Oh god.
“I’ve checked in with Mrs. Sanzi and we think it would work best if you slide over to her room as soon as Kelli is back on campus. You’ll have a chance to get to know her and the class and get a feel for the content.” I must’ve pulled an expression because she gestured to me with the bottle, hurrying to add, “Unless that doesn’t work for you.”
“Oh, no. That’s fine. It’s great.” I laughed through my panic. “I just—you know—I’ve lost track of time. Didn’t realize until now that I’ve been with this group almost a month.”
“The first month flies by, doesn’t it?” She bobbed her head like she was well acquainted with fever dreaming her way through a September or two. “I’ll tell Mrs. Sanzi we’re ready to roll with that plan. Good stuff. Good, good. We’ll deal with Mrs. Lazco later on.”
I reached for my water and occupied myself with securing the cap. “Great.”
Then Helen threw in a casual “Any thoughts about next year?”
I kept my gaze down. I didn’t want to explain the dread associated with that question. It was too complicated—also, none of her business—and I needed time to make these decisions. In the past three months, I’d been engaged, dumped, and married, and that was on top of inheriting a farm (somewhat), leaving my job, friends, and city, and discovering I found my husband both attractive and arousing.Veryarousing. My attempts at taking it one day at a time were laughable.
“I’m really focused on this second grade group,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to think about anything else.”
“Makes sense,” she murmured. “If you do get a chance to think about anything else, know that it’s likely I’ll have a first grade opening in addition to that kindergarten class. Just something to keep in mind. All good? Good, good. All right, well, I’ll let you get back to it.”
I leaned against the wall as Helen exited the cafeteria, her lanyard bouncing with every step. I should’ve been back in my classroom, using this prep period to actually prepare for next week, but I needed another minute. The hallways were stifling and my room was at the far end of a long, poorly ventilated corridor andnext yearpressed hard against my chest.
Jaime routinely promised to drag me home to Boston after everything with Lollie’s will wrapped up but there were some problems with that plan. My old school had replaced me with a very nice person named Aurora Lura, I didn’t have anywhere to live aside from Jaime’s sofa, and I couldn’t figure out how I’d look after a wedding venue at Lollie’s farm—which now had a professional business plan and initial financing approvals—while living and working ninety minutes away.
Aside from all of those very real issues was Noah and the things that happened in the pantry. I didn’t know what any of that meant. He didn’t leave me with a pamphlet explaining what to expect when realizing you wanted your fake husband.
Did I actually want him? Could I have casual sex with my fake husband?
The better question was whether I could have casual sex at all. I had no trouble finding people attractive and I didn’t have a problem getting aroused but there were a few other bridges I had to cross before wanting to take off my clothes, be naked with them, and let that person touch me. And I couldn’t always define those bridges but there was always something I needed in order for it to feel right.
Looking back now, I had no idea what it was that convinced me sex with the ex was a smart choice but the person before him had always made me feel safe. I could say anything, do anything, and it wouldn’t be wrong. I knew I’d never get my vulnerabilities thrown back in my face and I’d trusted that person.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever trusted the ex that way. I’d wanted to trust him and I think I wanted it just enough to convince myself that I did. I’d convinced myself of so many things. It didn’t seem possible to swallow all those lies and half-truths while telling myself I had everything I’d ever wanted.
Aside from my teenage experiences, which were the closest thing to casual I’d ever managed, my sex life fell squarely in theseriouscolumn. And I couldn’t see how sex with Noah could be anything other than casual. There was an expiration date stamped on our marriage and also, likely, my time in this town. We could kiss in a pantry and we could snuggle at a football game but anything else would be—well, I didn’t see how there could be anything else.
Even if it felt as though I’d crossed many of the bridges I needed and I did want Noah, it wasn’t a good idea. It was possible he didn’t feel the same way. Yes, of course, he’d been ratherintensein the pantry but I didn’t know what that meant for him. I couldn’t imagine it meant anything more than one and done, get it out of the system, casual as they come.
All of those things sounded horrible to me. I didn’t have sex to get it out of my system. I didn’t know how to separate sex from emotions and I didn’t think I wanted to try. I needed to feel something. I needed to feel like I was worth multiple failed attempts at chocolate buttercream.
But it wasn’t a good idea. And Noah and I had more than enough complications between us. No need to muck things up with sex. Not when I could gift myself a fancy new vibrator for my birthday and leave those complications behind.
It was better that way. Much better. For everyone. I barely had time for such extracurriculars, considering I had to start thinking about Mrs. Sanzi’s third grade class and whatever the hell those kids were supposed to learn. If I could get Grace to talk me through her curriculum, it would really help. Even if I spent a week or two embedded in Adelma Sanzi’s class, I’d still have to write my own plans while she was out. Maybe I could visit with Grace and Emme for a long weekend, and Jaime and Audrey of course.
They’d understand why I couldn’t have sex with my husband. They’d agree with me on this.
Regardless of anything Jaime might’ve said in the past.
While I was deep in my thoughts, a door banged open on the other side of the cafeteria. I was slow to shift my gaze in that direction yet quick to whisper, “Ohhh.”
Noah shouldered his way through the delivery entrance, two milk crates clutched in each hand, his arms taxing the limits of his t-shirt. For a moment, I did nothing more than stare. And who could blame me? His arms looked like tree trunks, and his chest,my god, I could make out the ripples of muscle through his shirt.
I knew what those ripples felt like, the arms too, but watching him stride across the cafeteria, his hat pulled low over his eyes and his jaw firm, was an altogether different experience.
Until he caught me staring.
A slight grin pulled at his lips as he hefted all four crates into the fridge. It was ninety-two degrees at ten in the morning, and he was carrying a whole lot of milk with those tree trunk arms and he couldn’t bother to breathe heavily while doing it.
He jerked his chin up in greeting as he moved toward me, that grin twisting into a smile. I had no words. Not a single word. I wouldn’t have known it until now but lugging milk crates across a cafeteria while wearing a tight t-shirt on a hot day was definitely one of the intimacy bridges I needed to cross.
“Good morning,” he called.
