“We conduct Career Day a little differently these days,” Cheryl Ann said. “We now bring the guests to the students instead of the other way around. Those big assemblies werejust too much to manage, and this way we can tailor it to each age group.” She referred to the electronic tablet in her hands. “It looks like you’re speaking to Mrs. Breaux’s earth science class and Mr. Douglass’s chemistry class.”
She looked over at Evie. “You wouldn’t happen to write poetry, would you?”
“Um, no,” Evie said.
The woman stomped her foot. “The speaker we had for our English classes is embroiled in a plagiarism scandal that broke out on TikTok last night.” She lowered her voice. “I wasn’t surprised. We graduated together and I was suspicious from the moment I read his first book, because I can remember his essays. There’s no way he wrote them.”
“Sorry I can’t help.” Evie hunched her shoulders. “I would be as phony as the plagiarist if I pretended to be a writer.”
She waved a hand. “I’ll figure out something.”
Cheryl Anne showed them to the first classroom. A younger woman with straight brown hair that nearly reached her knees greeted them.
“You must be Dr. Mitchell. I’m Joni Breaux,” she said.
Bryson pointed at her. “Did your granddaddy run a vegetable stand along Bayou Blue Road?”
Evie’s head jerked back at the difference she heard in Bryson’s tone, and in the way he’d dropped the last syllable on some of the words. She fought to hide her grin as she listened to him converse with Mrs. Breaux. It had only taken moments for him to slip into the distinct dialect of the people from this part of the state.
“You can set up right here,” Mrs. Breaux said, pointing to a table in front of a whiteboard. “The bell should ring in another five minutes. Most of the students in this class arecoming from the gymnasium, so they will trickle in a little late and blame it on the long walk.”
“Still a great excuse to be late for class,” Bryson said. “I used it a time or two thousand myself.”
Mrs. Breaux laughed, and Evie was once again amazed at how quickly he could turn on that charm. She hadn’t stood a chance against falling for him eight years ago, and she certainly didn’t stand one now. Why was she fooling herself by staving off the inevitable?
A calming wave of relief washed over her, flooding her veins. It was as if her body had been waiting for her brain to accept what her heart already knew. She was ready to give herself a second chance with the only other person who had captured her heart.
An easy smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she followed Bryson to the front of the classroom.
“I had no idea I would get to see this other side of Bryson Mitchell when I agreed to join you,” Evie said.
“What side is that?”
“The Cajun side,” Evie said.
“I didn’t know I had a Cajun side,” he said.
“Oh, you absolutely do. The moment Mrs. Breaux greeted you in that thick accent, you took on that same sound.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not. I adore the accent. I adore this part of the state. Such unique and colorful culture.”
He rolled his eyes. “You really do sound like city folk.”
He placed the bag he’d brought with him on the table and unzipped it.
“Whoa. What is this?” Evie asked, pointing at the model dog. “This is way too realistic.”
“I know, right?” Bryson said. “It’s synthetic. At first I wasn’t sure about replacing cadavers—even though I get where the animal rights activists are coming from—but after working with this thing for a few months, I’m sold.”
She ran her hand along the canine model’s synthetic muscles. The fibers felt like real tendons. It was remarkable.
“What’s his name?” Evie asked. When he didn’t respond, she looked up to find Bryson staring at her with a confused frown. “You named it, didn’t you?”
“I… did not.”
Evie pinched her lips together and nodded. “Okay. Got it. You’ve only spent countless hours gaining knowledge at the expense of the poor synthetic animal. One would think that at least warrants a name, but I guess not.”
