No. Nope, not going there.
I was doing this for the teens, not for me. That was my story and I was sticking to it.
Even if a thousand butterflies took wing in my stomach at the thought of spending two hours with Stanton tomorrow.
2
STANTON
Pascal Winfield was cute as a bug. I noticed him the first time I set foot in the library. He was tiny compared to me—five foot eight, if even that, compared to my six-one—with a slim figure. His brown hair was always neatly styled into a bit of a preppy look with a quiff in the front, but it suited him to aT, as did the round glasses that couldn’t hide his gorgeous brown eyes.
But what I liked most about him was how elegant he was. He moved with such grace, almost like a ballerina. Even his fingers were slim and charming…and without a ring, I couldn’t help but notice.
I’d looked forward to my first Safe Space event all day. Not just because I would see Pascal again. I did genuinely want to help queer teenagers navigate their identity. But I couldn’t deny that the chance to spend some more time with Pascal added considerably to the appeal.
The Community Center’s meeting room was empty when I arrived, but I’d deliberately shown up early. Pascal was balancing precariously on a step stool, tacking a poster to the wall.
I rushed forward, steadying him. “How about you let me do that? You seem a little too vertically challenged for the task.”
Pascal turned to look at me over his shoulder, those brown eyes sparkling with amusement behind his glasses. “Are you calling me short?”
“I would never.” I kept my hand on his lower back—for safety reasons, obviously. “I’m merely suggesting that some tasks might be better suited to those blessed with additional altitude.”
His laugh was musical, sending warmth through my chest. “Well, when you put it that way…” He carefully stepped down, and I immediately missed the contact when he moved away. “The rest of the decorations are in that box.”
I grabbed theInside Outcharacter posters, admiring the artwork. “These are great. Did you make them?”
“Oh gosh, no. One of our regulars, Violet, is quite the artist. She made these last week when I mentioned the theme.”
While I put up the posters, Pascal busied himself with arranging chairs in a circle. The way he fussed over getting them exactly right, making sure they were all evenly spaced, was endearing.
“So, how does this usually work?” I asked, stepping back to make sure the Joy poster was straight.
“We start with a check-in, where everyone shares how they’re feeling using colored cards that represent different emotions. Then, we usually do an activity or have a discussion. Today, we’re talking about emotions.” He paused his chair-arranging. “I hope that’s okay? I should’ve run the theme by you first.”
“Pascal.” I turned to face him. “This is your program. I’m here to assist you in whatever you need.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Right. Of course.” He fiddled with his glasses. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Some of these kids might ask personal questions…”
“About being bi?” When he nodded, I continued, “I’m completely open about that. They can ask me anything. And yes, I promise I’ll avoid answering any inappropriate ones.”
The smile he gave me was worth everything. “You’re going to be amazing at this.”
Ten minutes later, the room buzzed with activity. Fourteen teenagers lounged on the chairs, their energy filling the room with chatter and laughter. But as soon as Pascal clapped, they quieted down. “Everyone, this is Mr. Kohler. He’ll be helping out with Safe Space from now on.”
“Stanton is fine,” I said, waving at the group. “And I’m excited to be here.”
“I’m happy to have you here,” Pascal said, promptly turning red. “We’re happy, I mean. As a group.”
Some of the teens snickered, but I managed to keep my face blank. “Thank you.”
“Let’s do our check-in,” Pascal said quickly.
He handed out colored cards to everyone, explaining the system to me. Red for anger, blue for sadness, yellow for joy, green for disgust, and purple for fear. The kids could pick multiple cards if they were experiencing different emotions.
I watched, impressed, as each teen shared openly. Violet Frant—she had to be Sheriff Frant’s daughter—picked yellow and purple, explaining she was excited about an upcoming art show but nervous about people seeing her work. Her stepbrother Byron chose blue, admitting he was struggling with his relationship with his biological mother. From the little he shared, I gathered it was contentious. Gabe Everett—the spitting image of his father, Doc Everett—grabbed yellow. He had just gotten early admission into the University of Washington’s pre-med program. We all cheered when he told us.
When it was my turn, I chose yellow as well. “I’m happy to be here, learning from all of you. And I’m happy I moved toForestville. It’s such a wonderful town, and the people here are amazing…and so welcoming and inclusive.”
