Who is this man?
There is no way this is the man who cornered me at my own desk. This isn’t the man who growled at me and warned me to stay away. This is someone else entirely.
I stand there, and I can’t move. My brain is running several seconds behind what my eyes are showing me. I’m waiting for the scene to correct itself, to make sense with the version of Kilian Rutherford I’ve been so certain about.
“Thanks, Uncle.” Sara’s voice is small but clear, and there’s no fear in it. None. She picks up her backpack and runs toward the classroom. Kilian watches her go.
My certainty, the narrative I’ve been building since that first day, develops a crack all of a sudden. It’s right down the center, and I feel it in my—
“Miss Walsh.”
I jump. A reaction I can’t hide because my brain recognizes his voice before my eyes catch up.
Kilian Rutherford is standing some four feet away, in front of me, watching me with that neutral, measuring expression thatnever quite tips into anything I can read. He must have risen the moment Sara left. I was so deep inside my own unraveling that I didn’t see him move.
“Mr. Rutherford.” I manage. “Good morning.”
He doesn’t respond to that. His eyes shift from my face to a point just past my shoulder, and I can tell he is—
“Miss Walsh!”
Another voice comes from behind me, bright and loud, and I spin around to find the Grade 3 teacher approaching.
Her gaze slides past me and lands on Kilian. Her eyes widen. Then they bounce between him and me, and I watch her whole face light up.
“Oh!” she grins. “I know him, Kilian Rutherford? I’m Alicia Kemp.” Then she looks at me with so much brightness. “Is this him?”
“Sorry?”
“The biker you’re dating?”
I feel my face catch fire. The ground I’m standing on needs to open. Right now. A giant sinkhole, an earthquake, a biblical rapture. Whatever works fastest.
“I already had a hunch when you told me,” she barrels on, stepping closer, and I make a mental note to never ever cover her bathroom breaks again. “Your boyfriend is pure sex,” she adds, and she doesn’t even bother lowering her voice, not even a little.
I’m frozen with embarrassment. Kilian hasn’t said a word either, but I can feel him beside me, and I don’t need to turn to know he’s watching this unfold.
“I better get going. But we are absolutely talking about this at lunch.” She points at me, winks, and disappears into her classroom.
The silence she leaves behind is enormous. I count to three in my head, and then turn, because I cannot not turn. I want to not turn. I want to walk away and pretend none of this happened, orthat he’s not standing right there, having heard every word. But I can’t really do that, can I?
Kilian is looking at me when I meet his eyes. His expression hasn’t changed, but there’s a slight pull at the corner of his mouth.
“You told people you’re dating a biker?”
“I toldone personIdateda biker. Past tense. It was a…” I wave my hand in front of my face, grasping for a word that will make this less mortifying.
“Is this biker supposed to be me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was a confidence thing. She was saying the parents here are intimidating, and I panicked.”
“You panicked?” he repeats, and the pull at his mouth deepens, “and your first instinct was to invent a biker boyfriend.”
“It was my worst instinct, now that I think about it.”
The kids are walking past us, but none of that seems to matter because Kilian Rutherford takes a step closer.
“Your fantasy.” His voice drags low and my skin prickles all over.
