“You do them twice a week?”
“No.”
She blinks. “So… why are you here?”
I should lie.
Say something easy.
Instead: “Felt like it.”
Her breath snags.
And she looks away fast, bending over Junie’s desk like she suddenly finds crayons fascinating. That blush crawls down her throat, disappearing under her neckline.
I grit my teeth. Look anywhere else. I don’t.
“You can keep teaching,” I say, because the kids are staring at me like I’m a zoo exhibit. “Pretend I’m not here.”
She laughs nervously. “Yeah, that won’t be happening.”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Why not?”
“Because you’re… distracting.”
My eyebrow lifts slow. “Distracting how?”
Her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. “I, um—just—you’re very… loud.”
“Loud.”
“In presence,” she blurts.
I let the corner of my mouth tilt. “You could’ve just said big.”
Her face goes scarlet.
One of the kids raises his hand. “Miss Tate, is he the fireman who yelled at you?”
Briar chokes, coughing wildly. “He didnotyell at me—he was just… correcting… a mistake.”
Another kid asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting.
Briar wheezes, “No! Absolutely not!”
“Not yet,” I say under my breath.
Her eyes snap to mine. “Did you just?—?”
I shrug. “Didn’t say anything.”
She narrows her eyes. “Pretty sure you did.”
“Pretty sure you’re hearing things.”
Her lips press into a line, but her cheeks are on fire.
