably start planning a wedding while we were still trying to get dressed.

And marrying J.P. would kind of suck. I mean, marrying anyone would kind of suck, but a marriage to J.P. would be the kind of thing my father would approve of, making it a questionable decision at best.

"I said I'm sorry, Dad. I need to get something on my resume. I'll come home for a visit later this summer."

"I could have arranged an internship here for the summer."

"I don't need you to arrange anything, I just—"

"Wanted to do this on your own, I know. If you are ready to do all this on your own, perhaps next year's tuition is something else that should be handled on your own."

I swallowed hard, my palms sweating against my phone, and hoped my nerves didn't show through my voice.

"I understand," I said. "I mean, if that's the condition, then I guess I'm sorry to hear that and I'll just find some other way to pay for school."

My father fell silent. I wasn't sure if he was upset or proud that I called his bluff. I also wasn't sure that it was a bluff at all.

"Arrange a trip next month," he said. "The Diamond Gala is the second weekend in July. Kimberlee is on the board and I will be giving a speech. You will attend and I will transfer next year's tuition then."

I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding.

"Will do. Thanks. I have to go back to work now."

"Goodbye, Eleanor."

He was annoyed enough to use my full name, but I wasn't stupid enough to correct him before hanging up. I wiped my sweating hands on my apron, tucked my phone into the pocket, and shuffled through the backdoor into the kitchen.

"You're late," barked Nigel.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I had to take a call."

"This is the last warning." Nigel shoved a stack of menus at me. "Drop these off at table six and table fifteen just got seated."

Table six was a family consisting of two parents and four children far under the age that should be allowed in a neighbourhood pub. I smiled politely as I handed them the menus before Jessica shoved her way over to the table.

"Hi, I'm Jessica, I'll be your server. Thank you, Nellie, this is my section tonight."

I forced a smile and took the final menu with me as I turned to head to table fifteen. Of course Jessica wanted the six-top; table fifteen only had one person seated at it. I, on the other hand, broke into a genuine smile when I saw him.

"Hey, Professor Cameron."

If you looked up the definition of "silver fox" in the dictionary, you'd see words describing what it means, because that's how dictionaries work. However, if you Googled "examples of a silver fox," a picture of Professor Cameron might just come up near the top of the search results, along with the swooning reviews of every starry-eyed girl on campus.

Silver might have been the wrong word; Professor Cameron's hair was still mostly dark, but had a thick streak of grey over his left temple. The rest was salt-and-pepper, heavy on the pepper. There were a few wrinkles scattered by his eyes, but they only deepened when that bright smile lit up his face.

"Nellie!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you worked here."

I shrugged as I handed him the menu. "Just for the summer. Build up the savings, you know."

"I'm surprised you didn't try for one of the summer internships at the station. I thought you wanted to be a forensic investigator."

I laughed awkwardly, trying not to show how uncomfortable I was.

"Uh, yeah. I did apply, actually. They, um, didn't accept me."

"A mistake on their part." Professor Cameron took the menu from me. "It's a competitive internship, though, so don't feel too bad. You should have asked me for a reference letter."

"I thought you didn't do reference letters."

He smiled up at me. "For most students, no. For students I actually think are worth being a reference for, yes."

"Is it too late for me to ask for one?"

"I'll see what I can do. Normally I'd tell you to wait until the fall, but you know I'm on sabbatical next year."

I tried to hold back an ecstatic grin, but failed as I nodded. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Normally I don't fraternize with my students. Or is this bribery?"

"Former student, but don't worry. I'll put it on your bill."

He laughed, shaking his head. "You're quick. I'll take whatever lager you've got on tap."

My stomach fluttered hopefully as I crossed to the bar to get Professor Cameron's beer. I'd taken three of his classes over the past couple of years, and he was one of my favourite professors. He specialized in Forensic Psychology, which was always interesting, but he made it even more enthralling with personal tales of the convicts he'd evaluated and cases he'd been involved in. Despite having two PhDs, he refused to be called Doctor, and insisted on being called Professor Cameron because he said teaching was the accomplishment he was most proud of.

I didn't know whether that was true or not, but he was a hell of a good professor. When I found out he would be on sabbatical for the last year of my degree, I took the 400-level course he taught a year early just so I could have him as the teacher.

In addition to being a silver fox, Professor Cameron had the reputation of being one of the toughest professors on campus. People swapped horror stories of failing grades in his classes; claims of his refusal to help students were legendary. He encouraged the stories, but it only took a few weeks of actually taking classes with him to learn they were bullshit. He was a picky marker, sure, but he respected hard work and people who actually wanted to be there. If he saw potential in someone, he tried to foster it. He had no time for people who skipped class or slept through it, but his office door was always open to students who needed a little more explanation on one of the topics he covered.

Which was why, despite being mostly interested in the practical, scientific side of crime scene investigation, I had taken all the courses Professor Cameron offered for my degree.

And, of course, the whole silver fox thing.

When I brought the beer back to his table, Professor Cameron had closed the menu and was idly browsing a newspaper.

"Decide on some food?" I asked, setting the beer down.

He smiled up at me. "Bring me whatever your favourite meal from this place is. I trust you."

"My favourite? Oh man. I'm a chicken-strips-and-fries kind of person. Are you sure?"

"Are the chicken strips good?"

"I mean, yeah. They're made in-house, so—"

"Perfect. I'll have that."

I didn't get a chance to talk to him much after that. Nigel seated three couples and a family of four in my section, which was a lot considering I was still pretty new to the job. A short while after that, Jessica threw a fit in the kitchen and stormed off just before table six's food was ready, so I ended up running food for her section. The bar got backed up and I jumped in to pour drinks, then Nigel yelled at me for using the wrong glass for a rum-and-coke that was going to table two.

When Professor Cameron's order was up, I grabbed it before Nigel could run the food for me.

"Sorry for the wait," I said as I placed it in front of him. "We got slammed all of a sudden."

"Not a problem." He smiled as I slipped three small bowls of sauce in front of him.

"This is off-menu," I said conspiratorially. "Mix this one and this one."

"What's the third one for?"

"The fries. Don't bother with the ketchup, this is way better."

He looked at me, eyes serious, and tapped the side of his nose.

"Our secret."

"Good. Because this is definitely bribery."

He burst out laughing as I moved away from the table, grinning to myself, before Nigel gave me shit for leaving table twenty's food on the warming shelf.

When I finally made my way back to Professor Cameron's table, someone else had already cleared his plate. He sipped a coffee I hadn't brought him, which meant I would be splitting whatever tip he left with whoever poached my table. Still, I smiled.

"Any dessert?"

He shook his head.

"Great tip on the sauces, though. I might have to try that at home."

"The recipe will cost you extra."

"Darn. I suppose that bribery only goes so far."

I brought him the bill and the machine. In spite of the short conversation, I found myself sad that he was about to leave.

"Hey, you're a psychologist," I said.

"I am?"

I grinned and sat on the chair across from him.

"Can I pick your brain about something?"

He nodded and folded his fingers in front of his chin in that serious, stoic, professorly way.

"What is up, as the kids say?"

Snorting, I leaned forward.

"So my boss is kind of a dick. Is there any, like, reverse psychology methods I could use to get him off my back? He yells at me for the stupidest stuff."

As if on cue, Nigel burst past the table. He stopped, took a step back, and looked at me.

"You're not on break," he practically spat. "And you shouldn't be sitting with the guests. I'm sorry, sir. Is she bothering you?"

"Not at all," Professor Cameron said. "In fact, I asked her to sit with me for a moment to listen to a very sad story about my ex-wife, and she very kindly obliged me. I was going to ask her to run and grab her manager so I could pass on my gratitude for the exceptionally personable service this evening."

To say Nigel looked suspicious would be an understatement, but he nodded curtly.

"I'm sorry to hear about your ex-wife," he said. "Nellie, when you're done, the kitchen could use a hand rolling flatware."

"I fucking hate rolling flatware," I muttered as he walked away.

"He's divorced," Professor Cameron said quietly. "So if he gets on your case, make up a story about how your mother was terrible to your father. That'll get you some sympathy."

I raised my eyebrows. "How could you tell?"

He shrugged. "His reaction to the words 'ex-wife' and the tan line on his ring finger. It's fairly recent."

"Damn. You're good."

He smiled, allowing himself a very brief moment of deserved narcissism. "I know."

"Now, how do I pretend my mother was the terrible one and not my father?"

Professor Cameron shook his head.

"I'm not a miracle worker, I'm afraid. That would, ah, take a number of sessions to unpack."

"Too bad," I sighed.

It wasn't the response he was looking for. Professor Cameron may have been the psychologist, but I knew a signal when I saw one. That was a hint, or at least, as close to a hint as he'd be willing to give.

Because, after all, Professor Cameron was a decent guy. If a professor as good-looking as he was started fucking students, he wouldn't be a professor very long. That kind of rumour would spread like an exploded water balloon: sudden, but all-encompassing. No one would be willing to keep a rendezvous with him secret, not with the kind of clout that would come from fucking Professor Cameron.

I'm sure he had offers in the past, but he wasn't the type to take people up on them. It made what I thought he was trying to imply all the more enticing. Considering he had taught me everything I really knew about psychology, I thought he'd be better at hiding the tense nervousness in his eyes as he unconsciously propositioned me.

I was incredibly glad that he wasn't.

"That you're going on sabbatical, I mean," I added. "I could have gotten you to help me unpack it during your office hours."

He chuckled, smiling wryly, but didn't say anything.

"So, you mentioned that reference letter..."

"Right! I should... well, I suppose I could email it to you. Would that work?"

"Sure." I bit my lip, thinking. "Though, I don't check my student email much during the summer. Maybe you could, um, text me once you've sent it?"

"I'd need your phone number for that, Nellie."

"It just so happens I have this pen and paper to provide you with said phone number." I tore a scrap of paper off my order pad and took a pen from my apron, jotting it down quickly. "Unless you feel that's too forward, Professor?"

He cleared his throat as he took the scrap of paper from me.

"Not at all. I'll text you this week when I finish the letter."

He left as I cleared the last of the dishes off his table, smiling as I brought them to the kitchen. A reference letter and the potential chance to hook up with Professor Freaking Cameron? I was practically walking on air. It dawned on me that I should probably be worried about the ethical considerations of fucking a man I wanted a reference letter from, but he'd offered it before the weird, tense moment of uncertainty. Even if I turned him down, I had a feeling he'd still write the letter.

Not that I wanted to turn him down. I mean, come on. Professor Cameron was the absolute definition of a silver fox.

I tested his theory about Nigel being divorced on my next shift. When he came into the kitchen, I was pouting and staring at the schedule.

"What's wrong?" he asked snidely.

I jumped, pretending to be startled.

"Nothing. My mom just told me she's coming up to visit for a few days, which would be fine except I really wanted to go see my dad that weekend. And now the only other weekend he's available, I'm working." I shook my head. "I know, it's not your problem. He's just been so sad since she left."

Professor Cameron was damn good. Despite a biting remark that I shouldn't expect special treatment, Nigel changed the schedule so I was working that weekend and gave me the second weekend of July off.

A few more days went by, and I still hadn't heard from Professor Cameron. I checked my student email to see if he'd sent the reference letter without texting, but there was nothing. When it was officially a week later, I decided I'd email him after work. I had no qualms whatsoever about fucking him, but even if he did, I still really wanted that reference letter.

It turns out I didn't have to, though. I was working the day shift that Friday, and just before it ended, he walked into the restaurant.

"Hey, Professor Cameron."

He smiled warmly. "Nellie. Would it be strange to ask to be seated in your section?"

I bit my lip.

"Well, no, but I don't have a section. I'm off in fifteen minutes."

"Well, that won't do," he said. "I can't order chicken strips without the secret sauce you make. I suppose I'll just have to go somewhere else."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He lingered, however, and I could see him battling with what to do next. I tried not to smile as I watched him internally debate his next step. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Would you like to join me?"

I refrained from dancing gleefully and simply nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, I walked out the back door of the restaurant and around the corner to a quiet bistro down the block. Professor Cameron was already seated and waved as I entered.

"I hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and ordered. Chicken strips and fries, correct?"

"That's perfect," I laughed as I sat down. "Thanks."

"Your letter," he said, sliding it across the table. "I thought you may want the original copy, but I sent a digital one this morning."

I grinned as I looked down at it, still smiling when I glanced back at him.

"Thank you. Seriously, this is... this'll make a huge difference."

He cleared his throat.

"Every bit of it is true. You were an excellent student, and you'll make a wonderful forensic specialist."

I tucked the letter into my work bag, blushing at his words. The waiter picked that moment to bring our meals out: chicken strips and fries for me, a sandwich and soup for him. We fell silent as we ate, that strange, disquieted tension floating between us.

I was certain he still wanted something more than a quiet dinner at a bistro, and I was also certain that he was far too shy to ask for it. Professor Cameron came across as confident, but that was really only when it had to do with his work. Past that, I was discovering he had as much uncertainty as the rest of us.

It was going to be up to me.

"So are you married?" I asked, taking a bite of my chicken strip.

Professor Cameron nearly choked on his soup.

"What—"

"I don't know much about you, and it's kind of weird not to talk during dinner."

He recovered and laughed, relaxing slightly.

"No, I'm not married anymore."

"Ah. The ex-wife thing was true?"

"Yes, although it wasn't such a sad story. We simply grew apart. She's a very kind, intelligent person, and we're still quite close. It's been... three years now? Almost four. I'm lucky to still consider her a close friend."

I nodded, then shook my head.

"That sounds unlikely."

He chuckled and ate another spoonful of soup.

"Well, she's also a lesbian. Her wife is a lovely woman."

"Oh."

"It's much easier not to harbour animosity. She was born the way she was, and frankly, I wasn't lying about growing apart. It just happened to coincide with her discovering she's gay."

I nodded again, chewing thoughtfully.

"What about you, Nellie? I know you're not married, obviously, but you must be dating someone."

I shook my head.

"No one? I find that hard to believe."

I laughed dryly. "I'm not dating anyone. Emphasis on 'dating.' Oh, and I guess on 'one.'"

His eyes widened and he made a soft noise of comprehension.

"Does that surprise you?"

"A little."

"What do you think that means?" I asked. "Psychologically speaking."

He chuckled again.

"You're asking me to psychoanalyze you? Most people prefer that I don't."

"I'm just curious."

He looked across the table at me for a moment, studying my face.

"Well, given what I know... you mentioned some problems with your father."

"Ugh, don't tell me it's daddy issues. That's such a cop-out. It's always daddy issues."

"Are you saying you have a good relationship with your father?"

"No, I just don't want you to say that's the problem."

He laughed and shook his head.

"Well then, it's probably just the typical exploration of your sexuality. Probably better to discover whatever there is to know now instead of after you've been married for twenty years."

No one would blame him if he'd sounded bitter, but Professor Cameron spoke matter-of-factly. I ate a fry as I mulled over what he said, ignoring the fact that he had just revealed he'd been married before I was even born.

"Okay, but what if it's almost an excessive amount of... exploring?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by excessive?"

"Is that a personal question or a professional one?"

He considered it for a moment, then swallowed hard. Meeting my eye again, he finally gave me a hint that I was on the right path, however nervous he was coming across as he said it.