Anticipation buzzed through April’s faculty meeting as Ginger Hawkins adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. I glanced over at Stella, who was busy doodling on a notepad, her curls bouncing in time with her pen.
It had been a long day, and all of us—our principal included—no doubt wanted to get home. “Alright, everyone, we’re almost done here,” she said, weariness lacing her words. “Last on the agenda is the school’s annual Spring Fling service project. This year’s theme is ‘Planting Seeds.’ Here are the assignments for each grade level’s special project.” Mrs. Hawkins turned the presentation over to Liz Marlowe, the assistant principal, before sitting down.
“Each class will be responsible for planting and maintaining their own section of the school’s new garden areas,” Ms. Marlowe explained, her eyes scanning the room to gauge our reactions. “We believe this will foster teamwork and responsibility amongst the students and help them develop an appreciation for nature.”
A wave of whispers rippled through the room, and Stella shot me a curious look. I shrugged, just as eager to hear the details.
The presentation on the tall screen behind her advanced to the next slide. Fourth and fifth graders would be planting fruit trees in the back of the school near the playground. Second and third grade would be responsible for our new community vegetable garden on the west side of the school. Kinder and first grade would be planting flowers in the front of the school along the sidewalk. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Stella murmured.
“As long as the kids show up,” I added. “Otherwise, it will be you and me doing all the planting.” The next slide advanced and my smile froze. There it was—Marc’s name, one of the parent volunteers for our kindergarten classes.
Of course.
My stomach flipped, and heat surged through me.Why him?Part of me was thrilled at the prospect of seeing him more, while another part felt a twinge of dread.
Between after-school meetings and parent phone calls, I hadn’t been at the pick-up line since the previous week, nor seen him since our forbidden kiss—and his last appearance on PrivatelyYours.
He probably thought I hated him, but it wasn’t like I could call and explain.
My breath hitched at the thought of encountering Marc again. The vivid memory played in my mind: Marc under the cascade of water, his muscles glistening as he reached that peak, the raw sound of his release roaring in my ears… I’d sat on my bed watching, mesmerized, stroking my raging hard boner off in time with Marc on my screen, coming so hard I thought I was going to pass out.
Had he been thinking about me?
Fuck, it had my pulse racing thinking about it, even a week later.
Magic Marco had always drawn me in, but now his real-life counterpart haunted my thoughts. Those deep, smoldering eyes,the intoxicating scent that lingered when he was near, the taste of his lips still imprinted on mine—
“Alright folks, that about wraps it up,” Ginger said, shuffling her papers. “Let’s make this Spring Fling one to remember!”
The other teachers murmured their agreement and started gathering their things. Stella stood and nudged me, but I remained rooted to my chair, pulse racing as I remembered that kiss—and then pictured myself spending the day planting flowers with Marc and trying to pretend like I didn’t want him.
***
Excited children darted between planting stations at Blanco Springs Elementary on a cloudy Saturday morning, their laughter mixing with the chatter of teachers and parent volunteers striving to maintain order. Marc stood over on the side with the other parents, trying hard not to glance in my direction, just as I was trying hard to not look at him.
Christ, what a mess.
I glanced around at the herd of my kindergartners who’d come out for today’s Spring Fling. “A good turnout,” I called out to Stella, who nodded in agreement, her curly brown hair bouncing with each enthusiastic nod.
“With this many parents and kids, we should be all done by noon. Want to grab some lunch afterwards?” she asked, her warm smile making the suggestion sound even more inviting.
I nodded to Stella, a bit more at ease, then turned my head as a weathered truck pulled up to the front of the school. Its side was emblazoned with “Sunshine Gardens” in faded lettering, instantly recognizable to anyone in Blanco Springs. Then I spotted Marc walk over and shake hands with an older gentleman who exited the driver’s side—Hector Cruz, the owner of the town’s biggest nursery. Together they opened the bed ofthe truck and began pulling out flats of plants, handing them to parents who carried them over to the makeshift planting stations.
Then Marc turned to reach further into the truck bed, pulling out some young trees for the older students to plant. I froze, my clipboard nearly slipping from my grasp, as he hefted each container with the young trees, his biceps straining against the fabric of his snug t-shirt each time he lifted a pot and set it down next to the truck.
There he was, a living, breathing Adonis among the chaos of excited children and harried adults. My mouth went dry. The thin cotton clung to his chest, outlining every sculpted plane and curve. Then he bent to set down the flat, his jeans hugging his muscular—
Stella nudged me again, this time with a knowing grin. “Ken, you might want to close your mouth before someone notices,” she teased gently, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
I quickly snapped my mouth shut, a flush creeping up my neck. “Right, uh, back to work,” I mumbled, trying to refocus on the task at hand. But as I moved toward the planting stations, I stole one more glance at Marc, my heart beating a little faster.
“Mr. Parker!” A small voice snapped me back to reality. “Can we start planting now?”
I blinked, heat rushing to my cheeks as I realized I’d been openly staring. “Not quite yet,” I managed, clearing my throat. “We need to wait until all the plants are ready.”
As if on cue, Marc’s gaze met mine across the schoolyard. A slow smile spread across his face, and my heart threatened to burst from my chest. How was I supposed to focus on gardening when he looked like that?
Later that morning, we’d managed to gain control of the situation as each grade level headed to their designated spots forplanting. Scanning the front area where my class was assigned, I saw Marc kneeling with a group of first graders, patiently showing them how to tuck marigold seedlings into the soil.
