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“Yeah.” He waves over a waitress, saying, “Can we get the bill please,” before turning back to face me. “He was embezzling, remember… hence prison.” He raises a brow like I should know this, but how am I meant to know? I don’t know anything about CEOs, companies, or what the company is really about apart from the fact that it deals in technology.
“Right.” I clear my throat, picking up my purse, about to pay my half when he places the slip of paper in his pocket and stands up. “I need to pay half—”
He scoffs. “No you don’t, I’ve got this.”
“Tristan,” I warn, my muscles tensing. He was always like this; trying to pay for everything. This meal may have cost the same as my monthly rent for the studio—okay so that may be an over exaggeration, but I still won’t let him pay for me.
“It goes on my tab.” He shrugs, motioning his hand toward the front doors before I shake my head and blow out a frustrated breath.
“I’ll be paying you back,” I throw over my shoulder as we walk out of the restaurant.
When I turn back toward him, he has that insufferable smirk on his face that makes me want to add another bruise to his collection. “Which way are you going?” he asks, looking down at his watch briefly. I hook my thumb over my shoulder, pointing in the direction that my car is parked before he steps forward. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday?” His voice is low and I can’t stop my body's reaction to it as goose bumps spread over my skin.
“You will.” I grit my teeth, determined not to give anything away before he lifts his hand but drops it, shaking his head.
“This was fun.” His voice doesn’t sound like he enjoyed it at all but the twinkle in his eye tells me that however much he doesn’t want to admit it, he enjoyed spending time with me.
I roll my eyes, backing away a step before lifting my hand in an awkward wave and spinning around.
I take three steps before I stop and swirl back around, catching him watching me. “You never answered my question either.” His brow lifts in question. “On Friday, I asked why you were there and you didn’t answer.”
The corners of his lips lift before he says, “Maybe I’ll tell you on Saturday,” before turning and walking in the opposite direction.
I don’t know how to feel anymore as I walk toward my car, so many different emotions are invading my mind that I feel like I’m neither coming nor going. I’m more confused than anything, but I can’t deny the pull toward him that I still feel.
James Arthur—Safe Inside
Ella Henderson—Beautifully Unfinished
LeAnn Rimes—Please Remember
Ed Sheeran—Photograph
“Jessica, that’s amazing. I had no idea you wanted to be a dancer when you grew up.” Of course I’m telling a little white lie, the eight-year-old girl hasn’t stopped pirouetting since she joined us three weeks ago.
She nods enthusiastically. “My mommy said I can be anything that I want to be.”
“Your mommy’s a very smart woman. She’s right, you can; you all can,” I reply, smiling.
I stand and inhale in a deep breath, looking around the room at the children talking animatedly about what they want to be when they grow up: astronauts, cowboys, doctors, dancers, artists, princesses.
At what point in life do we start to lose this belief that we can be anything we want to be or do anything we put our mind to? I guess it’s drilled into you when you start high school and you have to start being serious about picking subjects and colleges. You’re told to “be more realistic” or that you’ll never succeed at what you want to do because you don’t have the grades. But sometimes that doesn’t matter; if you have the utter determination to reach your full potential, you’ll get there with a little encouragement from the people around you.
I know what it feels like to be knocked down for doing something that you love or have always wanted to do. Gerry used to make me feel like my dreams meant a big fat nothing in the grand scheme of things, but so what if these kids don’t remember me in ten to fifteen years’ time? At least I will have had a positive influence on their lives now. He thought it was all just one tiny little blip in someone’s life, and it may be, but to me it’s everything.
I clap my hands to get their attention and they all turn toward me, their conversations pausing. “You’
ve all done amazing today finishing off your dream boards and I’ve really enjoyed learning about what you all want to be when you become adults. You’re more than welcome to take them home if you’re finished with them. If you’re not, they need to go in the back room ready for next week. It’s cleanup time, first one to have a clean station gets to take home Willow Bear for the week.”
They all shoot up out of their seats, grabbing paintbrushes and paper as I giggle at their enthusiasm. Willow Bear was Mom’s idea, they do it in kindergarten and she thought it would work well here too. Each child gets to take the stuffed bear home for the week and they write in a “Bear Journal” about the adventures they go on and the fun they have. It doesn’t work with the older ones, but for this session where we have four- to eight-year-olds, they love it.
“Miss J?” a small voice says.
I kneel in front of Izzie who has a small smile on her face. “Yes, sweetie?”
“I’m all clean,” she says, holding up her hands. I look over to where she was using a mountain of glitter and sure enough, her place is spotless, but Clayton’s beside hers is still a mess.
I smile at the fact that he’s helped his sister. “Wow, you sure are. Willow Bear will be coming home with you then.”
