I make my way around the room, checking in on progress. Noah is adding what appears to be racing stripes to his shirt. Lily has drawn herself with a crown and is carefully coloring each point a different color. Jordan is working with the kind of intense focus that means he’s definitely going to ask for five more minutes when cleanup time comes.
When I stop at Chloe Midnight’s desk, she’s drawing what appears to be a fish driving a race car underwater. Her tonguepokes out slightly as she concentrates. The racing stripes on the car are perfectly parallel, bubbles trail behind it in carefully decreasing sizes, and there’s even a tiny trophy clutched in the fish’s fin.
“I love the creativity here, Chloe,” I say, crouching beside her.
“Thanks.” She looks up and beams, that full-face smile that always makes me smile back. “My uncle Jack drives race cars and I love ocean animals, so I combined them.” She tilts her head, examining her work with a critical eye. “Not super realistic, but it’s more fun this way.”
I smile at her. “Definitely more fun. And artshouldbe fun.”
She lights up, and I feel that familiar warmth spread through my chest. Yesterday Chloe told me, very seriously, that I have “good teacher energy.” I’ve been turning that phrase over in my mind ever since, holding it like something precious. It might be the best compliment anyone has ever given me.
The afternoon sun slants lower through the windows as I finish my rounds. Despite the chaos, despite still figuring out half of what I’m doing, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Not in Seattle boardrooms with my sisters, not working for a company that’s become everything my parents wouldn’t have wanted. Here, with these kids, watching them discover and create and grow.
The bell rings, slicing through the afternoon quiet.
“Okay, friends,” I call out, clapping my hands twice. The class claps back twice, our call and response signal. “Time to pack up. Backpacks on, chairs pushed in, line up at the door.”
Chaos erupts. Twenty-three seven-year-olds grabbing lunchboxes, stuffing papers into folders, arguing over who gets to be line leader today. I redirect Noah before he crashes into someone with his overstuffed backpack, help Lily with her jacket zipper, and make sure everyone has what they need to take home.
I’m on pickup duty today since Mrs. Patterson is home withthe flu and Mr. Lewis is at a district meeting. They gave me a quick rundown via text this morning, and at this point I’ve met most of the parents, so I’m only slightly terrified.
We file outside to the covered pickup area, joining the stream of other classes heading the same direction. The October afternoon is cool and crisp, the kind of fall day where the air smells like rain coming and salt water from the Sound. Mountains are visible in the distance, their peaks already dusted with early snow. Parents are arriving, cars lining up in the circular drive, and I’m doing my best to match faces to names from the class roster.
“Miss Hayes!” A woman with a kind smile and a toddler balanced on her hip approaches. I recognize her from back-to-school night—Peter’s mom. She’s digging through her tote bag while the toddler makes a determined grab for her necklace. “We brought you something.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I say, though warmth blooms in my chest.
“Nonsense.” She finally extracts a container from her bag and hands it to me. Homemade cookies, chocolate chip from the look of them, still warm enough that I can feel the heat through the plastic. “You’re the first teacher who’s gotten Peter excited about school. Trust me, I wanted to.”
“That means the world,” I say, accepting the container. “Peter’s such a great kid.”
“He certainly thinks you’re pretty great too.” She shifts the toddler on her hip as Peter bounces up beside her, already talking about his dinosaur drawing. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home.”
They head toward the parking lot, Peter’s voice carrying back to me as he describes, in elaborate detail, how the velociraptors in his drawing are friendly ones that only eat bad guys.
This is nice. The small-town thing. People being welcoming, making me feel like I might actually belong here eventually. I’ve barely been in Dark River two months, but it already feels morelike home than Seattle ever did. Growing up there never felt quite right—too much pressure, too many expectations, too much family drama bleeding into every corner of my life. And the east coast where I went to college was beautiful, but that chapter is closed.
Chloe appears at my elbow, tugging my sleeve. “Miss Hayes, that’s my dad!” She’s pointing toward the parking lot, practically bouncing on her toes hard enough to achieve liftoff.
I follow her gaze and spot him immediately. He’s taller than the other parents, with a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and light brown hair that catches the afternoon sun. He’s wearing jeans and a light grey sweater and walking toward us with an easy, confident stride. And then my brain catches up to what my eyes are seeing. My stomach drops straight through the concrete.
Hot Post Office Guy.
Hot Post Office Guy with the warm laugh and the steady hands who caught my lingerie box last Saturday is walking toward me.
This can’t be happening. Dark River has five thousand people, and yet somehow the one attractive man I’ve embarrassed myself in front of is a parent at my school. Hot Post Office Guy is my favorite student’s dad.
He’s getting closer now, hands in his pockets, that same easy confidence he had at the post office, and my brain is frantically trying to calculate how bad this is about to be. There’s no way he doesn’t remember the girl who assaulted him with European candy. And the lingerie box.
Oh god, the lingerie box.Please let him be the kind of person who doesn’t recognize designer French lingerie when he sees it, though judging by the way his face went slightly red when he handed it back to me, heabsolutelyrecognized it. At least the candy I can pass off as quirky at best.
“Daddy!” Chloe breaks away from my side and runs toward him, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
His face softens the moment he sees her. He bends down andshe crashes into him with a hug that nearly knocks him over. When they pull apart she’s already grabbing his hand, tugging him toward me. “Come meet Miss Hayes!”
They walk toward me, Chloe practically dragging him along. As they get closer, his brow furrows slightly like he’s trying to place my face, like he knows he’s seen me somewhere but can’t quite remember where. Then recognition hits, followed immediately by a smile that starts slow and builds.
They reach me and he extends his hand. “Ah, see now I never got your name at the post office. Nice to meet you,Miss Hayes.”
