The pastor eyes me curiously. “And you are?”
I reach out to shake his hand, using a tone I used to save only for my mother’s high-value clients. “Sebastian Black. I couldn’t help but overhear your debacle with the childcare this afternoon.”
“Mason Campbell. Nice to meet you. I saw your name on the counselor list for our homeschool retreat. But you look familiar.” He rubs his graying beard as he regards me. “Wait, you’re a fighter, aren’t you? I watched your debut fight, and I have to say…you were incredible.”
“Why, thank you.”
Romilly’s eyes widen as she looks back and forth between the two of us. “Bash, you don’t have to.Really. We’ll find someone else.”
But Mason laughs. “You got something against this guy?”
“He’s my new dog bather,” she says. “I?—”
Mason arches a brow. “And we’ve already background checked him. So we’re all good there, right?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Perfect.” He beams at me. “Thanks for the help, Sebastian.”
“Call me Bash.”
We shake hands once more before he melts back into the rest of the crowd. I don’t have much time to reflect on this recent, impulsive decision of mine before Romilly’s sweet voice cuts into my subconscious.
“Why would you volunteer to help with Sunday school?”
I turn to face her. That plump mouth is downturned, and her neat brows are arranged into an adorable frown. I gently tap her button nose with my index finger. I can’t tell her it’s because she’s so magnetic, or that I can’t seem to leave her alone, and I quite like being around her. So I say something I know will agitate her. “Because you, sweet Romilly, are going to owe me a favor.”
Her frown deepens in the cutest way. “A favor? Are you serious?”
“Serious as the plague.”
“Let’s just get this over with. Follow me.” Her tone is deep and strained, but the way she walks back toward the main building would fool anyone into thinking she’s on a gentle stroll. She doesn’t check behind her to see if I’m following along. She doesn’t need to. I’m right on her trail, letting her lead the way to the children’s classroom.
This is going to be interesting.
I don’t have much experience with kids. I can’t even remember the last time I interacted with one. But the idea of Romilly all alone, potentially getting thrown up on by more sick children like Perry’s makes my stomach sink.
The classroom is empty when we arrive, and smaller than I expect, with walls painted an intense shade of yellow, one way too bright for little amount of caffeine I’ve had. The ceiling is low, making the whole space feel slightly claustrophobic, and posters of Bible stories are plastered everywhere. Bright colors and cartoonish figures grin down at me. I don’t remember Noah’s Ark looking quite so happy at my church back home.
Romilly gets to work on the empty room, arranging the plastic, primary-colored seats in a circle.
“It’s far too cheery in here.” I wrinkle my nose against the faint smell of crayons and glue in the air, along with something vaguely sweet, like...squashed raisins? It’s nauseating.
“I think the word you’re looking for is stimulating. Or maybe exciting.”
“No, no. I said cheery, but I meant dreadful, actually.”
Romilly ignores me, restocking a tiny table in the corner with craft supplies. “You know, I’m actually glad you volunteered. You’re way too confident for your own good. This should do wonders for your ego.”
“This will beno problem,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint you.” But I’m lying, and deep down, I think Romilly knows it.
As if on cue, young voices drift in from the hall. Romilly opens the door, and the first wave of parents arrive with their miniature humans. My nerves skyrocket.
Romilly checks in each child and eventually hands me a clipboard to do the same. Once a good ten minutes pass without another kid arriving, I set mine down on the counter and take in the chaos around us.
At least six different conversations are going on at once, all of them in squeaky, high-pitched voices. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, glancing over at Romilly. She's across the room, crouched by a kid who’s apparently upset about his drawing. Romilly looks like she belongs here, like this room and these kids were already penciled into her day. It’s strange, watching her like this. She's usually so composed, so focused, whether she’s having a conversation or even working on her dogs. But here with the kids, there’s something even softer about her. Her smile is brighter, her movements more relaxed.
Meanwhile, I’m...well, I’m just hoping I don’t break anything. Or anyone.
