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I chew on my lip. “What about other teachers?”
Jocelyn sighs. “Everyone we’ve called has plans or is already helping. We’re out of ideas.”
“I could do it.”
All eyes turn on Rockwell.
“It’s nice of you to offer,” I say, “but we don’t need a body, we need the background check and volunteer experience.”
“I heard. I can get some clearance info faxed over.”
I stare at him. It’s not like I don’t believe him, but I’m definitely surprised. “You sure? There’ll be a ton of kids, and you didn’t even want to go to Wassail Night.”
“I like kids, I like playing ball, and I’m always up for a good cause.”
I hadn’t really seen him with kids besides a time or two with my niece and nephew years ago, but hearing him say he’ll step up to help makes him ten times more attractive in my book. I look at my friends. “What do you think?”
“If you can get the paperwork sent over right away, then I say the event is saved.” Gabby is clearly relieved and Jocelyn grins, like she somehow knew all along that Rockwell had it in him.
Rockwell pushes to his feet. “I’ll get right on it.” He puts his hand on my back on his way out, and I feel a folded piece of paper between him and me.
The list.
I turn and stare up at him, but he snatches it back in his hand and winks at me. “I’ll call you later.” His playful tone pulls at me, but the flirty grin he flashes is my undoing. The caution tape around my heart is now piled in a puddle by my feet. For one sweet moment, I’m not thinking at all about the list but the man behind it. Even with the gust of cold air from the door opening and shutting, I might need a fan to cool my face off.
When the door closes behind him, my friends squeal and tease me. I do my best to play it off, because hello, my third wish was never granted, and I’m getting mixed signals from all ends. I want to bring up Rockwell’s suspicious heart wish and the possibility of finding answers for my future—our future, but they still think I’m crazy when I talk about my list.
In an attempt to change the subject, I willingly let them drag me out for some last-minute Christmas shopping. I suppose I can get something for Rockwell. On the small, nearly nonexistent chance he does something for me. I find an ornament—a real one—that reminds me of him and purchase a gift bag the right size.
As we leave the store, my phone buzzes with an email. I open it with a click of my finger and scroll through the background information sent from a place called Kids’ Hope Outreach.
It includes a letter of recommendation detailing Rockwell’s three years of volunteer experience with kids in their program. Her glowing compliments of how dependable Rockwell is is nothing compared to the examples of ways he’s connected with the children. He’s often partnered with children from divorced situations, as well as teens who’ve been neglected or abandoned.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Here I’ve been judging him on spending every free moment at the gym when he’s been a better person than I’ve been. I wonder if he’s ever told his mom about this. I would bet money that he hasn’t told anyone. I’ve always had impressions about Rockwell, about him being top-tier amazing. I’ve noticed little things about him that speak louder than words. This is one of those things. His humble, quiet service is one of the many reasons why my heart is attached to his.
I forward the information on to Cathy, the president over Wassail Night, and send a thank-you response as well to the Outreach facilitator.
We stop for dinner, and I still haven’t heard from Rockwell. I discreetly check my phone every chance I get. After dinner, we head to the farm putting on Wassail Night and check on the decorations. All of us love being a part of the behind-the-scenes fun.
By the time we’re back, it’s nearly ten. Finally, my phone lights up as I pull in. I read the text before I get out of my car.
ROCKWELL:Sorry, I didn’t call. I ended up going out to the farm to help my mom fix a few things and lost track of time. I’m toast and am headed to bed. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow before Wassail Night.
I’m bummed I won’t see him tonight. I can’t ask him about his volunteering, though he probably prefers it if I don’t pry. But he might have at least brought his list. I don’t have any problems with prying there. I should focus on the bright side. He wants to see me tomorrow! This makes me grin. I type a quick reply.
BRIE:I’m glad you made it out there again. I’m sure it meant a lot to your mom. Sleep well, and I’ll see you tomorrow.
I head inside and collapse against my couch. Gabby ditches us for Sofia, and Jocelyn has been working such long hours lately, she stumbles off to bed. Now I’m alone, and worse, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to see Rockwell’s dumb list. He’ll bring it with him, right? I chew on my fingernail. Why would he bring it with him? That’s not a normal thing to carry around. But after teasing me, he’d better. Oh, I would be so annoyed if he didn’t.
A crazy idea hits me. I do have his house key . . .
Not to mention he practically threw down the gauntlet when he rubbed the list across my back. I see his wink now as a wordless invitation and a silent dare.
My roommates aren’t around to talk me out of this, which is preferable since they would check me into a mental health clinic for even considering what I’m about to do. I change into black leggings and a black hoodie before I can reason with myself.
I can be in and out in five minutes. With Rockwell’s lack of furniture, it shouldn’t be hard to find a single piece of paper. No need for a contingency plan because the house is a mirror of mine and there’s no possibility I’ll get caught. I sit on the couch and watch my phone until a half hour has passed, and I’m sure Rockwell is asleep.
I must be crazy for doing this. But no regrets, right? We are on the cusp of either dating or walking away for good, and his list could change everything. I shake off my nerves and grab the spare key to his house from my drawer. With a deep breath, I walk out into the frigid night and hurry over to Rockwell’s side. All the windows are dark, which means he’s definitely asleep. I look over my shoulder like someone is going to see me, but the idea is ridiculous. No one is watching me.
