“I’m sorry?”
“This meeting. What’s it for?”
“Oh.” She blinks once, but quickly gestures to one of the low chairs in front of her desk, one of the kid-sized chairs that will fold under my weight.
“Please, sit.”
I don’t point out the obvious. ”I’m fine standing.”
“Oh. Okay.” She sits down herself, only to second-guess the move and stands right back up. Her hands run down her dress in what’s clearly an attempt to pull herself together rather than fix her outfit. The motion drags the fabric tighter across her chest for a second, and I look away, fixing my eyes on the flag banner above the board.
I wonder if she even notices that her hands are trembling. I wonder why I can’t stop noticing everything about her while already imagining myself holding those trembling hands, pressing my mouth to the inside of her wrists where the pulse hammers…Shut up!
“It’s standard practice, with me being new,” she says, her tongue darting briefly to her bottom lip. Five more minutes in this room and I’ll have that tongue between my lips. “I only want to make sure everything’s going well. That if anything is affecting her, we could address it early.”
“She’s fine at home,” I say. “Is that all?”
“Well... sometimes children have trouble expressing themselves.” Her eyes flick to mine, then away, then back again. “It’s my job to make sure they have the support they need. Both here and... in all areas.”
What the hell is she talking about? Is she standing there, telling me to my face that I’m a bad guardian? Because that’s the message loud and clear.
“You think Sara has a problem?” I keep my voice level, but I’m already stepping closer without deciding to, shrinking the space between us to about five feet. You’ve been her teacher for what... twelve hours? And you’ve already got that assessment.”
Her face flushes deeper, a warm color that spreads quickly. “Mr. Rutherford, I’m only trying to—”
“Careful.” I cut her off, and she draws in a quick breath. “You start looking for problems, you’ll find them. Whether they’re real or not.”
“I’m not looking for problems,” she says, her voice losing its rehearsed tone, gaining an edge she’s clearly pulling together on the spot. “I’m simply doing my job.”
I study her face.
She believes this, whatever story she’s spinning in her head. Possibly about me. About me being a horrible person. Iama horrible person, but not to Sara.
A part of me wants to walk out and let her have her theories. That’s what I should do. That should have been the smart move. But what I do is take another step, closing the gap instead.
“No. That’s not what this is. Isn’t it?”
Her hands move then, folding across her chest in a defensive cross that she tries to pass off as casual.
“I’m sorry?”
“This isn’t a meet and greet, Miss Walsh.” One more step, and now I’m right in front of her, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. “You called me here because you have a theory.”
She swallows, the movement visible in her throat. I know she’s buying time. “I don’t...” She pauses and tries again. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
I place my hands on the desk, one on either side of her hips. Not touching her. Just caging the space. She goes rigid, but she doesn’t push me away.
“Don’t you?” I let the question sit for a beat, watching the way her breath quickens.
“Step back, Mr. Rutherford. This is completely inappropriate.”
“Let me help then. You called me here because you think something’s off with Sara. And I’m part of it. Am I close?” The silence in the room is deafening. “The quiet in here,” I say, my voice dropping lower as I lean in, my mouth passing her ear, close enough that she can feel the warmth of my breath on the side of her neck, and I feel the shiver that rolls through her body. “Have you ever found yourself alone with someone you shouldn’t be? Sound doesn’t carry far. No one would even know to listen.”
She’s perfectly still, but her hands shake where they’re pressed against her chest. She’s taking quick, tiny breaths, and that damn apple shampoo is flooding my senses, making it hard to think straight.
I could turn my mouth a quarter inch and press it to the skin below her ear. I could taste her racing pulse. My body is screaming at me to do it, my mouth’s already open, already close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin on my lips—
I pull back. It takes everything.
