“Sorry. I had some ice cream while I was waiting for you, and you know what dairy does to me.”
“Then why did you put so much extra cheese on your pasta?” she asks, looking pointedly at the melted mountain on top of my food.
Shoving a heaping forkful in my mouth, I turn to glare. “Because I can’t be controlled.”
I almost choke on that mouthful when I feel my phone vibrate. My mom heard it too, slyly looking across my lap to see who it was. Thank God I flipped it on its screen.
“So, what did I miss?” I ponder, hoping it distracts her enough to stop looking at my phone. It doesn’t, but the rattling of keys at the front door does.
Dad comes trudging down the hall, clenching two beat-up Bankers Boxes. Exhaustion wears down his limbs while fatigue darkens his mossy green eyes.
My mom takes one look at his worn-out appearance and springs from her seat on the floor. In full-on wife mode, she tears those boxes from his unyielding grip and drags him into her loving arms. The words she whispers are indecipherable, but exactly what he needs. I watch the stress melt away from his shoulders, and although it may not last more than a handful of minutes, for now, he has peace.
For once, he joins us on the living room floor, devouring his meal while we watch Liam Neeson hunt for his missing daughter.
It’s taken every ounce of strength I have not to reach for my phone under the couch, but I can’t make this easy. No fucking way. If Mr. Ellis wants me, he’s going to work, and he’s going to wait.
But shit! This is hard.
But wait… what if it's not even him?
I should check.
Yeah. I’m going to check.
Glancing between both parents, I discreetly glide my hands along the hardwood floor, grasping the edge of my phone, which is now on silent, and bring it into my lap.
Holding my breath, I tap the screen and stare down at the display of messages.
There are four new messages from Dana, two from Jenna, one waiting turn from Christian, three from Marie, and one from an unknown number.
With trembling fingers, I respond to everyone else first. My messages are slow to type since I stumble over every word, but once those minor, annoying errors are corrected, I send them off and prepare for the only text that matters.
Your student portal is very detailed.
Shock has my mouth falling open, but I quickly school my features back to their blank expression. I stare at the message until the screen goes black. And then I do it again, still in disbelief that not only am I talking to Mr. Ellis, but he’s texting me… late at night… on a Friday.
I guess that answers my question.
He does think of me.
And doesn’t that just make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world? It shouldn’t because I was always taught that a man doesn’t determine my worth, but Mr. Ellis… he isn’t like any man I’ve met before. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a week. I’ve experienced more in the past seven days than I have in eighteen years.
I don’t plan on letting that slip away now.
Tongue in cheek, I hit reply and light the match.I didn’t know teachers were allowed to access those.
…
…
Again, bubbles appear instantaneously, almost as if he was waiting, staring at the conversation.
Just like me.
I figured that could be a secret between us.
I suppress my smile, wondering if that guilty look entered his eyes as he hit send or if it's easier to act like we’re doing nothing wrong behind a screen. Either way, I’m drowning in butterfly flutters and sinful desires. And if this is the path we’re going to take, I’ll happily walk down it in the dark, just as long as he’s leading the way.
