“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” he mutters under his breath.
I snort, holding my grin in place. “Smile, Pookie.”
“Call me Pookieone more time.”
I can’t stop the helpless laugh that bursts free as he turns back to the audience, his face morphing with a resolute nod.
“Ready?”
“Together.”
We turn, still gripping each other’s hands tight, and bow deep into the roar. The cheers swell even louder, like the whole room on its feet for us.
When we straighten, Logan glances at me sideways, sheepish grin stretching wide. I suck in a breath, cheeks aching from smiling so hard, and step forward.
“Well,” I say, my voice carrying through the mic that someone mercifully left live. “That was… not quite the opening number we rehearsed.”
Laughter ripples through the audience, and I spot Principal Delacourt's amused face.
I squeeze Logan’s hand, pulse still galloping, and gesture toward him with my free one. “But since the curtain went up early for someunexplained reason," I glance toward the PTA moms, who are gaping at the response of the audience. I guess they were expecting outcry. "You all get a bonus feature. Please welcome my, uh…verytrusty assistant, filling in tonight as backup set crew since the doctors benched him. Your very own number eighty-two, Mr. Logan Miller!”
The place erupts—phones flashing, kids shrieking his name, parents whistling into their hands. Logan groans under his breath, but he waves anyway, muttering under his breath, “You’re killing me, Parnell.”
I beam at him, holding my smile while I mutter back. “Be thankful it’s not the other Parnell killing you.”
He shoots me a look, and my grin stretches wider, before turning back to the crowd.
“Now that we’ve, um, provided such a unique way tobreak the ice… let’s get this showcase started!”
The curtain sweeps the rest of the way across the stage, applause still thundering. Logan leans toward the mic one more time, dead serious.
“Chaz couldn’t make it.”
Zoe gasps, and Chase launches halfway out of his seat, hollering, “YOU’RE DEAD, MILLER!”
Parents laugh, even though they’re not entirely sure what this all means, and kids shriek with delight.
I groan, heat flooding my cheeks, and tug Logan by the arm back into the wings just as the first group of kids takes the stage for their festive choir opener.
He makes a beeline for a giant star resting on a chair, which has mysteriously lost half its glitter, while I rush to line up the rest of the kids waiting for their cue. My heart’s still doing cartwheels from the kiss that half the damn city just saw, but I force myself to focus on straightening costumes.
I barely have time to give the rest of the kids a thumbs up as they dance onto the stage before I hear the PTA clucking behind me.
“Absolutely disgraceful,” Pamela mutters as I turn, her arms crossed tight. “A teacher, kissing a hockey player in front of students?”
“So inappropriate,” another mom adds with a prim little shake of her head.
“Oh, please.” I don't even look at them, just keep re-pinning stars onto yet another prop someone managed to dismantle again. “I’ve seen more graphic behavior at the PTA wine auction.”
Pamela sputters. “You think that kind of display sets a good example?”
“Honestly?” I whisper, straightening up from the display. “I think grown adults sabotaging a bunch of props and pulling the curtain early because they don't like the teacher is a far worse look. But what do I know?” I flash a sweet smile. “I just work here.”
Logan’s voice drifts over from where he’s finishing the glitter repair. “Funny. I didn’t realize school events came with a self-appointed morality committee.”
The moms whirl and Pamela stiffens. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused.” He doesn’t even glance up.
