Stolen mornings. Half-said things. Sideways smiles.
And maybe... maybe that's better than nothing.
Right?
Maybe crumbs are enough.
Even if I'm starving.
Chapter 5: Invisible
The classroom smells like glue sticks and pencil shavings. My third graders tumble out in a blur of backpacks and goodbye hugs, their chatter still echoing in my ears as I lock the door behind them. My cheeks hurt from smiling.
I'm exhausted, but there's still a flutter in my chest—the kind that shows up every time I think of him. Ryder.
I pull out my phone and text him:
"Hey, wanna come by later? I'll cook."
A few minutes pass. Then my phone buzzes.
"Can't tonight. Out with friends."
I stare at the message for a long second. It stings, but I'm used to this—his half-presence. A shadow in my life that only solidifies when it suits him. Still, I tell myself not to be dramatic. It's fine. I can still have a good evening.
I spot Esme, the new hire, walking toward the faculty lounge. She's stylish, extroverted, and completely at ease in a way I'll probably never be. But she's also kind. When we'd talked over lunch last week, she mentioned wanting to explore the city more. I force my voice to sound casual. "Hey. Want to grab a coffee? There's a place I like not far from here."
Her face lights up. "Yes! I was hoping someone would adopt me today."
I laugh, genuinely. "I'm your girl."
We walk to the café together—one of those cozy, busy spots with mismatched mugs and too many ferns. But the second I walk through the door, my stomach drops.
He's here. Ryder. Laughing, relaxed, sitting at a table with three friends. He hasn't seen me yet. He looks different somehow—bigger, more alive—like this is the version of him I never get to see.
I freeze. Esme notices. "Do you know him?"
"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "He's my coach."
She glances over. "He's hot."
I smile weakly. My heart is in my throat.
I walk over to him before I can second-guess it. "Hey." He looks up. Surprise flashes across his face—followed quickly by discomfort. "Oh. Hey." He nods toward the others. "These are my friends." A guy in a denim jacket grins. "You gonna introduce us?"
"Uh, yeah. This is December," Ryder says. "She's... one of my clients."
The word lands in my chest like a slap.
But the others smile warmly. "Come sit," the girl with curly hair says. "Save us from Ryder's tragic taste in memes."
I glance at him. He doesn't say anything. Just shrugs. So I sit. Esme follows, jumping into conversation easily, and for a while, it's actually nice. The group is funny and open, asking me about teaching and laughing at Esme's jokes. I feel like I belong. Almost.
Then she walks in. Tall, model-level gorgeous, hair that falls in glossy waves. She strolls up to the table like she already owns it.
"Hey," she says to Ryder, tilting her head. "You're Ryder, right?"
He straightens. "Yeah."
