“You must hide the evidence or you will be banished from the clean pot island.”
I feel a smile stretch across my face and sting my cheeks—he’s funny.
“I’m Mr. Divata. It’s nice to have you on board, Ms. Bailey.” He shakes my hand and I pray he assumes my sweaty palms are from holding the coffee pot for so long.
“Ellie,” I encourage, still shaking his hand and not letting go.
You can let go now.
His smile grows as I keep shaking his hand. His grip is steady and strong, but his thumb grazes the top of my hand tenderly, sending shivers up my arm and into my neck. His forearms are chiseled, with sleek, dark hair trickling across them. His arms look so welcoming . . . I could brush my cheek against that forearm. His hands were smooth and very slow to leave my hand when Ifinallystopped shaking it. I felt a tingle shoot up my arm and down to my stomach from his touch.
“Ellie, then.” His eyes glisten and crinkle in the corners. “Is there anything I can do for you on your first day, Ellie?”
It’s very noticeable that I’m gawking at him and his silhouette in the sunlight, but he doesn’t say a word. He just continues watching me—an intriguing look in his eyes.
I blink and refocus. “Do you have coffee creamer?”
His eyes widen like a deer in headlights.Please don’t tell me I am the only one who drinks creamer around here.
“In the fridge. Help yourself. Come find me after you get acquainted, I think Ms. Stanley is itching to give you a tour.”
I see Kate practically bouncing out of her seat waiting for me to return to our conversation. I forgot she was here—I forgotanyonewas here.
Benny leaves and I feel all of my dread for this day whittle away in an instant. His presence does something to my insides that I wasnotexpecting. Scouring the creamers, I grab the best option and use the last few drops.
Mmm . . . cinnamon.
Chapter four
Ellie
Todayismyfirstofficial day with students at Glendale High School and I am feeling a tad overwhelmed.
Over the weekend, Emma went on and on about how important my job is for these kids and how what I say to them could make or break their future. At first I thought she was just giving me that teacher-esque exaggeration to make mepay attention,but midway through the third conversation, she had a panic attack about the job, the responsibilities, and the idea that I may not be taking it seriously.
Her concerns were very valid, but I had to remind her that I only committed to this first term at Glendale. So for the next few months I will treat this job as if it is what I have spent the last eight years of my life working towards.
Ms. Pat spent the entire week preparing me—with a dash of micromanagement—for the role and helped move me into her office. It was bittersweet watching her choke up as she packed her little trinkets and knick-knacks away. Each of them held a small memory for her from the last thirty years.
I pulled up to the school a little before 7 a.m., and with only one other car in the parking lot I decided to stay in mine. Scrolling through my phone to pass the time, I reluctantly open every social media app to do a quick scan. Seeing Liam’s life plastered all over my feed has been a less-than-stellar experience. Why I haven’t just unfollowed him yet, I don’t know.
I just like to self-sabotage, I guess.
Life with Liam flashes through my mind, landing on the God-awful wedding debacle, when I feel my car start to shake and realize it’s because I am bouncing the balls of my feet. The bouncing moves up my legs and arms like jolts. Knowing exactly where this is going, I toss my phone and turn on the radio to focus on something else. Ever since the wedding, my intrusive thoughts have gone from controlled quiet moments to outbursts of rage.
The first outburst happened a month after Liam took his stuff. It was raining and I had left a window open. The floor was soaked when I got home and it was freezing. Instead of shutting the window, like arationalperson, I started doing the dishes. Because a mentally stable person just leaves a window open on a rainy day to flood her house and starts cleaning plates, right?
The rain kept coming. The sink was on.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The drips crawled up my spine and into my neck. I threw a plate. Then another. Then Liam’s favorite mug from medical school. Before I knew it, all that was left standing was a skillet, ladle, and a set of plastic cups.
I knew what was happening, even when I was smashing things. I was triggered by the drops of water because it rained on our wedding day. I was acting on the intrusive thoughts surrounding a triggered memory.
