“Oh, there’s footage. Google Classroom, summer term folder. Look for the Year Seven lad who missed every beat but tap-danced with such delusional self-belief, I’d put money on him running the country by the time he’s thirty.”
Bailey barked a laugh, unfiltered and warm. “You’re making me panic for if you ever observe my class management now.”
“Aren’t you PE?” Jude turned to face him fully, narrowing his eyes in mock judgement. “Surely your version of classroom control involves shouting across a field and dishing out burpees like party favours.”
“Stereotype much?”
“Call it professional observation.”
“Uh huh. Next you’ll say we always ask for twenty more.” Bailey winked.
“Twenty more what?”
“Quid, if I can get it. Teacher wages don’t cover my Hobnob habit.”
“Ah, so it was you who took all the good biscuits this morning.”
Bailey held up his hands. “Guilty. Relapse in recovery.”
“You’d better up your rates, then, sir.”
“Why? You think this lot can afford it?”
“Depends on how many TikToks have gone viral over the summer. Honestly, some of the kids earn more than we do before the bell rings.”
Bailey chuckled, low and rough around the edges. Gravel under velvet. And it rumbled in Jude’s chest, uninvited, leaving an odd flutter in its wake. Could’ve been the bass in his voice. Or the scent of whatever aftershave lingering on his collar. Or maybe it was the sheer muscle mass at his side, impossibly close but not claustrophobic. Solid. Sturdy. A presence someone could lean into without realising.
Someone who wasn’t Jude.
Mrs Turner took her place at the lectern, clearing her throat into the mic with enough passive-aggression to silence the front three rows. Jude vaguely remembered this was the safeguarding refresher. Or behaviour policy update. Something essential,undoubtedly. Shame his brain had short-circuited somewhere between “gimme more” and Bailey’s grin.
“Warren, by the way,” Bailey whispered right at his ear, warm breath trickling down his skin that hadn’t been this alert in years. “Only like being calledsirin certain circumstances.”
Jude blinked. Sat upright. Swallowed the flutter and offered back, just as quietly, “Jude.”
“Nice to meet you, Jude,” Warren whispered. “I’m looking forward to trading war stories with you in the coming months.”
Jude resisted the urge to turn his head again. “Reckon you can stick it out that long? These kids are brutal. You’ll get a nickname you might not like.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Jude gave him a deliberate once-over. “Sir Abs-a-lot.’”
Bailey barked a laugh, which got everyone’s attention, including Mrs Turner, who stopped her presentation to glare at him.
“Sorry!” Warren raised a hand to his mouth. “One too many Hobnobs at the break.”
Jude snorted, ducking in his chair to hide his grin, then adjusted his glasses as if that might help him recover his composure.
Warren leaned in close again. “You’re trouble.”
“Least I don’t get caught,” Jude whispered back, pretending to write notes on what Mrs Turner was banging on about.
“Then I’ll be watching you.” Warren smiled.Winked.
And Jude felt a strange shift in the air. Subtle but certain. Like recognition. That moment when a book falls open to the exact page he needed.
He looked away, suddenly too aware of how long he’d been smiling, and thought maybe cupid did deliver to business addresses after all.
