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“Oh—that’s actually a great idea,” I said, giving Mason a sideways glance—he was standing at the edge of the rug and high-fiving a few kids while Finley clung to his legs in a melodramatic fashion. If I didn’t hurry, he was going to have these kids so riled up they wouldn’t be able to listen to my instructions for our next activity. “Thanks, Abigail. Can you come to the meeting tomorrow night?”
“I’ll be there,” she replied, shooting a glance in Mason’s direction—he was now teaching Walter some kind of special handshake, and nobody was sitting where they were supposed to. “Well, I’ll let you handle—that.”
She turned to walk toward the library and I closed the door behind her, bracing myself for the chaos behind me. I made my way over to the rug clapping rhythmically to get everyone’s attention, which only a few of them repeated. Mason caught on quickly, though, and the second time I clapped five times—he followed suit, sitting cross-legged right in the center of the kids—all of whom immediately copied him.
“Let’s see what Ms. Devin has to say, okay, guys?” He pretended to zip his lips before gazing up at me with an adorable grin—an expression I got lost in for a few seconds before remembering I had twenty-five five-year-olds staring at me, too.
The morning went by fast, with the kids assisting me in making cinnamon playdough for apple week—and then Mason worked with four of them at a time, using the letter stampers to stamp their names and sight words into the playdough. Afterwards, he cut out laminated apple flashcards for me while I led the group literacy lesson. And just like Monday, we finished off the morning with some free time, and every single kid gathered around the table where Mason took their art requests.
This time, they had him drawing Johnny Appleseed, proving at least some of them were paying attention to this week’s lessons. I pinned his illustration to the bulletin board behind my desk beside his frog picture as the kids lined up for lunch.
With both hands in his pockets, Mason stepped toward me with a low, “Hey.” I held my breath, taken aback by his sudden closeness. “I’m pretty sure Elijah ate, like, a considerable amount of that playdough.”
I laughed, glancing at Elijah, who was rubbing his belly in line. “Great.”
“I tried to stop him.”
“Well, I mean—it is edible,” I murmured over my shoulder as I rearranged some of the other artwork on the bulletin board to accommodate Mason’s. I turned to face him, standing just inches from his body. A fresh pine scent emanated from him, combining with the cinnamon from the playdough that was no doubt clinging to his hands. “You were great again today, by the way.”
He leaned sideways to reach for his iPad from my desk, and as he straightened up again, he was even closer to me than before. “I’m honestly really enjoying it,” he said, glancing over at Finley. “Gives me an excuse to be a helicopter dad—and a reason to get out of the house.”
It took everything in me not to invite him to join me every day. “Thanks again for the coffee, too. That was really sweet.”
He glanced at my empty latte cup on my desk. “You’re welcome. I almost didn’t bring it in.”
“Why?”
His eyes found mine again. “Wasn’t sure how you’d take that gesture.”
“Is that why you tried to lie at first?”
“Maybe.”
“Friends get each other coffee all the time,” I said, adjusting my lanyard and flipping my hair over my shoulder. “And you can bring me a caramel macchiato next time.”
Mason grinned and sucked in his bottom lip, an expression I knew meant he was fighting the urge to say something that would unquestionably cross the line. Finally, his lips slowly parted and he said, “And what are you going to do for me, Ms. Devin?”
I prayed he wouldn’t notice the way his words—and his husky voice—sent goosebumps down both my arms. He waited for me to answer, his gaze bouncing from my eyes to my lips. I swallowed. “Teach your daughter how to read.” It came out with a little more sass than I intended, but it made him smile even bigger.
“I guess we’re even.”
He was still staring at me like he wanted to kiss me or perhaps undress me—like if we weren’t standing in a room full of children, he would. I was the one to break eye contact to look at the clock—there was less than a minute before the lunch bell.
And as Mason made his way over to the kids for their final high-fives and one last hug from Finley, all I could think about was how badly I wanted that man to kiss me, to undress me—to do all the things he once expressed he would do to my body in those texts we exchanged.
None of which could ever happen.
* *
“I have some big news about the festival, and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”
These were the first words I heard upon entering the teacher’s lounge for lunch. Sarah waved me over to her end of the long table—unlike Principal Cates, she ate her lunch in here a lot because she said it made her more approachable. One of us.
“I’m almost scared to ask,” I said, taking the seat across from her. Heath was sitting a few seats away on the opposite side, and though he was engaged in a conversation with Mr. Woods, he glanced in my direction.
Sarah smiled sheepishly as she said, “I swear it’s a good thing, and it’s all going to work out in the end.”
“Just tell me,” I said, pulling my hummus out of my lunchbox.
