“What else do you have in there?” He leans over to look.
I peek up at him. “That’s for me to know and you not to find out.”
He shakes his head again. He does that a lot, as if he’s not sure what to make of me, which is silly, because I’m not that interesting. I’m just a small-town girl with a simple life. I’m no famous Hollywood star.
Belle wiggles in Ronan’s lap.
Now that she’s eaten the granola bar, and the excitement of being stuck in an elevator is gone, boredom will follow. Overtired and bored is a dangerous situation for a child, even one as sweet as Belle.
Ronan shoots me a nervous look. Great minds think alike.
“My magic purse to the rescue,” I say, rooting through it. He touches the edge of the bag as if to open it farther. I swat his giant hand away and find the object I’m looking for.
“Ta-da!” I say, pulling out a small cloth pouch. I empty it on my lap.
Belle gasps in delight. “Glitter pens! And a sparkly notebook.”
Pretty pens and stationery are a particular weakness. Occupational hazard.
“Would you like to color?” I draw a series of flowers and pass her the set of pens and a book.
Belle looks at the flowers with reverence. “I wish I could draw those.”
I smile. “I can teach you. Here, watch.”
Ten minutes later, I’m showing Belle how to draw a rose, and we’re crooning the lyrics to one of theFrozensongs.
Ronan watches us in bemusement.
Next, I show Belle how to draw a butterfly. She works in concentration while she watches me sketch each line. When we color the last bit, she beams.
“It’s so pretty!”
“Something is missing.” I reach into my purse and pull out a small plastic bag of colorful tubes from one of the inside pockets. “Ahh… I thought these were in here.” I present it to the girl like a gift. “Voilà.”
“Glitter glue!” she breathes. “Perfect!”
Ronan stares at me as if I’m from another planet. “Glitter glue? Are you for real? Who has glitter glue in their purse?”
I blush. “A girl who likes sparkles?”
“Who are you?” he asks, as ifI’mthe green alien, not him.
“Poppy O’Brien, kindergarten teacher, at your service.”
He barks out a laugh. “That explains it. Everything’s become clear.”
“Explains what?” Should I be offended?
“You,” he says, pointing in my general direction. “Your magic bag. You’re like the Pied Piper. Belle doesn’t usually warm up to strangers.”
“Poppy isn’t a stranger,” Belle interrupts. “She’s Poppy. And she’s awesome!”
Belle reaches up and pats Ronan Masters’s famous stubble, playing with the scruff on that sharp-as-a-blade jaw.
I envy her. I’d give up the break period in my school schedule just to run my hand over his jaw. Or his chest. Or his arms. Or his—
Ronan tilts his head, giving another abrupt laugh. “My point exactly.” At first, I’m confused at what point he’s referring to, my mind having gotten so off track. And then I remember Belle called me awesome.
