“Yeah, him,” Lo says as she passes out presents to the now-silent toddlers. It’s astounding how little it takes to get them to sit quietly on their dots. “The office staff said he dropped them off this morning, that you had forgotten them at home.”
Her words draw a choked laugh. I refuse to look her in the eye, but I can imagine the raised eyebrow and smirk as she says, “I know you claim to hate him, but I find that hard to believe if he wasat your housethis morning andjust happenedto drop off gifts for twenty feral toddlers.”
I tilt my head just enough to cut my eyes at her with a groan. “I do hate him.”Most days, I add silently. I hate how he knows my coffee order, how he remembers how many kids are in my class each year, and how he makes me feel like I’m more than just his sister’s best friend.
But admitting that to Lauren is a no-go. Those thoughts can stay locked up. “And Reece Taylor wasnotat my apartment.” It seems silly to stress that point, but our relationship is too complex. He is my best friend’s overbearing, overprotective, act-first-ask-second older brother—and the only man I ever find myself lip-locked with in a storage closet or the bed of his truck.
Until I come to my senses and reality delivers a swift kick to my perfectly toned ass. Heaven help us if Jett ever finds out that her brother and I have had this frenemies-with-benefits thing going on since college.
“So…your best friend’s sexy, older, hay-slinging brother went out of his way to not only drop these off”—she gestures to the shredded paper and boxes strewn across the room—“but he also spent money on our students, wrapped twenty kid-approved board games, and did it so no one from administration would question it.”
The hand on her hip would be comical if I wasn’t on the receiving end. “Honey, if that’s hate, let me have a go at him.”
***
I am almost clear of the preschool doors for our holiday break, intent on heading straight to my mother’s home in Raleigh, when the director stops me.
“Miss Monroe, a word?” he says, motioning me into his office.
I try not to let my shoulders sag. This can’t be good. I pause outside his door, breathing in the familiar mix of crayons and coffee, hoping it’ll calm me the way it does my students. It doesn’t.
When I step inside, I start apologizing. “Look, I’m sorry about the presents that were dropped off this morning. I left them at home, and my friend was kind enough to bring them to the school, and—”
“That’s not what this is about, Miss Monroe.”
“Oh.” I breathe a sigh of relief and smooth my hands along my sweatshirt. “Okay, great. The kids were overjoyed, so I’d hate to—”
“Miss Monroe, please,” he says before walking around his desk and leaning back on it, his hands braced on either side of his body. “This isn’t about the mysterious gifts dropped off today. I’m thrilled your students were fortunate enough to receive them. This is about your career choices, McKenna.”
“I’m a preschool teacher, Nathan,” I say, hesitantly. He just flipped from last name to first name, and in my experience, nothing good ever comes from the type of look on my boss’s face.
“Who moonlights as a sexy workout instructor—”
“I am notmoonlightingas anything,” I snap. “I am a preschool teacher who has a second job as a certified personal trainer.”
He sighs and crosses his arms, his shirt pulling tight across his chest. It does nothing for me. It’s not that Nathan isn’t attractive. He is, in that boy-next-door sort of way, I guess. He loves the kids in this school and cares about the well-being of his staff.
Taking a breath before I lose my cool on the man in front of me, I say, “I was up front with you about what I did before you hired me. I told you I’m part owner and trainer at Naughty Peach, and you swore it would never be an issue.”
“It wasn’t until now.” He looks away before turning back, his chin dropping to his chest. “One of our primary donors found out. The family has threatened to pull funding if you are still on the payroll when we return from the holiday break.”
His words settle heavy in my chest, sinking through me until even breathing feels like work. I can’t tell if my heart is in my stomach or my throat. Maybe both. This job was supposed to be stable. Safe. The one thing I could count on as I tried to build up Naughty Peach. And now it’s slipping through my fingers because of that dream.
“Nathan, please,” I say, the whisper so soft I am not sure he hears me.
“Officially, you are not to return to campus. Gather your things and leave the grounds after this meeting,” he says. “Unofficially, I want to fight this but I can’t make any promises.”
“Okay.” I mean, what else is there to say?
“Tell Lauren I’ll meet her at home, yeah?”
The walk back to my classroom is a blur, but I force my “teacher” smile before stepping through the door. When Lauren sees my face, her amber eyes widen in surprise.
“I thought you were gone for the day. Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” I say, but it comes out a high-pitched squeal. Liar I am not.
“McKenna Monroe, I will gladly kick my best friend’s butt for you but knowing the reason would go a long way in me explainingwhyI’m pissed off at him.”
