“What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing at her overstuffed backpack as she pulls away.
“I brought all my sleepover stuff!” She twists around to show me the clear compartment on the side where I can see pajamas and what looks like approximately seventeen stuffed animalscrammed in together. “I have my toothbrush and snacks and Olivia’s mom said we can stay up until ten, which is really late, like really really late, and we’re going to make friendship bracelets and watchEncantofor the millionth time and Olivia has a trampoline in her backyard and it’s going to be the best night ever.”
“That sounds like a great night,” I say, standing back up and trying not to laugh at the absolute avalanche of information.
I glance up at Theo and find him watching Chloe with that patient affection I’ve come to recognize, the one that makes me like him even more than I already do.
“Why don’t you show your dad your desk?” I say to Chloe. “We’re going to start in just a couple minutes.”
“Okay!” She grabs Theo’s hand and drags him toward the back row, already chattering about which artwork is hers.
I turn back to greet the last few families coming through the door, trying to get my pulse back under control. Once everyone’s arrived, I move to the front of the room. Parents naturally start settling into position, finding spots along the walls or leaning against desks. Theo’s standing near Chloe’s desk in the back, hands in his pockets, and I make myself look anywhere but at him.
“Good evening, everyone!” My voice comes out bright and confident, teacher-mode fully activated. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. I’m Emma Hayes, and I’m so excited to share what we’ve been working on this year in first grade.”
I click to the first slide and launch into the presentation: daily schedule, reading curriculum, math strategies, science units, homework expectations. I feel myself relaxing into the rhythm of it, finding my groove. This is my classroom, my domain, and I know this material inside and out.
The presentation flows better than I expected. I show examples of student work, pulling up photos of projects we’ve completed. I explain our approach to differentiated instruction, walk through the field trip schedule, outline my communicationpolicy. Mrs. Buckley asks about spelling test frequency and I answer confidently. Mr. Lopez wants details about the gifted program screening process and I walk him through the timeline without missing a beat.
I’m good at this. The realization settles over me like a warm blanket. I actually know what I’m doing.
“Alright,” I say when we’ve covered everything, “now please feel free to walk around and look at your child’s work. Everything is labeled with names on the displays. I’ll be available if anyone has specific questions.”
The room erupts into movement and I’m immediately surrounded by a cluster of parents asking follow-up questions about reading levels and homework support strategies. I answer each one, trying to be helpful and thorough. Over Mrs. Johnson’s shoulder, I can see Theo at the writing display with Chloe.
She’s pointing at her story, the one about the dragon who’s afraid of flying, my favorite thing she’s written all year. Her hands are moving as she talks, animated and excited, and Theo’s reading it with his full attention.
“Miss Hayes?” Mrs. Johnson says, pulling my attention back.
Right. Parents. Questions. Job.
I spend the next twenty minutes circulating around the room and chatting with parents, and every time I glance up, Theo’s moved to a different display with Chloe—the art wall, the science corner, the math station—giving each one the same careful attention.
Parents start trickling out around seven, collecting their kids and thanking me for the presentation. Just a few stragglers remain as kids show off one last project. I spot Theo talking with Olivia’s mom, Mary, near the reading corner while Olivia and Chloe bounce around the book bin, clearly already in full sleepover mode. Theo catches my eye across the room and I turn away quickly, heat rising to my cheeks like I’m fourteen instead of twenty-four.
A minute later I hear footsteps approaching. Theo’s walkingtoward me with his hands in his pockets, Chloe practically skipping alongside him.
“Bye, Miss Hayes!” Chloe throws her arms around my waist for the second time tonight. “See you Monday!”
“Have the best time at your sleepover,” I tell her, squeezing back. “I want to hear all about it.”
She’s already taking off toward Olivia, which leaves me standing next to Theo in front of a wall of first-grade artwork. The room has mostly emptied out now, just a few parents lingering by the door, none of them paying attention to us. The space between his shoulder and mine feels charged with something I probably shouldn’t be noticing at a school event.
“She hasn’t stopped talking about the festival,” he says, his voice lower now, pitched for just me to hear. “The go-karts, the funnel cake, meeting Calvin and Maren. I think it ranks as one of the best days she’s had this year.” He pauses, and when he looks at me there’s something unguarded in his expression. “Maybe one of mine, too. Thanks for getting me out there. I get too locked into work sometimes.”
My pulse kicks up, but I summon the cool and casual version of myself. The one who knows how to flirt without combusting. “Good. I’m glad you both had fun. I did too.” I hold his gaze. “And you’re welcome for dragging you out of your restaurant. Luckily foryou, I’m not shy about making things happen.”
Something shifts in his expression. A flicker of intensity that makes my knees feel less solid than they should.
“No,” he agrees quietly. “You’re not.”
I swallow, then my mouth opens just a touch. His eyes, brown and flecked with gold, feel like they could burn me.
“Goodnight, Miss Hayes!” The voice from the doorway startles me out of whatever trance I’m in and I look past Theo to see Mrs. Wently waving cheerfully, completely oblivious to whatever just passed between us.
“Uh, good night! Thanks for coming.” I manage to soundalmost normal, which feels like an achievement given the circumstances.
I turn back to Theo, whose expression has smoothed back into polite friendliness. The moment, whatever it was, has passed. “Well,” I say. “I should probably head out since everyone’s leaving.” What I want to say is entirely different, but thankfully my brain-to-mouth filter is still operational. “It’s supposed to start raining soon and I want to beat it home. I don’t have my raincoat.”
