He might be able to squeeze into the empty area underneath her desk, but not her. If a shooter burst into the room, she’d have nowhere to hide.
Several other kids hadn’t found a large enough hiding spot, either, and he knew without asking Rose what that meant. She wouldn’t duck behind a desk or into a closet while any of her students crouched there in the open, exposed.
Come what may, she’d remain in front of that desk, chin tipped high and proud as she shielded the students with her body. Just as she was doing now.
Without a word, she’d nudged the unprotected kids behind herself. They glanced up at her after obediently moving into place, faces drawn as they realized what her position implied.
What she’d do for them, if she could. What she’d sacrifice.
Footsteps down the hall slowly grew louder. Doorknobs rattled.
Rose waved him behind her too. When he didn’t move from her side, she tried—gently—to push him back to the only shelter she could provide him.
He didn’t budge, and her flared-nostril glare should have incinerated him on the spot.
That’s when he knew.
He loved her.
And AP exam or no AP exam, he was done waiting.
* * *
As soon asRose noticed Martin in the doorway, she frowned at him.
He really should have been grading review packets. Or dreaming up new ways to remind his students about thousands of years of world history before their AP and state tests later in the week. Or, best of all, sleeping, since Nosferatu would take one look at those bags under Martin’s eyes and feel comparatively well-rested and fresh-faced.
Instead, however, Martin was lounging in the entrance to her classroom at nine o’clock at night, tie uncharacteristically loose around his neck, as if he had nothing better to do with his time.
“What’s going on?” He tilted his head in the direction of her classroom’s back counter, where she’d laid out just under one hundred brown paper lunch bags. “You decided to run a meal delivery service in your spare time?”
“Ha-ha,” she said. “These are for my kids tomorrow. They’ll come by here right before getting on the bus for the AP test.”
He edged around the student desks to reach her side. “You’ve done some shopping.”
After her last students had left for the day, she’d stopped at the local big box store for supplies, then returned to the classroom to put together her offerings. Given her limited funds, she’d done the best she could.
He nudged the top of one of the store’s plastic bags. “May I?”
“Feel free.”
If he was investigating, she was sitting. Bared feet aching, she plopped into the closest blue plastic chair and watched him sort through her loot.
“Black pens. Number two pencils. Water bottles. Granola bars. Peanut butter crackers. Apples.” He directed a questioning look her way. “Beef jerky?”
“Alternate source of protein.”
He nodded. “And, of course, sticky notes. Many of which you’ve filled with personalized praise and encouragement for each student.”
That was everything. She’d distributed the water bottles, pencils, and pens into each bag already, but the rest of the job lay before her. Composing individual messages for each sticky note took the longest, she’d found. Especially once her hand started cramping.
He settled into the seat next to hers and quirked a brow. “I’m surprised a heart as black and bitter as yours can still beat.”
She threw an extra pen at him. “Shut up, Krause.”
“So you’re making sure they can write their test answers. But you’re also feeding them.” After scanning her bags a second time, he turned back to her. “Carbohydrates and protein and water. Not to mention love.”
Some of them don’t get their recommended daily allowance of that.
