Until there’s a lull between students and my thoughts slip, just for a second, back to the ranch. To the way he didn’t show up this morning like I apparently thought he should.
To the way he’s probably already halfway through his day without wondering if I’m still trying to put distance between us.
I close my planner a little harder than I mean to and push the thought away.
This is what I wanted.
Space.
Time.
The chance to figure this out without everything getting tangled up in what it felt like last night.
And right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.
Even if part of me is still trying to catch up.
The first hint that something’s off isn’t loud enough to name, just a shift in the way people look at me when I step out of my office and head down the hall toward the front.
It’s small. Easy to miss. But I am paying attention.
Mrs. Caldwell pauses mid-sentence when I pass, her voice dipping just enough that I catch it without hearing the words.
Two teachers standing by the copy room glance over, then look away a second too quickly, like they didn’t mean to get caught doing it. Even the front office feels different when I stop to sign a form, the receptionist giving me a polite smile that lingers half a beat longer than usual.
It’s not unfriendly.
That would be easier.
This is curiosity. Quiet, contained, but there all the same, moving through the building like a current I can’t see but can definitely feel.
Small town. Nothing stays quiet for long.
I keep my expression steady, my shoulders squared, moving through it like it doesn’t touch me at all.
I’ve learned how to do that over the years, how to exist inside attention without letting it dictate how I respond to it.
Still, I can’t help the way my mind starts connecting dots I didn’t want to think about yet.
Me showing up at the ranch.
Hadley.
Jace.
None of that stays contained, not here.
“Morning, Riley,” Principal Harris says as I step into the office, his tone normal but his eyes a little sharper than usual, like he’s measuring something he hasn’t decided how to ask about yet.
“Morning,” I answer, keeping it light, professional, exactly the way it needs to be.
He nods once, then glances back down at his paperwork like that’s all there is to it, and I move on before anything else can be said.
Because I’m not ready to explain anything.
Not here.
Not yet.
